“Tell Maise I’ll see her later,” I mutter before flying down the stairs.
I’m out the front door and across the snowy ground before my brain catches up with my actions.
And fuck.
I flaked. I did it again. My stupid insecurities screwing me over—again.
The man just doesn’t want his daughter to get hurt. A reasonable request. And shit, I’m sure I’d do the same if I was in his shoes. If I was a parent.
The thought sends a streak of panic through me. I can’t even take care of one grown man I’ve known my entire life. What kind of parent would I make?
The second the front door to my house clicks shut, I slump against it, head back and eyes closed. “Shit, Celeste.”
My pocket vibrates with my alarm, and I shake off the last ten minutes, forcing it to the back of my mind. I need to focus on Dad now. That’s all today is for. Getting him home and settled. Hopefully the medications have kicked in by now and he’s feeling more like his old self.
If I could be granted one last Christmas wish... it would be that my dad was home and happy.
His quality of life as good as he deserves.
I start with coffee. Every dutiful daughter needs a little spark at the beginning of their day. After I make up his bed with clean sheets, I fix the sunroom to make sure it’s just as he will be expecting. His chair, blanket, and of course, Mark Twain.
When the clock ticks over to ten a.m., I grab my bag and phone and head for the truck.
A few minutes later, I’m pulling into the hospital parking lot. And when I make it inside, the place is quiet. I ask for Dad at the reception desk and barely a minute passes when his doctor appears.
“Celeste, how are you?”
He’s not really asking, but I say, “Good. How’s Dad?”
He tilts his head to one side, indicating for me to come with him. I push to my feet and follow as he takes us back to the small room we were in last time.
As the door shuts, he waves toward a chair. “Have a seat. I want to talk to you about the medications before you decide to take him home.”
“Okay.” I sit, my ass barely in the chair as I clutch my bag in my lap.
“So, our initial change of meds didn’t work as we expected. In fact, he became more agitated not even twenty-four hours later. With that, we made another change and added something to calm him down. This was effective, but?—”
“Like a sedative?”
“Yes, exactly.”
My brows fall. We never talked about sedating him. And the thought of him living in a daze doesn’t sit right with me.
“At this point, he can go home if you have help moving him around and he remains on the first floor of your home. Stairs won’t be safe.”
“Can’t you reduce the dose of the sedative?”
He sighs. “We worked in increments to ensure we had a balance of safety and effectiveness. But Celeste, I have to say, we recommend he is placed into care as soon as possible. The sedatives cannot be used long-term. As I’m sure you will understand why.”
“So the plan has always been to take him from his home. This is what you’re saying?” Pain lances through my chest, so tight I can barely breathe.
“We believe at this stage of his disease, it is his best option.”
He gives me an empathetic smile.
No.
The weight of a thousand tiny mistakes I’ve made my entire life crashes down on me. My hands shake, my body numbing further with every shallow breath.
