When I was about fourteen, my grandfather started acting oddly. He would call my mother to report a strange woman in the house, wondering where his wife had gone. She wasn’t gone, of course; he just didn’t recognize her.
So my mother would invite her father to our house, then tell him that the strange woman had left and his wife was waiting for him. I remember watching my grandfather climbing the porch steps to embrace Belle, weeping for joy at her return. But a few days later, it would start all over again.
