With automatic movements, I drove toward home, her words filtering through my breaking heart.
Get him somewhere safe.
Her father must’ve threatened my dad, somehow. She was trying to save me, maybe, by sacrificing herself. By sacrificing us. But there had been defeat in Emery’s eyes, too. And terror. Her father had been making her doubt herself for years, withholding love and affection and only doling it out in little bits, just enough to keep her confused and hoping that one day he’d see her…
And now she’s giving up.
So lost in my thoughts, I almost didn’t see him until it was too late. I slammed on the brakes, narrowly avoiding hitting my father,who was wandering across the street in the wooden seclusion of the Bend.
“No,” I murmured in a cold sweat, my heart pounding. “Not again. Not now.”
My father had stopped to stare at nothing. Behind him, a dozen yards away, was our house. His beloved house that he’d refused to leave. It was in relatively good condition, I thought. Close to the bay, some developer might want it. To tear down and build something bigger.
Get him somewhere safe…
I got out of the car and gently helped my dad, still in his pajamas, into the passenger seat. “Where are we going?” he demanded, loud and suddenly angry.
“We’re going to Boston.”
“Why?” he asked, suspicious. Confused.
I didn’t answer, and in another minute, he forgot he asked.
***
It took an hour and a half to drive to Willow Glen Memory Care in Boston. My father spent the drive alternating between watching the scenery fly by and sleeping. Sometimes, he muttered to himself, and I wished with all my heart he’d talk to me about some complex theory, that he’d speak to me in the difficult language of physics, our native tongue. But by the time I helped him out of the car, I would’ve been happy if he’d just remembered my name.
At reception, I sat him down in a chair and brought him a cup of water, but his hands were trembling too much to hold it.
“Ah, yes, Xander. We spoke on the phone,” the woman behind the desk said. Her name tag readJoanne. “We have the room for him, but there was the matter of Medicare not covering the full annual residency fee.”
“I know, but I’ll have it. I have enough for one year, and I’ll make up the rest after that. I just need the time to sell our house.”
She looked at me sympathetically. “I’m sorry this is so rough for you. But he’ll have excellent care here.”
“Thank you.”
The intake process took hours, and by the time my father was situated in his room, twilight was falling. I sat at his bedside, surveying the space. It made me think of a dorm. Besides the bed, it had a TV, dresser, small table and chair, and an adjoining bathroom. It was neat and tidy and pastel, nothing like our dark, ramshackle—yet cozy—house. The drive had exhausted him, or maybe it was just the illness working to steal him away.
My father stared blankly at a TV show, then swiveled his head to me.
“What are you still doing here?”
“This is your first night. I don’t want you to be alone.” I swallowed hard. “I can’t leave you, Dad.”
“I’m leaving you.” He nodded, his eyes back on the TV. “It won’t be long now.”
“What do you mean?”
But he didn’t seem to hear me.
“I worry about him,” he said after a minute.
“Who?”
“My son, Xander. He wants to protect me. Or redeem my reputation. Pfft. He doesn’t know that I know, but I know.”
“What do you know?” I asked, barely daring to breathe. This was the most he’d spoken to me in weeks.
