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“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go have dinner.”

The mention of it made my stomach shift again. Lock must have seen something in my eyes.

“Mina? You don’t look well.”

“It’s just been a long day.”

“Are you nauseous?”

An innocent question under normal circumstances. But with what we’d gone through, it was loaded.

“Lock.”

“Mina… you were supposed to test four days ago. You haven’t started. I know that much.”

Then Lock moved with purpose. He took my hand again and led me into the bathroom. He opened “The Drawer” and pulled out a long, thin paper package and handed it to me.

“I’ll wait outside,” he said, knowing better than to smile. He left me and closed the bathroom door. I stared at that white and purple stick. Closing my eyes, I said a silent prayer. Then, I pulled off the purple cap and took that test for at least the fiftieth time. Not knowing if I wanted the same answer anymore.

NINE

CORRINE

“Honey, he’s good today.”

I felt my shoulders drop, not realizing how tense I’d been when I walked into the Paradise Hill care facility.

Char Davies had been an angel, helping me navigate Dad’s care over the last three years. I moved him from a far worse facility, but the transition wasn’t smooth. Some days, he didn’t know who I was.

“I’m sorry I missed last week. Things have been a little hectic at the bar.”

Char put a light hand on my arm. She had a kind face. Wore far too much eye makeup and loved her animal prints. Today, she wore a zebra-striped skirt with a red top. “Don’t beat yourself up. We’re taking good care of him. His occupational therapist brought him out to the courtyard. He likes to feed the ducks. I told him you were on your way.”

“Thank you. It’s so warm today. He needs some vitamin D.”

“Exactly,” Char said. “You have a nice visit. Just come find me when you’re done. There was something I wanted to run past you. I tried to call your sister, Sylvie, but she hasn’t called back yet.”

“It’s hard for her,” I said. It felt like a lie. “She’s always running in three directions for her kids.”

“Of course,” Char said. She guided me through the double doors leading to the courtyard. I could see Dad from here, sitting on a bench. James, his occupational therapist, handed him a piece of bread and helped him tear it into smaller chunks. A fat male mallard waddled up and snatched the morsel right out of my father’s shaky hand. Dad barked something in German and the duck backed off.

James caught my eye. He said something to Dad and made his exit. I sat next to my father on the bench as he threw more bread to the greedy flock.

“Not supposed to feed ’em anything but kale or some such,” he said. “Who likes kale?”

“I never did,” I said. Dad threw another piece of bread and turned to me. He smiled, but I could see no recognition in his eyes.

He was healthy. A big man, six feet. A former firefighter. When I was little, he would hoist me on his shoulders to watch the holiday parade downtown. I felt like I could reach the sky.

He was still physically formidable. In some ways, that had made things so much harder. He’d lived with Alzheimer’s for ten years. He could easily live another twenty as I lost him bit by bit in every other way.

“I was wondering when you’d get here,” he said.

“I’m sorry. Work was busy.”

He gave me a sideways glance. “Good joke, Teresa. You’ve been out shopping. Did you at least stop at the gas station? This lawn needs cutting and my gas cans are empty. I put them right behind your car. You probably backed over them.”

Teresa. He did this often now, thinking I was my mother. She’d been dead for six years after having a stroke on my twenty-first birthday. I swear, sometimes I think she did that on purpose. Teresa Egan had been a world-class narcissist.