Page 11 of Crazy for You
Nan was super caring and treated me like I was her daughter. She didn’t have any kids. When Dad had interviewed her, she’d told us her patients were her children. Then she’d laughed.
I didn’t doubt it. She had her hands full with Dad. I helped any chance I could. There were some hygiene tasks that Dad refused to let me do. Still, the lift system over Dad’s bed had been the best thing ever. Nan raved about it every time she got Dad ready in the mornings.
“Just a tad. Nan, please don’t tell Dad.”
She gently placed the bandage on. “He’s going to notice.”
She was right. Dad had a keen eye for everything. I made a mental note to swap out the large bandage for a small one before I went in to see him. “I don’t want him to stress.”
“Skye, he worries about you regardless.”
“I know. I hate to add one more thing to his plate. Any new developments with Dad?” It seemed like ALS sapped his physical abilities further and further every day.
“He’s just sleeping a lot more,” she whispered as if trying to keep her emotions tucked away.
“You care for him?” It wasn’t really a question. It wasn’t hard to see that Nan had developed feelings for Dad, and in part for me too.
She gave me a sad smile. “He’s a wonderful man. I wish I would’ve known him before his ALS.”
I grumbled. “ALS sucks the big one. Why can’t they find a cure?” It was a rhetorical question. According to Dad’s neurologist, the medical industry was studying and trialing different drugs. However, expecting a miracle was a tall order. For the time being, Dad was on special meds to slow the progression, which in my book wasn’t doing crap. His journey with ALS was on a bullet train, even with medication.
“Maybe one day they will,” she said.
I didn’t want to be Debbie Downer, but I knew they wouldn’t in Dad’s lifetime. The average life span for a person with ALS was three to five years. But every person’s journey was different. Case in point: Lou Gehrig barely made it to his second year, and others I’d read about died sooner than that.
Nan rubbed my arm. “I’m here for you, Skye.”
My eyes began to fill with angry tears. I didn’t think I could cry anymore. I’d bawled endlessly when Dad first told me he had ALS, and I hadn’t really stopped. Each day was a challenge to stay positive and not get so raging mad or depressed.
“What do you always say to your dad? No-Crying Monday or whatever day it is.” Her voice was light.
Excessive laughing and crying were symptoms of Bulbar ALS, which Dad had in spades. Hence, my mantra of No-Crying Monday. I laughed weakly as the tears flowed. “I hope at least he gets to see me graduate.”
Silence dangled.
I blew out a breath. “I ran into a guy today.” It was time to change the subject.
“Oh? Tell me about him.”
I wiped my nose with my hand as I straightened. “He’s”—I didn’t quite know how to describe Colton without sounding like I was in love already—“off-the-charts hot.”
Her pink lips split into a smile. “Does this boy have a name?”
Tingles broke out along my arms as I thought of him. “Colton.”
One thick eyebrow lifted. “You mean Bonnie’s son?”
My mouth fell open a tad. “You know him?”
“He stopped by this morning.”
Oh, yeah. Colton had mentioned that. “Why?”
“Bonnie made your dad her famous peach cobbler. He dropped it off. But you’re right. He’s handsome. Not many boys have shoulder-length hair.”
“Well, he’s got girls at his feet. So…”
Her head tipped to the side. “You weren’t about to say you’re not pretty enough, I hope.”
