Page 55 of Sugar Coated Lies
Daire follows me into the kitchen where I dig through my purse, making sure I have my coupons and wallet. “Does he sleep in the recliner?”
“Yes. He’ll pass out shortly. Don’t worry.”
“And if he doesn’t sleep?” Daire whispers, his face so close I can smell the sugar from the pie on his breath.
I force my gaze down to my purse, so I don’t focus on his lips. “He will. But you have my number if there’s a problem.”
He straightens, and I dare to stare up at his beautiful face. “Are you okay with this? I can get—”
“No, no.” He raises his hand, his gaze on the back of Grandpa’s chair. “I’m good.”
“Okay. Text me if you need anything. I’ll shop fast and thank you again. I really appreciate it.”
I speed on the way to the Walmart and shop just as quickly. I must look like a madwoman on a mission, but I don’t want Daire to stay longer than necessary. He’s done so much for me already.
On the way home, my phone rings.
It’s Daire. “Hello?”
“Miles is going berserk.” Panic sharpens his voice, and I can hear a commotion in the background. “I don’t know what to do. He’s irate, throwing his tray and knocking over a lamp. He keeps asking for Claire, and he doesn’t know who I am. I’m afraid he’s going to hurt himself with the way he’s behaving.”
Oh God. My worst nightmare has come true. “It’s okay. He's angry because he can’t remember things, and this happens. I’m almost there. Just clear a space if you can. I’m so sorry. I’ll be there in a second.”
“Hurry.”
I step on it, going as fast as this old Prius will allow. It takes the longest three minutes of my life to reach the house.
I leave the groceries and run inside.
Grandpa waves his cane at Daire, who stands in the kitchen, his hands raised in the air.
I do a quick survey of Grandpa and the house. He looks unharmed, and the mess isn’t any worse than Daire said on the phone. A broken lamp and the knocked over tray table. I’ve seen worse.
Daire notices me, his face in a state of shock.
“You can go. I’ll handle it from here. Thank you. I’m so sorry.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, determined, and steps back for me to do my thing.
I pull up Grandpa’s favorite song on my phone and play it loudly. The soothing ballad was Grandma’s favorite.
“Where’s Claire?” he shouts again and pauses when he hears the music. His stiff posture softens, and he lowers his cane. “Where is she?” he asks me, his tone calm.
I use the moment to get in front of him and speak to him the way I was trained. “Do you know who I am, Grandpa?”
“Everleigh.” He smiles fondly. A great start.
“Do you know where you are?”
He glances around. “Home.”
“Good.”
“Would you like some tea?”
“What kind?” He scratches his head, a little confused, which is expected.
“I have orange and Earl Grey. Would you like one of those?”
