Page 7 of Distant Shores
Like a moron.
I kept my movements loud and obvious as I closed the door and walked through the wide hallway. For safety reasons, there were no kitchens in the apartments, but there was a small table where residents could take their meals if they didn’t or couldn’t travel to the cafeteria. The coastal chic decor that’d previously decorated the space was gone, replaced with photos, art, and decorations from home. Throw pillows and blankets that didn’t smell like home anymore decorated the small couch.
The bedroom door was ajar, and I stepped toward it, pausing just outside of it to tackle my emotions to the vinyl floor before they could override me and trigger another senseless retreat.
The scene when I walked into the bedroom was basically the human equivalent of entering Miss Lenny’s home: haphazard and overwhelming, with some order if you looked closely enough, but no nudity.
My gaze drifted over the discarded paintings strewn across the floor, and I averted my gaze toward the ceiling in exasperation.
Well. Not zero nudity, it seemed. Justless.
Stepping over the erotic scenes, I waved again, back to being a moron. “Hi, there.”
Blue eyes met mine briefly from the corner of the room before Dad readjusted his position on the stool and turned his attention back to his easel, dismissing me.
I blew out a breath as I ran my gaze over him, looking for anything out of place.
His hands were smudged black, and there was a distinct charcoal mustache and beard on his face from hisown hands. His shoulder-length salt-and-pepper hair that was more salt these days was sticking up in all directions like he’d been electrocuted, but that was on par for Beck Sewell.
“Find any happiness today?” he finally asked, his gaze still focused on his work.
I relaxed, grasping the good sign with both hands.
“I did,” I answered with relative honesty, thinking of Miss Lenny’s dogs and an emergency-free class. “Did you?”
He tucked his piece of charcoal behind his ear, dotting a dark smudge on his temple as he did. “Good, good. Yes, but… my hills aren’t…” He swooped his hand in the air with a flourish. “Hilly enough, and I’m out of the good paint.”
Two raps on the apartment’s door punctuated a cheery, sing-song voice. “Knock, knock!”
Nurse Emily breezed in a moment later, tablet in one hand and a half-eaten apple in the other, her blonde hair held back by a black plastic hairband. “Oh, dear.” She swept her gaze over the mess but kept the dismay off her face. A courtesy that had been rare from any of the staff at the first facility I moved Dad into.
“Mr. Sewell. You’ve been busy since lunchtime,” she said as she glanced my way.
“I’ll clean it up,” I told her, keeping my voice low.
And I’d make a new daily alarm for the early afternoon. I made sure to be here twice per day already, once around breakfast and again near dinner, like I was now, but if this was going to be the new norm for him, I needed to do a third check-in.
I was glad Dad was coming back to life here at Live Oak, though, and it sure as hell was better than him staring at the wall for hours like he did when we firstmoved here, his usually vibrant blue eyes looking at nothing. Seeing nothing.
Nurse Emily nodded, but there was something else behind her calculating look as she made a note on her tablet that had my heart rate speeding up. Before I could try to assure her further, she stepped over the papers and walked to Dad’s side.
“How was your lunch, Mr. Sewell? Any requests for dinner?”
“Mr. Sewell was an asshole,” he said casually, then glanced at her with a small smile. “Call me Beck.”
She didn’t react to Dad’s language, used to it by now, as one of the regular nurses on this floor. “Yes, Mr. Beck,” she answered kindly.
He stood up from his stool and patted all over his body for several seconds before he found his glasses dangling from his crumpled linen shirt and put them on. Dad gave Emily his full attention then, his trademark swagger and charm coming out as he offered her a bright, genuine smile. “That’ll work.”
I liked Emily. I really did. However, when Dad found his charm for others but not for me, resentment reared its ugly head, no matter how much I tried to smother it alongside everything else.
It was hard to not feel like everyone was the enemy.
I eased back into the living room as she continued her check-in and turned my attention to tidying up the living room, but… there was nothing to do. Not a thing.
Everything wasexactlyas it had been when I’d left this morning.
The book I’d been reading last night was on the table by the couch, a miracle considering how boundary averse Dad was. It wasn’t uncommon for me to find a second bookmark added to my books or annotations in his chaoticscrawl, a combination of cursive and all caps. I walked over to the couch—my bed when I didn’t have a house-sitting job—and fussed with the two green throw pillows even though they were perfectly in place.
