“Dave.He’s not here.”
“Oh.I think he got a call and then drove off a while ago.”
I looked at the clock on the fireplace mantel.It was just after lunch.
Where was he going when he knew I’d be coming over to help him go through some of Dad’s things?
As had become the norm, if anything personal of Dad’s needed to be sorted, it was always me who had to do it.Dave said he couldn’t bear to touch Dad’s things — that it brought back all the trauma of that night.And because I wasn’t here when it happened, I didn’t have any mental hang-ups about seeing him die.
Really?
Dave thought I’d be immune to feeling like shit boxing up our father’s things?
Seriously?
Just how fucking oblivious and self-absorbed was he?
Just because I wasn’t lashing out at the world didn’t mean I felt nothing.Every time I had to do it, I felt like crap — like I was violating Dad’s memory.Did either of them think about how much of a toll erasing Dad took on me?
Nope.
It felt like picking at a scab that had never completely healed.And here I was, having to do it yet again — while Dave was off playing hero to some flaky, manipulative damsel in distress.
Digging my mobile out of my jeans pocket, I brought up my contacts list, selected Mum’s number, and hit connect.
Only...there was no sound.I couldn’t hear it ringing.
Resigned to the fact that I was now going to be searching every room in the house, I headed upstairs.I’d start in Mum’s bedroom and work my way down.
She hadn’t opened the curtains.She hadn’t made the bed.Piles of clean clothes sat on top of the dresser, while dirty ones littered the floor.The room looked more like it belonged to a teenager than a middle-aged woman.
It was yet another sign of how the disease was affecting her.
Seeing a room that used to be neat and orderly descend into chaos — every surface covered in clutter and used tissues — I couldn’t stand to see her live like this.
The oppressive darkness made me feel suddenly claustrophobic.I ripped open the curtains and pushed the window wide.Then opened the nearest drawer and started putting clothes away.Once I finished that, I turned my attention to the dirty washing — gathering it up and putting it in the bathroom hamper.Then I set about filling a bag full of rubbish.
Each time I passed Dad’s side of the room — still with his clothes where he’d left them — I forced my mind to go blank.Slowly, I edged closer, picking up his fallen clothes and folding them.One day soon, I’d have to sort through them properly.Decide what to donate to charity and what to keep.
But for now, I’d set things back in order.
Pausing in front of Dad’s bedside table, I noticed his wristwatch on the floor.Stooping, I picked it up and looked it over.Its cool metal felt smooth against my fingertips.Dust motes danced in the weak sunlight slanting through the window, highlighting the scratches on its face.The faint, musty smell of old leather clung to the band.
I swallowed past the lump in my throat and sucked in a shuddering breath.Held it.Counted to five.Let it out.
Then I pulled open the nightstand’s top drawer, intending to slip the watch inside.
Only my hand froze in mid-air while my brain struggled to make sense of what my eyes were showing me.
WHAT.THE.ACTUAL.FUCKING.FUCK.
Unlike my bedside drawer, which was full of junk, Dad’s drawer only had five objects in it.Which made those items stand out all the more.
The longer I stared, the more my brain tried to reason that I was hallucinating.Because there was no way I was looking at a ten-inch, space-rocket-looking white dildo.
My brain immediately jumped into action, trying to rationalise why such a thing would be there.My first thought was that it was Mum’s — which was disturbing in and of itself.But why would her...ugh, sex toy be in Dad’s drawer?
No one wants to think about their parents’ sex life.And this new twist was pretty high on the ick scale.
