He didn’t say anything, but she saw a flicker on his face. Libby pulled up a chair so she could sit next to him.
“I went looking for Dylan this morning. He wasn’t at home but his dad said he’s been missing since last night.”
“Where is Dylan?” Frank was still staring at the TV, but she could see him trying to battle through the painkiller fug.
“I don’t know, but I’m going to try and find him.” Libby swallowed. “Did Dylan ever mention a girlfriend to you?”
Frank blinked slowly.
“His dad said he might have gone to stay with her.”
Frank lifted his right hand up to rub his face, and then looked confused when he felt the bandage. He stared at his hand.
“You hurt your hand this morning,” Libby said. “Apparently you were making breakfast and you burned it on the grill. I’m so sorry. I feel responsible.”
“It’s your fault?”
“You told me on the phone that you could smell something. I should have realized what was going on and come up here.”
Frank’s brow furrowed. “It’s your fault.”
“I really am sorry, Frank. But Clara said your hand will heal.”
He turned his head and looked at Libby as if noticing her for the first time. “It’s your fault about Dylan.”
“What do you mean?”
“He should have been here today... for my assessment. But because of you he missed it and I burned myself.”
“I’m not sure that’s strictly true. I mean, wherever Dylan is, I don’t think—”
“You broke his heart,” Frank interrupted. “He was so sad and now he’s gone.”
“He’s not gone, Frank. I don’t know where he is, but I’m sure he’ll be back.”
“He won’t.” There was a tremble in Frank’s voice. “You scared him off. And because of you, I missed my assessment and they’re going to lock me up in prison.”
“Oh, Frank, it’s a care home, not prison. And I really don’t think Dylan missed today because of me.”
“He did!” Frank slammed his hand on the arm of the chair and then gasped in pain. “It’s your fault.”
“What on earth’s going on in here?” Clara came in through the door. “Dad, what’s wrong?”
“Get her out!”
Clara glared at Libby. “I told you not to upset him.”
“I’m sorry. He started blaming me for what happened today.”
“Dad, it’s not Libby’s fault you burned your hand,” Clara said. “You know you shouldn’t have been using the grill in the first place. I’ve told you that dozens of times.”
“Just get her out,” Frank growled. “Now!”
Clara looked at Libby. “I think you need to go.”
“Okay.” Libby’s voice wobbled and she stood up and startedmoving toward the door. “I’m so sorry, Frank. I’ll see you soon.”
“No!”
