Page 135 of Fraud
We kept a low profile as Liam and I traveled to the other side of the city. He’d assured me, there was nothing to worry about since he had been keeping tabs on the local precincts, but I was still skeptical.
After all, if he’d taken care of everything to begin with, he wouldn’t have been in this mess.
I hadn’t quite figured out what to do regarding my brother’s situation. I knew watching him leave the country, knowing he could never return, was not an option.
But letting him stay and become an inmate?
That didn’t seem plausible either.
My head pounded as our cab pulled up to my father’s nursing home.
I looked up at the brick building, one that I’d only seen in passing, and let out a sigh.
“I should have come sooner,” I said under my breath, handing the driver some cash.
“You’re here now. That’s all that matters,” my brother replied, patting my back as we made our way inside.
We checked in at the front counter, and I quickly scribbled my name down, conveniently leaving off my brother’s.
Liam led us down a long hallway and stopped in front of a door with the last name Turner printed on it. “This is a newer room for him,” he explained, motioning toward the small window in the door.
I took a quick glance and then turned away at the first sight of medical equipment.
“He used to have a room in the other wing when he was more self-sufficient, but about six months ago, they moved him here when his dementia worsened.”
“Worsened how?” I asked.
“He would get violent when he couldn’t remember things. He’d lash out at the nurses, calling them liars…begging for his wife.”
My jaw twitched, knowing I could have been here to help but wasn’t.
“Let’s go in,” I simply said.
“I think I’m going to give you a few minutes alone with him, if that’s okay?”
Nodding, I stepped inside, the smell of bleach and ointment creams instantly hitting my nose. I could hear the gentle wisp of a breathing machine as I walked up to the bed.
Sliding my hand along the sheets, I found my father sleeping, his arms folded gently around his abdomen. If I’d seen him on the street, I probably wouldn’t have recognized him. The once-dark-haired man I’d looked up to, the one with the round belly and strong arms, had shrunk down to a frail old man.
He looked well past his sixty years, and I knew his disease had taken most of everything from him.
But maybe I was to blame as well.
If only I’d been here, would he have been stronger?
Healthier?
More resilient?
I took the empty chair next to him, placing my hand on his cold one. It still felt the same but different. My own hand dwarfed his now, but I could see the scar on his right thumb from an old work injury.
Even in his frailty, he was still here.
Still my father.
I wasn’t sure what to do.Should I talk to him? Let him sleep?
But he made the decision himself, turning his head, and his groggy eyes opened, focusing on me.
