“Now we’re talking,” I say. “I’ll have to let Dad know he has a namesake. But first, tell me everything. Are you okay?”
For the next ten minutes, Nina regales me with the details of her delivery, while I alternate between shock and admiration. As has so often been the case, Nina has crossed a major threshold and left me on the other side in awe. While I am in no rush to pursue motherhood, I do envy whatever it is I think I see in her eyes—a mixture of pride, joy, relief, and peace. Eventually, she needs to attend to her son’s squeaks, and when we hang up, I have to lean on the refrigerator door to steady myself. I am an aunt.
After a moment, I walk to the cereal aisle to tell my dad the news, but it’s empty. One by one, I check every aisle, then each corner of the store. I hurry over to the cashier woman.
“Have you seen my dad?” I ask. “Old guy. Wispy hair.”
“The oracle?” she says. “Yeah. He stepped outside a while ago.”
I drop the basket of groceries I’ve been lugging and run out the door. The asphalt is cooking in the noon sun, and I sprint to our car. It’s unlocked, but he is not inside. I dash past the gas pumps and then around to the back of the store, where there is nothing but a dumpster. I scan my surroundings. My dad has wandered off before, but usually stays within my line of sight. This time, he could be anywhere. Finally, I run back into Deb’s and inquire about him again.
“Haven’t seen him,” says the woman, finally showing a modicum of concern. “Not since before.”
Now I am starting to panic. Whichever way he went, he is now getting farther and farther from me. If he turned left, he is likely wandering in town. If he turned right, he could be in the woods or maybe even down by Locust Lake. And if he went straight, he might be in someone’s yard by now. I start to run one direction, then changemy mind and go the other. Finally, I realize I need to call for help so I can cover more ground, more quickly. Carl will know what to do, and I can always call Max. But as I fish around for my phone, I realize I must have left it in my grocery basket. I circle back and enter Deb’s one more time.
“Still no,” says the woman. I riffle through my discarded basket, find my phone, and start to call Carl. But then I notice a woman in the parking area, holding her keys and staring through her car window in confusion. I run out of the store toward her, and sure enough, my father is there in her passenger seat, calmly eating a stick of beef jerky that he must have stolen.
“Oh my god. I’m so sorry,” I say to her. She’s clearly a tourist and seems totally discombobulated.
“Is that the oracle?” she asks.
“He has dementia,” I explain, opening the door and startling him. “Dad! Dad, this isn’t our car.”
He looks at me as if he doesn’t believe me, then looks around at the interior of the vehicle.
“Come with me.” I help him out and lead him to our Subaru, where I buckle him in. But even after I crawl into the driver’s seat and start the engine, he still doesn’t seem convinced he is in the right car—or with the right person.
There is something off, and not in the usual way.
“Dad?” I say. “Arthur?”
But by now, his face looks slack, and I know something is wrong.
Chapter 47
A few hours later, a doctor confirms that my father had a TIA.
“A what?” I ask.
“A transient ischemic attack,” she explains, holding the MRI results to show me the area of his brain that was affected. “It’s sometimes referred to as a mini-stroke. The symptoms are similar, but it typically resolves on its own, as was the case here. But it can be a warning sign, so it’s good that you brought him in.”
My father is listening with as much concentration as he can muster, and he looks scared as he asks, “Is it cancer?”
The doctor shakes her head decisively. “No, Mr. Campbell. It’s not cancer.”
“Thank god,” says my father, relieved even though there was never any threat of cancer.
She continues, “It was a brief blockage of blood flow to your brain. But you should be fine. Your daughter is going to take good care of you.”
“My daughter?”
“That’s me,” I say. “I’m going to take good care of you.”
He looks comforted, and I hope that my own panic isn’t visible.
I decide to put our prophecy project on hold indefinitely. Even though my father is expected to recover, I don’t want him to spend his energy on the existential queries of strangers right now. We cancel all of ourremaining appointments through Labor Day, and although it’s the right decision, we both feel the void.
“Any visitors today?” my father asks every morning.
