Steve Leonhardt enjoyed driving. He took pleasure in planning road trips with his wife, Eileen. “Give me my Cross-Country Volvo station wagon, an open road, and I’m in heaven,” was Steve’s credo. During the past ten years, they drove from their home in northern New Jersey to Maine, Quebec, New Orleans, Nashville, Chicago, Miami, and as far away as California and Washington State.
Before Steve retired, he had been director of FedEx’s distribution center in Bergen County. He knew the streets, roads, and virtually every point of interest in the county like the back of his hand. He was an expert in finding alternate routes that avoided traffic lights, stop signs and streets with speed bumps that would slow him down.
Eileen, unlike Steve, did not like to drive. She enjoyed the road trips but took the wheel to relieve Steve only when it was necessary, about one hour at a time for every six hours driven by Steve. However, Eileen was an excellent navigator. She knew Steve’s route preferences, and they were an excellent driving team. In fact, with Steve at the wheel and Eileen as navigator, they won first prize in the Northern New Jersey Volvo Club’s annual Road Rally three times in their last five attempts. They displayed their 10-inch-high trophies proudly in their den for all their friends to marvel at. Each trophy was adorned with the colorful scarf that Eileen wore during the race.
Both Steve and Eileen retired at the same time. Eileen taught high school mathematics. Her students adored her because of the caring and thoughtful manner with which she helped them learn geometry and trigonometry. Her dedication earned her the distinction of Teacher of the Year.

Eileen did the cooking and food shopping while they were actively employed. However, retirement gave them the opportunity to share these activities. Steve was an excellent cook who enjoyed shopping and was particular about selecting his own special ingredients from the gourmet and ethnic food aisles in the local supermarket. After forty-five years of marriage, blessed with four children and six grandchildren, Steve and Eileen looked forward to a retirement filled with long vacation trips and visits with their grandchildren.
“We should replace our bedroom shades with those blackout shades,” Eileen said one morning as the sun forced its way into the bedroom. “It’s only seven o’clock and I could use another hour of sleep.”
“Sure,” Steve responded as he sat up on the edge of the bed, stretching his arms over his head. “If that’s what you want, you got it. I’ll measure the window and we can go to the shade store right after breakfast.”
“You’re a doll,” Eileen said. She rolled over to Steve’s side of the bed and kissed him on his shoulder. “Want coffee?”
“Do you want to make breakfast this morning?” Steve asked.
“No, silly,” Eileen said, laughing. “That’s your job. I’ll just put up a pot of coffee.”
Steve prepared his unparalleled pancakes, the ones that his grandchildren craved every time they were fortunate enough to spend a weekend with him and Eileen.
“What makes your pancakes so good, grandpa?” they’d ask.
“My special ingredient is love,” Steve would always respond, as each child giggled with delight. Steve’s special “love” was a few thimblefuls of Amaretto liqueur, in addition to the mashed banana and applesauce he added to the batter.

After breakfast, Steve and Eileen drove to the shade and curtain store in Paramus and ordered the blackout shade for their bedroom. Upon returning home, Steve remarked, “You know, I forgot to take something out of the freezer for dinner tonight. I’m going to run to the supermarket to pick up a few things. Do you want me to get anything for you?”
“Buy some cold cuts and American cheese,” Eileen said. “And remember to ask them to slice the cheese thin, the way I like it.”
“It’s two o’clock. I’ll be back before three,” Steve said, as he kissed Eileen on the forehead and drove away in his beloved Volvo station wagon.

On his way home from the supermarket, Steve encountered yellow rubber construction cones blocking the road at the corner of Prospect and Grove Streets. “DETOUR” was in the center of the arrow on the sign that pointed left, toward Grove Street. Beyond the sign, for one block on Prospect south of Grove Street, Steve noticed that the roadway contained patches of broken asphalt. Another sign, just beyond the detour sign read, “ROAD UNDER REPAIR.” Steve stopped and looked at the road ahead. That’s awfully strange, he thought. I don’t recall seeing any roadwork being done on my way to the store. How did they do this so quickly? And it seems odd that there are no workers here right now.
Not wanting to drive his precious Volvo on the broken pavement, Steve followed the detour sign and made the left turn on to Grove Street. He proceeded for about one-quarter mile until he reached Spring Street, where another detour sign pointed to the right. That’s funny, Steve considered. I was sure I knew every street around here. I thought Spring Street dead-ended here at Grove. I don’t recall being able to turn right here. To his consternation, Steve followed the

detour arrow for another block until he was again directed to turn right by another detour sign onto Green Street. He followed Green Street back to Prospect where he made the left turn that put him back on his original path home. As he glanced to his right, he could see the broken asphalt under repair. I must be going nuts, he thought. I suppose it might be possible that I took a different route to the store, but I can’t remember. Funny about those streets, though. Why didn’t I know about that section of Spring Street? Well, no worries. I’m back on track now.
Steve arrived home and parked in his usual spot on the right side of the double driveway. He pressed the automatic garage door opener on his window visor which, to his surprise, failed to open the door. Shrugging his shoulders, he exited the car and pressed the four-digit code on the garage door keypad which, like the switch in his car, failed to open the door. Looks like the door opener is on the fritz. Another expense to deal with, he thought. “I’m home hon,” Steve called as he walked through the front door carrying two bags of groceries. He placed the bags on the kitchen table and said, “Hey, Eileen, did you know there’s something wrong with the garage door?”
Instead of hearing a response, Steve heard the garage door open as Eileen drove her car into the garage. She walked up the steps into the kitchen with a sense of urgency. “Steve, where the hell have you been for the past four hours?” she shouted. “Jerry and I have been worried sick. We finally went out looking for you.”
“What do you mean?” Steve said, perplexed. “I’ve only been gone for about 45 minutes. And why is Jerry here? I didn’t see his car. where are Alice and the kids?”
“Steve, you’re not having one of your fits again, are you?” Eileen asked, her voice trembling. She was still upset about Steve’s mysterious absence.

“I told you before that I was just going to the store to buy some stuff for dinner. Don’t you remember?” Steve replied. “What’s going on here?” he continued, unable to understand what to make of the situation.
“Stuff for dinner?” Eileen said. “I told you before that I was making a lasagna tonight. When I turned around, you were gone. And your car was gone. You scared the living daylights out of us. And what’s all this about someone named Alice? Who’s Alice?”
“Jerry’s wife, Alice. Who else do you think I mean?” Steve replied, becoming agitated in his state of confusion.”
“Steve, sweetheart, come sit down in the living room,” Eileen said as she coaxed Steve into his favorite rocker-recliner. Jerry, their youngest son, followed them into the living room and sat on the sofa, while Eileen pulled up a dining room chair and held Steve’s hand. “Steve, you know we love you,” she said as Steve began to break in, “Eileen…”
“No, Steve, please let me speak. For the past several weeks Jerry and I have noticed a change in your behavior. The way you recall things – or can’t recall them – you seem to be undergoing some kind of change. I don’t know where you came up with the name, Alice. Jerry’s never been married. Our other children, of course, are married. But there’s never been an Alice. I think we should call the doctor and get you a complete checkup. Don’t you think?”
“Dad, mom’s right,” Jerry said. “I think a complete physical exam would be in order.”
Steve thought that perhaps something wasn’t right in his head. “I could use a drink,” he said, and walked into the den only to find that the liquor cabinet was filled with dish towels, linen napkins and serving dishes. There was no liquor anywhere to be found. His prized road rally trophies were nowhere in sight. “Where’s all my liquor?” Steve said, completely puzzled. “And

what happened to our road rally trophies? And the scarves you wore as my navigator?” Turning his gaze to the wall above the bookcase left to him by his mother, he noticed the portrait of his children and grandchildren given to him and Eileen for their fortieth anniversary. Three of his children were posed with their spouses and children – four grandchildren, not six. Jerry was there by himself. I must be losing my mind, he said to himself. His thoughts were interrupted by his wife’s voice.
“What are you talking about, Steve?” Eileen said. “We haven’t had a drop of liquor in the house for a long time. You’ve been on the wagon for three years now. You haven’t been drinking outside, have you? And what trophies are you talking about? We don’t do road rallies. You know that I get carsick if I try to read anything while you’re driving, especially maps.”
Eileen stared at her husband with her hands on her hips. “Steve, you don’t look well. Come over here.”
As he approached his wife, Eileen stood on her toes, put her lips to his forehead and said, “No, I don’t think you have any fever. Why don’t you go upstairs and lie down while I get dinner ready? I’m sure you’ll feel better in half an hour or so. Go, get some rest. Meanwhile, I think it might be a good idea if Dr. Berkowitz examined you. It’s been a while since your last visit.”
Still confused, Steve looked at his wife and son. “Okay, I’ll lie down for a bit. You’re probably right about my seeing Dr. Berkowitz. Would you make the appointment for me?”
As Steve was getting into bed that night, Eileen said, “Do you feel any better?”
“I’m not quite sure,” Steve responded.
“Honey,” Eileen continued, “why are you on my side of the bed?”
“Oh, I must have forgotten,” Steve replied.

“I think tomorrow you should stay in the house and rest while I call the doctor,” Eileen insisted.
“Sure,” Steve said as he lay down on the other side the bed, the side that felt awkward.
Steve spent most of the next day watching television, still trying to understand what had happened. Eileen made the appointment with Dr. Berkowitz for the following morning. That evening at dinner, Steve turned to Jerry and in bewilderment, asked “Are you sure you don’t know anyone named Alice?”
“No, dad, I honestly don’t know anyone named Alice,” he replied.
Eileen stared at Steve momentarily, shaking her head as she continued with her dinner, trying to hold back her tears.

“How long have you had this feeling of confusion?” asked Dr. Berkowitz, as Steve sat on the examination table wearing the uncomfortable paper gown that the nurse handed him. He felt self-conscious about the slit being open in the back, continually reaching behind to keep it closed. At least I haven’t lost my sense of dignity, he reflected.
“I really can’t say,” Steve replied. “I thought it started yesterday, when I returned home from the supermarket, but Eileen and Jerry told me that it’s been going on for a few weeks.”
“Let’s take a look at you,” said Dr. Berkowitz.
After giving Steve a thorough examination that included an electrocardiogram and chest X-Ray, Dr. Berkowitz said, “Well, Steve, all things considered, you appear to be in good physical health. But I want to ask you a few questions. Please bear with me.”
Steve felt a bit awkward about being asked what he thought were simple personal

questions. He answered most of them correctly with a few exceptions. He was wrong about Jerry’s age (off by 3 years), the length of his marriage to Eileen (off by 4 years), how long they had been living in their present house (off by 3 years) and the number and ages of his grandchildren.
“I want you to see a colleague of mine, Dr. Phyllis Taylor. She’s a psychiatrist who has a lot of experience dealing with memory loss. I think you’ll like her. I’m sure she’ll be able to sort things out for you. How about I help set up an appointment?” Dr. Berkowitz said.
“I guess that’ll be all right,” Steve said.
“Just sit here for a few moments,” Dr. Berkowitz said. He picked up the wall phone and asked the nurse to call Dr. Taylor. After a few moments, Steve heard Dr. Berkowitz speaking with her. He then turned toward Steve and asked, “Will tomorrow afternoon at 4 be convenient for you to meet with Dr. Taylor?”
“I suppose so,” Steve responded.
“Okay, Phyllis,” Dr. Berkowitz said. “He’ll be at your office tomorrow at 4. Thanks so much for seeing him so soon.”
Steve removed the examination gown, got dressed and proceeded to the waiting room accompanied by Dr. Berkowitz, where Eileen sat reading People Magazine. “Well, what’s the damage?” Eileen asked, looking up from the magazine.
That’s peculiar, Steve thought. Eileen never liked ‘People’ magazine.
“Everything’s going to be just fine, Eileen,” said Dr. Berkowitz, offering the kind of reassurance that gave her some comfort. “I’ve arranged for Steve to visit a good friend and colleague of mine, Dr. Phyllis Taylor, tomorrow at 4 pm. She’s one of the best psychiatrists in the

area. I’m sure she’ll help him sort things out.”
“That’s wonderful,” Eileen said. “Steve, are you ready to go home now?”
“I guess so,” Steve replied. Doubt and confusion still dominated Steve’s mind as he attempted to grasp what was happening to him.
Steve awoke the next morning feeling relatively normal – if “normal” was the right word under these circumstances. But he still couldn’t shake the confusion that occupied his brain. Eileen set the table, brewed the coffee, scrambled the eggs, made the toast, and poured the orange juice – all the things that Steve was used to doing. They ate breakfast quietly, after which Steve went into the living room and sat in his recliner while Eileen washed the dishes. He stood up and began pacing back and forth, thinking, how did this happen to me? When did it start? After a minute he called out to his wife, “Eileen, I’ll be right back. I’m going to take a quick drive around the neighborhood and clear my mind. Don’t worry about me, I won’t be long.”
“All right, Steve. Just be careful and don’t get lost again,” she replied. Don’t patronize me, Steve thought as got into his car. If I just retrace my steps, maybe I’ll be able to figure this all out. He backed the car out of the driveway and headed north on Prospect, toward the supermarket, as he did before this all began. As he drove past Grove Street, he noticed that the road was completely paved. That was a quick repair, he thought.
Steve continued driving until he crossed Maple Avenue. Then an idea hit him. He pulled into a driveway, made a U-turn and headed south on Prospect. At Grove Street, he saw the same yellow cones and detour sign with an arrow facing left onto Grove Street. There were no construction workers in front of him, nor was anyone else nearby. What the hell??? he thought. I just drove by here moments ago. How could this construction site have appeared so soon?

Resisting the urge to follow the detour sign, he proceeded around the yellow cones and onto the broken asphalt pavement, confident that his trusty Volvo station wagon would handle the rough road in front of him for two blocks without sustaining any damage. After all, Steve thought, it’s a Volvo. That’s why I bought it!

Steve held the steering wheel firmly as the wagon jostled along for the next two blocks. Once he reached the end of the gravel portion and returned to solid pavement, Steve pulled over to check for any possible damage to his pride and joy. Finding none, he proceeded to drive home. His Volvo hummed along as if it had never been driven through the jagged and rocky construction site. He parked in the driveway, turned off the motor and sat in the car for a few moments. He pressed the automatic garage door switch on his visor and watched as the garage door opened normally. Entering through the garage, he called out to Eileen, “Honey, I’m home.”
“What?” Eileen said. “You just left two minutes ago. Did you forget something?”
Steve stood silently for a moment. “What did you just say?” he asked.
“I asked you if you forgot something,” Eileen said, smiling. “Your wallet, perhaps?”
Reaching into his back pocket, Steve replied, “No, I have it.”
“Then why did you come right back, the store wasn’t closed, was it?”
“Is Jerry here?” Steve asked.
“Jerry?” Eileen responded, puzzled by Steve’s question. “Of course not. Why would he be here? He’s probably at work. Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know,” Steve responded.
“You know,” Eileen continued, “I haven’t spoken to Jerry in a few days. Which reminds me, I should call him and see how Alice is feeling. She’s been bit under the weather lately. So, are you going back to the supermarket to get what you need for dinner tonight?”

“Maybe I’ll just order a pizza for delivery,” Steve said. He paused and then walked slowly into the den and stood in front of the liquor cabinet. He glanced to his right at the three road rally trophies on the shelf, all of which reflected the setting sun’s gleam through the window. Each trophy was decorated with one of Eileen’s scarves. He opened the liquor cabinet and took a cut crystal glass from the top shelf. Eileen had purchased a set of them at the Waterford factory when they vacationed in Ireland five years ago. He poured himself a glass of Chivas Regal and glanced up at the family portrait hanging on the wall. His four children, their spouses and six grandchildren were all smiling at him.
Steve stared again at his trophies. He stared at the books on the built-in shelves. He stared again at the portrait, making sure to notice Jerry and Alice. Finally, he glanced at the glass in his hand. He walked into the living room and sat in his favorite recliner.
“Well, mister man of leisure,” Eileen said, as Steve appeared to be relaxing comfortably, “What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing,” he replied, as he sipped his drink, enjoying the smooth feeling of twelve-year-old Scotch as it trickled down his throat. “Nothing much.”