Chapter 2: Sarah

“Of all the things I’ve lost, I miss my mind the most.”

—Mark Twain.

The dogs barked frantically and scratched at the upstairs bedroom door. Jason limped forward, his knees creaking, and opened it. The room was dim, the blinds tapping as the wind blew in through the banging door to the verandah.

Why is the door open? Why hasn’t Sarah opened the blinds or put on the light?

Jason strode to the door and looked out. Sarah was swaying in the wind, her neck in a noose. A white plastic garden chair lay on its side near her feet.

Jason Kargo was an eighty-year-old man fit for his age as he was an avid cyclist, but his body was failing him. After he laboriously went downstairs, found a knife, and cut the rope, Jason cradled Sarah’s head on his lap and wept. Sarah, his beloved wife, was dead. He had no idea she intended to take her own life. Memories of the past flooded through his mind, the births of their children, family holidays, and their wonderful carefree honeymoon in Paris.

The dogs rubbed against him and nuzzled Sarah’s face. Jason closed her eyes. He gently rubbed the rope burns on her neck. Rosie nuzzled him and flipped his arm on top of her head. He absently patted her and Lilly. He grasped Lilly as he shakily climbed to his feet, his cheeks moist. The powerful Rottweiler stood, her legs planted apart, looking up at Jason. His knees protested as he descended the stairs, carefully holding the rail. The dogs were walking by his side down the stairs.

Jason called an ambulance, then Lauren.

Lauren arrived seconds before the paramedics. Jason pointed up the stairs. Lauren led the paramedics upstairs while Jason remained seated at the great room table, his head in his hands. She returned sobbing five minutes later and sat beside Jason. holding his arm.

The doorbell rang, startling them.

Lauren returned with two young police officers. Lauren led them upstairs and returned.

“Dad, they want you to show them where you found Mum.”

Lauren held Jason tightly as he stood swaying, then helped him upstairs. Jason paused on the landing and steadied himself, grateful for Lauren’s arm. The police officers were waiting in the bedroom, the tall skinny one, a notebook in hand, pen poised.

“Sir, did you have any sign she was thinking of suicide or that she had any reason for suicide?”

Lauren shook her head, as did Jason.

“We took her to the doctor last week. She did some tests and then met on Thursday to discuss the results. The doctor told us Mum was developing dementia,” said Lauren, rubbing her eyes.

“My wife accepted the diagnosis and wasn’t as distressed as I thought she would be. When I asked her how she felt, she replied, ‘Whatever will be, will be,’” said Jason.”

“She asked me to take her shopping after the appointment, as we planned to celebrate my father’s eightieth birthday at lunchtime today. She was smiling and chatty. I didn’t suspect she was contemplating killing herself,” said Lauren.

The police officers nodded in unison.

“I feel terrible about the rope; she asked me to put it up for her three weeks ago. It was for a basket of ferns,” Lauren added, pointing to the basket with dry ferns sitting on its side on the ground.

Jason clutched his chest and looked at Lauren, his eyes closed and his face contorted.

“Lauren ... bad pain in my chest and throat ... feel terrible.”

Jason collapsed backward onto the bed, clutching his chest.

Jason regained consciousness. His whole body ached. He took a deep breath. Agonizing pain shot across his chest. He took short, shallow breaths. His monitor beeped. An alarm blared, then a shaky voice called for a doctor from the bay beside him. The bed sheets were wrinkled.

Curtains separated him from the other bays.

Lauren and his grandchildren, Chloe and Chuck, sat beside his bed. Lauren squeezed his hand when he turned his head towards her.

Jason’s mouth tasted like a garbage tip. His throat felt like a train covered in sandpaper had raced through it while releasing steam. He tried to swallow and then to speak. He croaked.

Lauren stood and walked out through a gap in the curtains.

Jason tried to smile at his grandchildren. They sat looking at him with eyebrows raised. Chloe’s lips were trembling.

A plump, brassy-blond, middle-aged nurse bustled in, handed him a paper cup with a straw, fussed over his pillow, then raised the head of the bed. She smelled faintly of yesterday’s cheap perfume and today’s labor.

Jason croaked a muffled “Thank You.”

“The doctor will be here in half an hour, but you are out of trouble,” she said, smiling. “You are in the cardiac recovery ward but won’t need to be with us for more than a day or two.”

She turned on her heel and left.

“Dad, you are alive, and we are happy. The Cardiologist put in two stents and said, you can come home tomorrow, but you must stay with us for several weeks so we can monitor you,” said Lauren.

“Hi, Chloe and Chuck; how are you guys? Shouldn’t you be at school?” Jason asked in a rasping voice.

“No, Grandpa, today is a teacher’s professional development day, so we have the day off,” said Chuck.

“We are sad about granny, and we’ll miss her very much,” said Chloe before turning to Lauren and raising her hands, palms upward, and eyes wide.

“What is it, young lady?” Lauren asked.

“Tell Grandpa about the disgusting detective, Mum,” said Chloe, wrinkling her nose.

“Grandpa has had enough excitement for one day,” said Lauren, looking at Chloe. “I want to avoid worrying him.”

“I won’t fall apart,” said Jason. “Tell me about the foul detective and what he wants!”

“Detective Clarke showed up as we were leaving for the hospital. He had a search warrant and wanted to examine your house and office. Dan looked at the search warrant, which said something about you being ‘suspected of being complicit in the death of your wife,’ or some such garbage.”