Page 196 of Smoke and Fire
The moment I thought about what I had to do next would be the moment I chickened out. Dahlia asked no questions. She joined me outside almost as quickly as I’d moved. With her there, I found my courage.
But was this fair?
I’d never brought someone with me to see Dad before. Not Grady. Not Hernandez. Not even Vik. The Merry Idiots knew about Dad’s situation, but I’d drawn a silent line and they didn’t cross it. They asked, they didn’t follow. That suited me just fine.
With Dahlia, it was different.
I didn’t know why.
We moved inside without a word. I said the right things, spoke to the right people. Without needing an escort, I walked the same path I’d trod countless times before. Daily, when the fires didn't sweep me away.
What felt like mere moments later, we stood outside a set of locked double doors. I peered through the windows to see a calm scene inside.
That spot is where my momentum stopped.
Dahlia waited to my right, a step behind me. My heart crashed like drums in the quiet of this place. Not many people came here, which is why we stood in the middle of locked, swinging doors without fear of getting hit should they open.
I waited.
Every now and then, someone would shuffle by. A nurse going into a room. Another patient making their shaky way across the tiled hall. Somewhere in the distance came a shout, and then silence. I swallowed hard, waiting.
Dahlia must wonder what I was doing. Did she think I’d lost my mind? She had to know I didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to see him like this again. Surely, I owed her some sort of explanation.
I swallowed, my throat bobbing. “He gets agitated when he sees me.”
Dahlia’s regular breath paused.
“Your Dad?”
I hesitated, then kept going with a nod.
“He doesn’t remember me. At least, not that we can discern. For the last six months, whenever he would talk to me, there has been no recognition. Eventually, I stopped trying. I’d act like a stranger instead. A guy that just came around to visit and saw him there. He’d tell me stories . . .”
Emotion lumped in my throat, sitting like a rock. Normally, I could swallow around it. This time, I couldn’t.
Dad moved into sight right then, a nurse at his side. They stepped out of his room and headed toward us. Tremors shook his dark hands. His once thick hair had faded slightly. The tall frame, lean and too thin now, stooped at the shoulders. Still, there was a handsome, familiar man under the layers of confusion in his gaze.
A warm hand linked through mine.
Dahlia tucked herself against my side, her body pressed close. She felt warm, and soft, and a gentle hint of coffee rose up from her hair. I wrapped my arm around her, pulling her closer. She held me up when I wanted to fall.
In a broken voice I said, “That’s him.”
Dad shuffled slowly with the nurse, his head bent toward her as if they were talking. I could just make out his wrinkled expression.
“He’s probably telling her that he can’t find his wallet,” I continued. “That’s mostly what he thinks about now. When I come, the receptionist calls the nursing station here and lets them know. They have him walk down here so I can see him, but I don’t go in anymore. He agitates and tires himself out. It’s too hard for him. ”
“And for you?” she asked quietly.
I nodded.
Dad approached with the nurse at his side, chattering warmly to him. His hair had thinned out on top. They didn’t always shave him on the days when he was more upset, so white curls stuck out against his skin. He didn’t look up to see me at first. The nurse glanced at me through the glass, smiled, and I recognized her as Bernice, a woman that had been caring for him since he arrived.
“He seems like a good man,” Dahlia said as she studied him.
I nodded.
Despite a difference in our race, I’d always seen myself as an echo of my adopted father. A strong, virile, healthy one. The version of Dad without all the additives of family and kids to care for. The version that he’d always wanted to live—or so I’d assumed. Carefree. Unrestrained by grief or children with medical issues or needs.
