“Thanks for checking up on him. I told Devin earlier this is untenable. He can’t be left alone.”
“He’s not infirm.”
“Is that what Mom said? It sounds like something she’d say. You don’t understand, Cece. People dad’s age, they can go into a steep decline without anyone to socialize with. It’s not a matter of supervising him, but he needs people around to keep him active, physically and mentally.”
Cece does her best to calm Wynonna down and assures her she’ll report back when she sees their father. The lights are on when she pulls into the driveway. Ringing the doorbell, she arches her aching back and bends down to touch her toes, sending lightning through her hips. After listening to Wynonna’s panicked voicemail, she’d rushed home to let the dog out before getting on the road. Barry wasn’t returning her calls, and Wynonna had quickly shifted into worst-case scenarios. Nothing from inside the house. Worry grips Cece. Maybe her sister is right.
After trying the doorbell again, Cece picks her way around the side of the house, the usually pristine landscaping looking shabbier than usual, hedges jutting into the pathway, grass tall and unruly between the bluestone pavers. From the backyard, an alien orange glow against the night sky. Cece nearly trips over herself as she runs under the rose-covered arbor to find her father standing, hands buried in sweatpants pockets, gazing into the blazing firepit.
“Cece? That you?”
“What are you doing, Dad?”
“Summer bonfire,” he says, like it’s the most commonsense thing in the world. “Remember how much you and Wynonna used to love these?”
“You haven’t been picking up your phone.”
He holds up his phone, light dancing off the screen. “No juice.”
“Wynonna was worried. I came down to check on you.”
“Tell your sister to stop worrying. I’m not geriatric just yet. Let’s go inside. You must be starving. Let me just put this fire out.”
Cece examines her father while they head indoors. He looks grungier than usual, hair unkempt, stains of all color and size on his pants. Does he have a musk? An odor? She wonders when he’s showered last. The kitchen appears to be relatively clean, a few dishes in the sink, crumbs on the island. Wynonna will be happy to know their father is doing just fine.
He opens the fridge and peers inside. “What do you wanna eat?”
Cece perches atop a stool. “Did you already eat dinner?”
“Hard to say,” Barry says, head buried in the fridge, his voice cavernous. “Can’t remember. We don’t have much. There’s yogurt if you want that.”
“When was the last time you went grocery shopping?”
Barry doesn’t say anything, distracted by the undecipherable date on a packet of cold cuts.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“When did you go to the supermarket last?”
Barry seems to weigh the risk versus reward and then puts the deli meat back and closes the fridge. “Your mom got some stuff before she left…I just remembered there are some frozen meals in the basement freezer.”
“What have you been eating for the last few days?”
“Your mother made a few things before she left, and those frozen meals have been getting me through. I ordered pizza last night. Had it delivered. Forty dollars for a whole pizza. Highway robbery.”
Cece’s alarm starts to grow. Perhaps Wynonna is right. Barry can’t be left to his own devices. “I’m not hungry, Dad. Don’t worry about it.”
“Let me just go down to the basement and see what’s in the freezer.”
While Barry plods down the rickety wooden stairs, Cece does some snooping in the refrigerator. Pizza isn’t the only thing Barry seems to have ordered. Chinese take-out boxes line the shelves. There’s a carton of expired milk and a few suspect-looking jars of olives. Cece calls her sister.
“It’s not terrible, but it’s not great either,” she says.
With Wynonna’s urging, Cece digs through the recycling bin in the pantry and uncovers a treasure trove of empty Campbell’s soup and deviled ham cans emitting a sweet metallic smell.
“It’s like a 1950s time capsule,” Cece whispers.
