Lewis grabs the list and then goes back to the living room. Gillian and Gabi are talking about the birth now. "I don't really remember much about it," Gabi admits.

"You were focussed," Lewis interjects, moving his slightly cupped hands from near his head down to a point in front of him.

"Lewis delivered Adam though," she says, and signs, with a smile, which makes Lewis grin.

"Really?" Gillian asks with surprise, moving her index finger from her lips down to point straight ahead. He nods. "Well that's pretty cool. I don't think they would have let Cal do that." She finger-spells his name.

"Would he want to?" Lewis asks.

Gillian gives him a slightly unimpressed expression. "Of course. He would have completely loved it. I, on the other hand, might have been a little concerned." She talks to Adam, but signs with one hand. Lewis laughs.

"I think it's really special," Gabi offers, gripping the tip of her left index finger with the tips of her right fingers and pulling it up. "That he was delivered by his dad," she brushes her fingers affectionately over the fine black hair on her son's head. She's sitting so close to Gillian she just about has the baby in her arms as well.

"It is," Gillian agrees with a smile in Lewis's direction. "Oh he's just so precious!" She leans down to give Adam a kiss. "Grandma is going to eat you all up!"

Lewis laughs again and gets to his feet. "I'm going to go rescue Dad." Who is taking too long to get his shoes. He's probably gotten confused. Or forgotten what he went to the bedroom for. Lewis is right, he finds Cal standing in front of his wardrobe, the doors open, staring in. "Ready to get going Dad?" He asks casually.

"I can't seem to find my shoes," he answers. "They're usually in here. All my otha shoes are in here."

"What about these ones here?" Lewis points to Cal's walking shoes by an armchair, which is also draped with some of his mother's clothes.

"Oh, right yeah," Cal says and moves to sit.

"You probably already got them out," Lewis suggests, turning his hands towards his body, fingers splayed, giving them two little shakes, and finishing with the palms facing the floor. He sits on the end of his parent's bed.

"Probably," Cal mutters. He puts the first shoe on and Lewis kneels to tie the laces for him. The guy will be eighty in a few weeks. "I rememba doin' that for you not that long ago," he says, waiting for Lewis tie the second shoe.

Lewis looks up and gives him a grin. "Quite a while ago Dad." He makes a large 'ago' sign, to mean a long time past. "I've been tying my shoes since I was five."

"It was six and a half," Cal corrects. "Slow learna."

Lewis laughs lightly and stands up. "That's not true!" He signs 'lie'. "Must have been my teacher."

"Your mutha?" Cal teases, following Lewis to the door. Lewis pokes his head back into the living room to tell his mother and Gabi that they're leaving. Gillian reminds him to take the tote bags from by the door but when he goes to get them, Cal already has them. Memory is a fickle fish, Lewis thinks as they head out. Short term memory was the first to go. Big holes in Cal remembering what he was doing from one moment to the next, or who people were, especially if he had just met them. But as the years have gone on he's confused more and more from the distant past as well. Places, people and timelines, and yet Lewis has never considered his father, when he does come up with something, to be incorrect. Lewis only knows what he remembers himself. So if Cal tells him it was Gillian who taught him to tie his laces, he'll have to take him at his word. There's no point in challenging him anyway. It just makes Cal agitated. And what does it achieve? He can always ask his mother about it sometime.

"Whose car is that?" Cal asks on the step, as Lewis closes the front door.

Lewis hasn't quite heard him, but Cal is pointing at the car with a frown, and this is not a new question. "That's my car," he answers.

"Right," Cal says and steps down to walk around it. He gets to the curb and hesitates for a second, before deciding to head left. Lewis falls into pace with him, shortening his stride to match his father's much shorter strut. He still struts, which Lewis remembers distinctly from his childhood, particularly visiting his father at work. The cocky strut. His strut now is more about keeping his balance, so it's shorter in gait and wider in stance.

"I don't rememba what your mutha wanted from the store," Cal admits as they weave through the barriers at the end of the alleyway.

"I brought the list," Lewis tells him.

"Good thinkin' Batman," Cal says. They walk down the alley and weave through the barriers at the other end, designed to stop children from racing down the smooth pavement. They head out onto the street, going right this time, walking towards the grocery store. It'd take Lewis ten minutes on his own, but with Cal's shorter stride it is closer to twenty. He had a hip replaced three years ago, the one he broke in The Accident, and his hair is white and thinned so that Lewis can see the caterpillar scar on his temple, also from The Accident. But only if he looks for it.

Half the reason why Cal is unwell is because of The Accident. Or at least, it's made him more susceptible. It's funny that right after The Accident, Cal lost big chunks of his memory, but they slowly came back. And now he's losing them all over again, but slowly. Until big chunks will be missing again.

Not really funny.

"It's a nice day," Lewis says.

Cal looks over at him. "I used to know someone who was deaf." He makes a 'hard of hearing' sign; it's the only thing he's signed today. Lewis wonders if his dad is talking about him. "But I can't rememba his name." He looks to Lewis to supply the answer.

"Kent," Lewis fingerspells.

"Yes. Kent."

"Kent went to live in London," Lewis adds. He's still there, married with two girls.

Cal raises his eyebrows. "I didn't know that. Or I probably did, right?"

"Yeah, he went a while ago."

"Hm," Cal says.

PJPJPJPJ

The walking to the store is to distract Cal. When he gets agitated (by an unfamiliar situation, like having visitors), giving him something to do helps distract and calm him down again. Calm his mind, Lewis figures. He doesn't get why it works, but it does. So Gillian purposefully doesn't go grocery shopping anymore. She makes little lists and buys things in drips and drabs, when Cal needs the distraction. She never sends him out on his own, because that's too much risk for him getting lost, and when it rains, she saves other things for him to do instead. Nothing elaborate, like doing a puzzle, because that requires too much cognitive function. Simple things, like folding washing or gardening (Lewis swears they've re-potted the plants on the terrace and by the front door a hundred times. Gillian buys things that grow big and fast). It's funny though, because after Lewis and Cal walk to the store, he finds his dad not just calmer, but also more like himself.

"How's school these days?" Cal asks as they head back towards the assisted living care facility (blech).

More like himself, even if he does still forget quite a lot.

"I'm not in school anymore. I design and test electrical systems for fighter jets," Lewis answers, waiting for his father to weave through the barriers at the end of the alleyway, before following him through.

"I thought you were in college?"

"I finished college a few years ago," Lewis patiently explains, making sure to leave any inflection of impatience out of his tone. They have this conversation almost every time.

"How old are you?" Cal looks over at him.

"Thirty, Dad. I'm thirty now."

He leaves it at that. While Cal knows he's not well and is deteriorating slowly (most of the time. Sometimes he does forget that, and those aren't good days), there are still some details that set him off on a downward spiral. Lewis could tell him that it was his birthday a few days ago, but why ruin what's been a nice hour talking with his father?

"Geeze. An old man," Cal quips, he looks over at Lewis and grins. Lewis gives him a nudge as they walk. "Oi, careful of my new hip!"

As they exit the alleyway Cal hesitates. He's forgotten which way to go. Lewis wordlessly starts walking in the right direction and Cal follows. When they get to the house Cal asks whose car that is in the driveway. Lewis tells him it's his. Cal nods like he remembers, but Lewis doubts that he does. He doesn't point out that they literally had that conversation an hour ago; it doesn't matter anymore.

When Lewis gets through the front door he can hear a baby crying. His first impulse is to go running towards it, but he has to make sure Cal is in the house first; he's a wandering risk. He doesn't hear the voices in the other room, Gillian hushing Adam gently and Gabi saying she's ready to feed. But when he enters the room Gabi is feeding Adam on the couch and he's quiet, happy. Lewis checks his watch. They were gone just over an hour. So yeah, that seems about right, the baby should be awake and hungry about now.

"Hey honey," Gillian greets him from the edge of the couch. She gets up and approaches. "How'd it go?" She places the backs of fingers together in front of her stomach, so her fingertips are pointed to the floor, then rolls her wrists so they're pointing to the ceiling.

"Good," Lewis lifts his shopping bag as proof. "And," he turns behind him and Cal is there. "One returned husband." He makes a 'C' hand by his forehead, and then brings it down to clasp in his other hand.

"Aw, thanks," Gillian smiles, and gives Cal a quick kiss. He looks pleased. Lewis deposits his shopping bag on the kitchen bench and finds his mother has followed him to help put the meagre groceries away. "Adam is so lovely," she starts, using her fingertips to encompass her face, like a shortened 'beautiful' sign, and then opening her hand out again, palm still towards her face. "After he woke up and before he started crying, he opened his eyes at me."

"Must have been wind," Lewis teases, swishing his hands back and forth in front of him, but he feels that swell of pride anyway, talking about his son.

"Oh, you," Gillian smacks his arm. "You're just like your father," she signs harshly, but she's smiling with it. Lewis grins and leans into the pantry to put the onions away.

"Are things ok with you and Dad?" Lewis asks her as she puts milk into the fridge.

"Yeah," she says easily.

"Yesterday?" He places this thumb on his lower jaw, fist out, and then moves up towards his ear.

"Was your son's birthday. Worry about him. You don't need to worry about your dad and I. We're fine." She shakes her head as she signs 'concern'.

Lewis pulls his mouth into a frown. But Gillian stops him from saying anything more by putting her hands over his, silencing his voice. "We're fine Lewis. It is what it is, and some days are tough and some days, like today, are good." She signs and emphatic 'good', but Lewis can see the edge of sadness in her eyes. It's been there since they got back from Italy. "Go and see for yourself," she suggests, pointing to the living room. There are no more groceries to put away anyway.

Lewis puts his arms around his mother's shoulders, giving her a tight hug. She's a lot smaller than she used to be too. She's seventy-five. He gives her a kiss and she gives him a smile. "We'll go after Adam finishes feeding." He uses 'eat'. "I think I need an afternoon nap." He uses 'sleep'.

Gillian's smile goes a little wider, almost a smirk. "I remember those times. And I did them when I was a lot older than you." She gives his shoulder a squeeze and he brushes past her to goes into the other room. Cal is sitting next to Gabi on the couch, who is propped up with a pillow to help her feed. He's talking to her quietly, Lewis can tell because he can see his father's mouth moving, and he can hear a buzz of a voice, but he can't make out the words. It doesn't matter though, because it's clear they're having a nice conversation. No telling her to get the fuck out of the house this time. To be fair, that was a few years ago. Medication has helped. A mood stabiliser, sleeping tablets, and a few other things that are meant to slow down the degeneration of Cal's brain. There is still no cure for Alzheimer's, but treatments have gotten a lot better. Six year death sentences have almost doubled. Lewis tries not to count, but Cal's still got a few years left. And he's only in the middle stages of the disease; there's still a long way to go before he entirely becomes a shell of himself.

Lewis goes to sit with his wife. He puts a kiss on her. "Everything ok?"

"Yes," she smiles at him and he smiles back.

"Cal?" Gillian calls from the doorway. "Will you help me with lunch?"

"Of course, luv," Cal gets up and walks away.

"We're not staying for lunch," Lewis tells his wife, with a shake of his head.

"What about you?" Gabi asks him. "Did you have a good time with your dad?" She signs less as she holds their son.

"Yeah, he's in a good place today. We talked. It was nice."

"That's good," she smiles again.

"Home after this?"

"God yes," Gabi groans. "I'm exhausted." She doesn't make the sign, but because she's turned right towards Lewis, he hears her loud and clear.

"You're amazing," Lewis tells her, exaggerating the sign. "That's what you are."