Page 137 - Too Much and Never Enough - Mary L. Trump

CHAPTER TEN
Nightfall Does Not Come at Once
We were sitting at the same table at Mar-a-Lago where I’d had lunch with Donald and Marla a couple of years earlier. The family had started going there for Easter. My grandfather turned to my grandmother, pointed to me, smiled, and asked, “Who is this nice lady?”
He turned to me. “Aren’t you a nice lady.”
“Thank you, Grandpa,” I said.
Gam seemed upset. I told her not to worry. I’d already seen people my
grandfather had known for decades erased from his memory: his youngest grandchildren, his driver. His new nickname for me stuck, and he called me “nice lady” until his final illness. He said it gently and with apparent kindness; he was very sweet to me after he’d forgotten who I was.
“Come on, Pop.” Rob took a step, but my grandfather didn’t move. He looked around at the crowds of people at a gala thrown in my grandparents’ honor, and his eyes glazed over with a look of sheer panic, as if he suddenly had no idea who anybody was or what he was doing there. Up until then, I had only seen my grandfather look contemptuous, annoyed, angry, amused, and self-satisfied. The look of fear was new and alarming. The only other time I had seen my grandfather look unsettled at all was on the one occasion Donald had taken him to play golf—a hobby that Donald spent an inordinate amount of time on but that Fred, who had no use for pastimes, never complained about. I was at the House when they came back from the course, and I almost didn’t recognize him. They were both wearing golf clothes—my grandfather in light blue pants, a white cardigan, and matching