Page 96 of Here & There

“Of course. I’ll be back next week.”

We make arrangements, and just like that, Shelby’s gone.

The next morning, the clouds are heavy and gray, rain threatening as I get into my truck. I check my phone—no texts from Shelby, of course. Plenty from Lana yesterday telling me I’m a damn fool. One more this morning for good measure.

I leave a note for Nate, then head to the Redbeard Care Home down at the other end of town. The rain starts pinging on the windshield just as I pull into the parking lot, and I have to hold my coat over my head as I dash across to the main entrance.

“Nice surprise to see you here today, Mac,” the receptionist says as I pass through the automatic doors. Michelle Yee is a middle-aged woman who still maintains her Singaporean accent even though she moved to Redbeard Cove over twenty years ago with her daughter. I normally love hearing her speak.

But today I just say, “Is he up for a visit?”

“I’ll check.” Michelle’s black bob, threaded with gray, swings as she leans for the phone to call my dad down.

“Actually, if it’s okay, I’d like to see him in his room today.”

She frowns, her hand over the receiver. “He needs the exercise, Mac.”

“I’ll take him for a walk, then.”

“In the rain?”

“Please, Michelle.”

She must see the pain in my face, because she nods. “You’re lucky. He’s having a good day.”

I was counting on it. I pray that hasn’t changed since she saw him last.

Luckily he picks up, and apparently he’s okay with staying upstairs, because she gives a nod.

When I get to Dad’s floor, he’s standing out in the hallway, hands in the pockets of his slacks, his cardigan buttoned neatly.

“Alasdair.” He smiles wide. “So kind of you to come by.”

You’d think my dad would be a grump like me. But it was Mom who was the reserved one. Dad was always a beacon of positivity. He greets me like this every time, and it’s exactly why I came by here. I needed to hear that. I needed someone to welcome me in with no pretense, no awkwardness, no hidden feelings bubbling under the surface they show me.

“Hey, Dad.” I hesitate, then step in and envelop him in a bear hug.

“Oh!” he says, surprised. At one time, Dad was nearly the same height as me. Now his voice is muffled in my shoulder.

He’s so skinny against me, his spine knobby under my palm. But he still looks healthier than half the residents in the home I passed on my way through the lobby. He’s got a full head of silver and white hair, which he calls “salt ’n’ rocks,” and his skin is ruddy even in the winter thanks to his formative years on boats. He’s sprightly too. Looking at him today, you’d wonderwhy he’s in this assisted living facility at all. On his bad days, you’d know. His dementia’s the reason he’s here. I didn’t want to wait until he burned our family home down. That, and it was just him in that big house. Once he retired, he spent more time with ghosts than with his friends unless I came over and dragged him out.

“What’s wrong, Alasdair?” Dad asks when I finally let him go.

“How do you know something’s wrong?”

“You don’t usually manhandle me until the end of our visits.”

I chew my cheek and don’t say anything until we’re settled in the living room. Dad heaves himself in his favorite armchair with a grunt, and I lower myself onto the edge of his sofa.

I tap my fingers on the armrest.

“Coffee?” Dad asks.

I shake my head.

“Cookies?”

“No thank you.”

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