“Did you pinch Mrs. Macuja?”
He stared at them blankly but not before the briefest look of cunning passed over his face. “Why would I do that?”
“Because I clean up the puzzle on coffee table.” Mrs. Macuja gave Cassie an accusing look. “You don’t tell me to leave it.”
“Oh.” She groaned. “That damn puzzle.”
Mrs. Macuja drew herself up. “He old but that not right.”
“No, no of course it’s not…I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again. I promise.” Her father hadpinchedMrs. Macuja. And notjust anywhere, he’d put his hand up her skirt like a sleazy old pervert. “He’s not usually like this. The puzzle got him upset. I mean, that’s no excuse, but he’s never done this before.” She looked at her dad, who was still absorbed in the TV even without the sound. “Dad,” she said severely, “you need to apologize.”
Her father looked at them benignly.
Mrs. Macuja crossed her arms. “I already ask him.”
“You did? What did he say?” Cassie felt like she’d swallowed a prune, pit and all.
“He say he don’t do it.”
“Dad.” Cassie took a fortifying breath. “This isnotokay. If you’re upset you need to say something. You can’t go around pinching people.” The puzzle pieces that had been scattered on the coffee table were all now neatly stowed in the box, which was sitting on a stack of magazines. “How was Mrs. Macuja supposed to know you were working on it?”
Her dad looked mildly at Mrs. Macuja, who glowered at him and then Andrew, who’d crept to the doorway, looking horrified.
Her dad gazed at the rest of them serenely. “I didn’t pinch her.”
“He lying!” Mrs. Macuja rounded on Cassie. “You don’t believe me?”
Cassie looked between her father and Mrs. Macuja, who was practically shaking she was so mad. “I believe you,” she said quietly. Her dad—meticulous lawyer, devoted husband, opinionated but never malicious—had pinched a woman in a very private place because she aggravated him. And then denied it.
In his former life, he would have been aghast.
“I can’t work here,” Mrs. Macuja said.
Cassie dropped her voice. “He’s old, he’s got dementia. He doesn’t realize what he did.” She doubted this last part was true. She’d seen that sneaky look and so had Mrs. Macuja.
Mrs. Macuja narrowed her eyes. “He know what he do.”
Cassie’s shoulders slumped. Her father definitely knew. Whether he believed it to be wrong was another story. In his mixed-up mind, maybe a pinch was justified. “Is there anything I can do to get you to reconsider?” she asked without much hope. She didn’t blame Mrs. Macuja. In some ways it would be easier if her dad needed to be bathed or have his food cut up. Depressing yes, but this in-between stage, where his inhibitions had skipped off along with his judgment—she had no idea what to do about this.
“I don’t change my mind.” Mrs. Macuja collected her purse and sweater from the kitchen. She cast a final glance at Cassie’s dad, who’d put his headphones back on and resumed watching his show. “I have to tell agency why I quit,” she said.
“Of course. I understand.” She paid Mrs. Macuja for the rest of the week and saw her out, her stomach puckered with anxiety. The agency might file a sexual assault complaint. Social Services could get involved. This could be an utter nightmare.
In the family room, her dad had switched from CNN to MSNBC. “Is that woman gone?” he said when Cassie entered the room. With the headphones on, his voice was overly loud.
Cassie sank onto the couch. Her meeting was in ten minutes. She’d done absolutely nothing to prepare. Sometimes it felt like this was her full-time job and being a lawyer was incidental. “Yes, she’s gone,” she said wearily.
Her dad nodded and went back to the news, which was airing a business segment about electric cars. Who knew how much of it he actually followed.
She thought of Chuck Weber, who’d called again and left a message. She hadn’t called back, but his offer rolled around in her head. A very big number that might even get through to her dad. He said he didn’t want to sell, but what was the alternative? After this pinching incident they might be unable to find anothercaregiver and eventually her dad would need help at night too. He might stumble out of bed and forget where he was. Fall down the stairs. It happened to old people all the time. And the house needed work. Just the other day she’d noticed a woodpecker drilling near an upstairs window. Wasn’t that a sign of rot? It was only a matter of time before something major, like the furnace, went. Who was going to handle that?
No, staying in the house was not a long-term solution. There was only one thing to do. And the time to do it was now when they had an offer on the table.
...
She arranged for Chuck Weber to come over at ten o’clock Wednesday morning. After her dad had relaxed over breakfast and the paper but before he started dozing in front of the TV. A short window of time when he was most lucid. Andrew had convinced him to start over on the dinosaur puzzle and they’d been working on it together, but Wednesday morning Andrew would not be around. He had his appointment with Dr. Milburn that day.
Weber arrived promptly at ten, which Cassie took as a good sign. Punctual people tended to be direct and to the point. That was what this conversation needed to be—pleasant and unemotional. A simple business proposition. She took a breath as she opened the door. Who was she kidding? Selling the house was the right thing to do—Shelly was on board too—but her stomach was still tied in knots. As ambivalent as she always felt about coming home, seeing the house torn down would be wrenching. Her mother still lived in every one of its rooms.
