“It’s like a three.”
Which is true.
The pill I took before we started driving helped to bring things down.
Riley scrutinizes my face and I allow her to do so without comment. She must believe me because she lets out a sigh and touches my arm.
“I was so worried about you, Nat. If the pain gets worse, youhaveto tell me, okay?”
My response is to smile tightly.
“Thank you for telling me the truth.”
My insides twist with guilt.
“I knew something was wrong the night of our airport date, but I didn’t know how to bring it up.” She groans. “Why are honest conversations so hard to have?”
“Being honest is difficult sometimes,” I say, thinking of my omissions.
Riley chews on her bottom lip. “On that note, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. It’s silly, really. You’re going to laugh about it… I think.”
Intrigued, I take my attention off the road when, suddenly, a man streaks in front of me.
I slam on the brakes.
Riley flops forward violently and I shoot an arm out to keep her from snapping her forehead against the dashboard.
“What was that?” Riles screeches.
“There was a man! Look!” I point at the windshield.
A naked, old man is sprinting through the gates of the Happy Go Lucky Nursing Home. Two male nurses and one female nurse chase behind him. They wrestle the old man into a coat and escort him back inside.
I let out a stunned breath.
“That’s intense,” Riley muses.
Letting the car roll forward again, I ask, “Is your mentor’s state that, um,” I search for a polite phrase, “far gone?”
“No, not to that extent. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell that she’s sick. She can recall in startling detail how to re-wire an engine, but she won’t remember what she had for breakfast yesterday or what she did last week.”
I nod, taking in that information.
Riley pushes her hair out of her face.
“So,” I clear my throat, “what did you want to tell me?”
“Later,” she says. “It’s not that important.”
I accept her words and find a parking spot.
When we walk inside the lobby, I’m surprised by how luxurious and modern the nursing home is.
“Betty took me with her to different assisted living facilities,” Riley explains as we walk down a tiled hallway. Her steps are sure and propel her forward in commanding strides. “This one had the best reviews, the best service, and the best living quarters.”
“And the best price?”
“Best is relative, but Betty was able to stretch her savings to cover it.”
