Page 84 of Smoke and Fire
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.
Dad had never implied any burden to me, but I’d seen the wear that Inessa and I had on him over the years. Women he dated had disappeared, seemingly without explanation. One had been upfront enough to say she didn’t want kids with special needs.
No one wanted to sign up forus. Except him.
He’d always stayed when everyone else left. Nowhewas gone. Where he went, I could never go.
Bernice said something to Dad in a quiet tone. He didn’t respond. She held onto his left arm while his right hand patted his pants pocket. Searching for his keys, probably. Dad looked up right then and his gaze slammed into mine. I sucked in a sharp breath. Dahlia tightened her hold on me.
Dad blinked. For half a breath, I thought I saw something there. Then his unseeing gaze dropped to Dahlia. He regarded her curiously through the window, then smiled at her. The toothy grin gave him a comical expression before he muttered something and turned around. He tried to shuffle off on his own but stumbled, unable to stand in his own power. Bernice caught him, put an arm around his back, and turned him toward his room.
I watched him retreat until he was gone. An empty feeling riddled my chest. My soul, a restless chasm with a father-sized hole punched through it. My breath left all at once and I tilted like I'd been on a tilt-o-whirl. Dahlia tightened her hold on me.
“That,” I murmured darkly, “is usually as far as we get."
"This is hard, Bastian."
I turned away. "Come on. Let’s go do something less soul-sucking. I’m starving and food always make me happy. I know a great Armenian place.”
She said nothing to my quick retreat. This time, I didn't hang around to wait for an update from Bernice. I had to get out of there.
Two minutes later, I cranked the truck back to life. It roared awake, then purred. I blinked, attempting to banish the cobwebs of thought and focus on what came next.
What did I need to do?
What came next?
Try as I might, my thoughts wouldn’t shuttle back together. Instead, they hovered around Inessa and Dad and fires and control and Jess and money and maintaining everything for everyoneand the pressure it left on my chest tightened, tightened, tightened until . . .
A warm body slid next to mine.
Dahlia sat right next to me in the truck, her arm looped through mine. She rested her head on my shoulder.
"I'm here," she said. "You're not alone this time."
She’d shocked me right out of the anxiety dive. Her grip on my arm tightened in a friendly squeeze. Not sure of what to do—or where to touch—I lowered my hand to the most natural spot. It stopped on her thigh.
For a long time we sat there. She looked ahead. I stared at the steering wheel. Eventually, she broke the quiet.
