Author: Robyn Carr

“I didn’t know you drank martinis,” he said.

“I haven’t had too many in my life. I’m rethinking that. This has merits. I miss you.”

“I miss you. But you made it. You got him home.”

“And the second he got in the house, everything got better for him. He’s tired, that’s obvious, and he’s still a little wacky, but he isn’t as confused. You’re working late tonight?” she asked.

“I have to repay all those favors. The past few days everyone else has been staying late. Besides...” His voice trailed off. “So, what’s on for you tomorrow?”

“What were you about to say?” she urged.

He sighed. “Without you here, work fills up the time.”

“Don’t wear yourself out, Eric. I’m going to be back soon. Tomorrow, not too much is happening. We’ll settle in, go to Pax and Genevieve’s for dinner and to see the girls. The next day we have a doctor’s appointment and a counseling session with a specialist. And then it begins—tests and that sort of thing. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Laine...be good to yourself.”

“What will you do tonight?” she asked him.

“I’ll go home. I might use your computer for a while—looking for parts for the GTO. Maybe I’ll watch TV....”

He didn’t watch much TV. “Eric, don’t work too hard. Promise me you’ll give yourself some leisure time.”

“That’s easier when you’re around,” he said. “If I get a lot done, the days until you’re home will go faster.”

“I promise,” she said yet again. “I’m going to hang up before Pax comes downstairs.”

They signed off with endearments and Laine sat in the dimly lit study. When she was growing up, this room had been off-limits. This was where her father worked on patient charts, researched, called his patients to check on them, handled correspondence. Now, here she was, the caregiver of sorts. Sitting in his space, trying to unwind from a stressful day.

Pax returned to the study and went behind the bar to fix himself two fingers of Scotch. “You mellowed out?” he asked her.

“Um, yeah. Was he comfortable in his own room?”

“Seems to be,” Pax said. He sat down in the opposite chair and crossed a leg over his knee. “What about you? How are you doing?”

“I couldn’t be more screwed up if you stuck your fingers in my brain and stirred things around in there. All my life, since I was just little, I wanted my father to love me, to be proud of me, to approve of me. Then one day he tells me he’s always been proud of me, that he’s in awe of me but was too afraid to praise me because he wanted me to be less daring. All the while he was holding back his approval, I was trying harder and harder to earn it by taking more and more chances. He just wanted me to be cautious and stop scaring him. And he told me this right when he admitted he came to me for help.” She laughed. “So here I am. I finally have the father I always longed for. At quite a price.”

“You’re not an only child, you know,” he said.

“But you’re rational,” she said. “You’re not dealing with this conflict—Senior has always approved of you. You’re not still aching for a little of his affection. Not only that—you have a family and a big fellowship on your plate, and Genevieve says the doctor who’s taken you on is a real dick....”

Pax laughed. “I knew about that going in. He’s a brilliant dick. I wanted a nicer guy to work for but this one—he can teach me things no one else can. This situation with Senior can be managed, Laine. I can tell in fifteen minutes his disease isn’t advanced enough for an Alzheimer’s facility so we can check out home health care. Genevieve has already collected names—we can get right on it. I don’t want you tied to this problem forever. Now, tell me something—this man of yours, Eric, is he having a problem with this arrangement? You coming to Boston?”

“He’s been incredibly supportive. It’s all fake, but I’ll take it. He hated seeing me leave—I’m an expert at reading people, remember. He wants me to come back as soon as possible. And I want to go home. And I also want this one chance with my father before it’s too late. I make no sense.”

Pax leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees, his drink in one hand. “It’s always been like this with you. All or nothing. You don’t fall in love till you’re practically over the hill and when you do, bam! You’re all in. You hate your father most of your life because he can be such an insensitive jerk and now that he needs you, you’re ready to dedicate your life to him. Laine, this isn’t forever. Let’s get this under control so you can have your life back.”

He was so right, she thought. She had such a hard time thinking one step at a time. She wasn’t sure how to do this. But all she said was “I feel like I just found my father. How can I leave him?”

“Let’s handle this with a goal that everyone gets what they need. Even you.”

* * *

There was no question, Senior did so much better in his own home. He had fewer periods of confusion and his forgetfulness went unnoticed with Laine there to keep his schedule. There was, however, an aspect of his disease that would not have been noticed by his children, his housekeeper or his business partner. When Laine got into his financial records, she found he’d been making crazy stock purchases in large sums and had a few deeds for property he couldn’t identify. He had a room full of Civil War memorabilia, most of it still in boxes. He had been buying up commemorative gold coins—they might still be worth something if they were really gold. Fortunately Laine was a detective—she managed to find the plots of land and property deals and had the coins appraised, but was stuck with the Civil War stuff. Not surprisingly, Senior had been scammed a few times. Poor judgment was a major symptom and one that can go undetected if the patient isn’t being closely observed.

It was something no one would have been aware was happening. Senior had always been too cynical for this sort of thing and he had been brilliant with his money. He was also very lucky, as it turned out. While he’d been fleeced out of a lot of money, he had plenty left. The bulk of his money was in accounts being managed by a financial adviser with a large and reputable holding company. Laine got to work on powers of attorney to take over his finances, an argument that lasted three days and rendered Senior quite stormy.

After examinations, CT scans, blood work and counseling sessions it was confirmed by specialists that Senior might have struggled with symptoms of his disease for several years, hardly noticeable symptoms that he had somehow managed to bluff his way out of, but within the past few months his mental acuity had deteriorated drastically. Laine learned that his partners and the staff at the practice had been concerned for some time, but where they fell short was in talking to Senior rather than to Pax. He had not voluntarily reduced his schedule, his partners had insisted and urged him to get a physical. But Senior being Senior had avoided the reality for too long.

They got a couple of home health-care workers installed. They could only find part-time help, but at least Laine could get out of the house now and then while she continued looking for more help. She at least needed time off duty. And then the inevitable happened—he followed in his mother’s footsteps and wandered off. He walked out of the house and it took hours to find him.

“Now I’m having the security system updated so bells and whistles go off when a door is opened,” she told Eric.

“Wouldn’t that happen anyway?” he asked.

“It seems the system hasn’t been worked on in years and some of the connectors are faulty. And the old boy is slippery as an eel! I’m also insisting he wear a bracelet with a GPS chip in it! And believe me—he’s not always cooperative!”

By the end of the first week, Laine had one of her hired babysitters removed and replaced by a different one. She caught the young man rifling through Senior’s papers in the study. He said he was just fetching a bank statement for Senior, but he was so nervous she didn’t buy it for a second. That Senior had no recollection of asking for it didn’t mean much, but still... This put a pall on the idea that she could eventually be replaced by hired help.

Mrs. Mulligrew, the housekeeper, was now coming to the house every day, though she had to hire additional help for the big cleaning jobs. Mrs. Mulligrew wasn’t old but she wasn’t exactly young. She was hearty and healthy at sixty and her job was to keep Senior’s most used areas in check and cook meals. When bigger cleaning jobs were needed, she brought family members to help. In the past she’d spend one afternoon cooking every week, setting up a few meals for him, refrigerating or freezing them. Now she was providing seven lunches and dinners every week and the home health-care provider was supposed to take care of his breakfast, a simple task since it involved cereal, toast and fruit.

But from four o’clock on, Laine was on her own.

Through some periods of confusion and forgetfulness, she and her father managed many conversations. She was sentimentally drawn in, grateful for this time, yet grieving this time away from Eric.

“Is he doing any better?” Eric asked.

“Better? God, no! He seems to slip a little more every day. When I bring up the subject of assisted living in a specialized facility, he cries. This is so shocking—I’ve only seen my father get emotional once, when my mother died, and that was brief. Now he cries at the drop of a hat. I’ve been secretly looking at some assisted-living places and you know what? I wouldn’t want to live in one, either.”

“This keeps getting more complicated,” Eric said.

“I wish I was there with you. Or you here with me.”

“Do you have any idea when you might be back?” he asked. In fact, he asked almost every day.

“I was hoping a couple of weeks would do the trick, that I’d get him settled and feel comfortable leaving him. Obviously that’s not going to happen. But, Eric, I’m trying, you have to believe me. I just can’t leave him unless I’m sure he’s safe.”

So Eric stopped asking.

Eighteen

Laine called or texted Eric several times a day and he did the same. Pictures passed between them—Laine sent pictures of her nieces, her father, the whole family, even the family manse from the outside, complete with manicured landscaping and long, bricked drive. To which Eric texted back, Holy shit! You grew up in that thing?

Eric’s texts and pictures were not quite as impressive. At least he didn’t think so. He had looked forward to taking Laine to his sister’s house in Bend for a family gathering, to introduce her to his family. Ashley had to work so he went alone. He texted a picture of his parents that, if there had been a pitchfork, could have been American Gothic. The picture of his sister and brother-in-law was a bit more friendly-looking. He had a niece and nephew, both nearly as old as he was since there was twenty years between himself and his sister, so the gathering was fairly large, but it was missing his girls.

He stayed very busy. He worked almost every shift while managing to give Justin a full-time work schedule, as well. The next set of pictures he sent were of Ashley and her boyfriend, Frank, on senior prom night. She almost brought tears to his eyes, she was so beautiful. Gina and Mac gave them and Mac’s daughter, Eve, and her date, Landon, a very nice send-off. Then there was an after-prom party at Cooper’s bar, which was closed to the general public and kept open for the kids.

Too soon, they were celebrating the high school graduation. The party was held at the McCains’ and of course he was included. Between the ceremony and the party, he managed to text Laine a couple of dozen pictures. These town kids had done so well for themselves—made their parents darn proud. Eve and Ashley would be commuting to community college together, but Frank was going to George Washington University on a full academic scholarship and Landon was going full ride to the University of Oregon and would play football for them. So, the boyfriends were leaving and the girlfriends were planning to catch up after the first year.