Excerpt from The Half-Life of Everything by Deborah Carol Gang, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"Yes, I can see how you would have been too busy with your crimes to notice me. Perhaps you can make it up to me one more time."

Later that night, after David was asleep, Kate went downstairs. She had a nagging thought that she wasn't ready for the morning. She looked for her list of things to do but didn't see it. Now she'd have to reconstruct everything before she'd be able to sleep. She found a stray Post-it note, but what could "Find used labels and Book #3" possibly mean? She started to rewrite the list, wondering if earlier she had organized the tasks only in her mind and not on paper. She would probably forget some item and could picture David teasing her. "So the Memory Queen is human after all." Then she noticed her car keys - not in their proper spot, but still reassuringly familiar.

Chapter One

In the beginning, he visited her every day, month after month and, if Dylan and Jack were home from school, he'd take one to visit on Saturday and the other on Sunday. It seemed to embarrass the boys less if they went separately. Smaller numbers of visitors were easier on Kate, too, because she still tried to feign recognition. If a larger group came for a birthday or holiday, she'd become anxious, as if she knew that her genial but generic welcome would be found out, as of course it was. David hated to think that somewhere in her mind lurked an awareness of what had happened to her - that, with her remaining pride or competitive nature, she could still observe herself and suffer at the sight.

She was now in her second year of living at the facility after being cared for at home for three years. David always thought of Kate as having "left" him and the boys, although not in the literal sense of the word." On this particular Wednesday, he tried to take stock: Early onset, quickly deteriorating - not a good thing. Maintaining most of her good nature - a very good thing. It was her still-pleasant demeanor that had made him believe they could manage her at home indefinitely. It wasn't a likely outcome, but it wasn't unheard of either.

He and the boys came up with systems and schedules and sought out advice. When the occupational therapist suggested Post-it notes as a possible improvement, they burst out laughing. The problem wasn't a lack of memory aids, and the problem wasn't Kate's temperament. The problem was that Kate had always liked to walk, especially in pleasant weather. If it was mild, she would plan picnics, discover unlikely restaurants that served outdoors on three rickety tables, or think up errands. If we take the longer route to buy the Times, then we can get bananas and milk too. No hiker, Kate preferred destination walking: ice cream cones, window-shopping, used bookstores.

David would tease her. "You are the world's most expensive walking partner. I have to take fifty dollars to even leave the house with you."

"I was meant to live in New York."

"Fifty dollars might not last a block there."

As her memory left her, she'd slip away to find gardens or snowmen. From what David and the boys had heard from neighbors in surrounding blocks, she'd engage anyone in pleasant conversation, sounding coherent enough that the stranger wouldn't realize she had no idea where she was. David desperately wanted her at home and had tried to stay ahead of her with deadbolts, then door alarms, and finally the graduate student twins, Theresa and Tracy.

Kate seemed to like them, though no one was sure if she knew there were two of them. David and the boys had their own problems sorting out identical twins who had cruelly similar names and worked ever-changing shifts. The twins covered Monday through Friday, alternating their hours so they could get to their college classes.

Tracy (or maybe both of them) would push him. "Mr. D, you should call us more for weekends. Don't pay us. We'll just come study and you can go do something." He would agree to call but almost never did. On weekends, it felt like hiring a baby sitter, or being unfaithful.

Excerpted from The Half-Life of Everything by Deborah Carol Gang . Copyright © 2018 by Deborah Carol Gang . Excerpted by permission of Bancroft Press. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.