I don’t know which one to answer first, so I go with the easiest. “Dad is doing okay, I guess.”
She tilts her head the way people do when they feel bad for you. “You’re a gem to come home and take care of him. I know that must be really hard. To leave a career behind and move back to the tiny town you—” She squeezes my hand.
I ran from.Was that what she was going to say?
“So far, it’s been nice to be home, but I’m not sure I’m cut out for the caretaker gig. I’m kind of terrible at it, actually.” The last few words fade out.
“You know what you need? A project of your own to think about. It can feel very isolating when work or whatever is the only thing you’ve got going on. Take it from me.”
The way her face strangles back something that looks like grief tells me all I need to know.
“How long?” I ask softly.
“Five years now. And Steven was a godsend. And now I don’t know what would have become of me without him.” She glances at her gold-and-diamond adorned finger.
“I’m sorry,” I utter, trying to not let emotion get the better of me. One of the downfalls of being a creative—I feel everything so intensely, even if it’s not my own.
She scrunches up her nose and forces a smile, her hand clasping over mine. “The school is looking for someone to help with the art program. They have taken on a rather ambitious project for Christmas Eve. Your help would be much appreciated.”
“I don’t know, it’s hard to leave Dad alone.”
“I understand, but think about it, will you? For you, more than anything else, okay?”
I nod.
She rises from the chair and waves goodbye as she hugs the books to her chest before disappearing into the history section.
How am I supposed to focus on anything else but the full-time, twenty-four-seven job of taking care of my father? I’m barely managing as it is.
I flip open the book I found on his condition, checking that it covers what I need to learn. When I find two that seem to have a comprehensive overview on Alzheimer’s, I set them aside. Next, I flip through the pages of a home maintenance manual. Diagrams and detailed instructions on how to do just about anything to upkeep and fix your home resides on the pages. I set that one on the take-home pile, too.
After applying for a new library card—who knew they expired?—I bundle up and brave the new fall of snow and take a walk down Main Street. Each shop or building I pass resurrects memories I’d long forgotten. But unlike the memories filled with friends and my siblings, of that feeling of freedom that someone on the brink of discovering the big wide world has, now I feel the heavy regret of not having accomplished the things I’d set out to do.
My art.
All the travel I wanted to do, the places I wanted to visit. The cultures I never immersed myself in...
The art and people.
Now anchored to this small town by my heart and soul in the shape of the man who raised me, any hope I had left is fleeting. And that burns, so much so that I stop in the snow, staring into the window of the Gift Shoppe on Main Street.
Only, I’m not staring at treasures for my loved ones... Just at my reflection that feels as stagnant as my future.
I never thought this was how my life would turn out. My art was everything.
But maybe I was just a big fish in a small pond.
Guess now I’ll never know.
With a sorrowful sigh, I turn and head back to the truck parked by the library. Unlocking the driver’s side door, I toss my bag onto the passenger’s seat and climb up. My head hits the steering wheel. The horn blares. I jerk back, my heart racing.
Shit.
Maybe Mrs. Kin—Semple was right. I need a hobby. A distraction. Something to think about other than all the ways I’ve failed myself and am currently failing my dad.
Putting the truck into gear, I drive home, a tiny sliver of hope sparking to life as I turn onto my street.
The binder lays on the counter, open to the Thursday meal plan, the corresponding recipes for the day tabbed in a color-coded pink. Parental care for dummies.
