Page 83 of Smoke and Fire
“I need to.”
He put the truck into reverse, but didn’t say where we were going. Nor did I miss that he saidneedinstead ofwantin his response. Did he dread seeing his father? He certainly showed no excitement.
I clicked my seat belt on and watched the mountain world fly by. The hills had been scorched by the sun, turning once-green hillsides into crispy brown. Bikers, tourists, and hikers ducked under shade where they could find it, wearing wide-brim hats and sunglasses to shield themselves from the hot glare.
In between mountain peaks, glimpses of the building smoke plume were apparent. Not as close here, but still alive.
Several minutes later, we pulled into a parking lot. The moment the truck sputtered to a stop, Bastian slipped outside.
My gaze stopped on the sign ahead of us.
Memory Care Services.
22
BASTIAN
If I didn’t get out of the truck, I’d never go inside.
It’s why I banked on the inertia of the moving vehicle to propel me out of the driver’s seat almost the same second we stopped.
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.
