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“No, we’re not talking about anything,” I said, feeling as if they’d caught us making plans to run away together.

Michael and I stood up, and Helen shook both Charlotte and Michael’s hands. “It was nice meeting you both.” Helen said. “Don’t hesitate to contact me if you need anything.”

Michael took his mother’s arm. “Ready to go?” he asked.

“I was ready an hour ago,” Charlotte said impatiently.

Michael said goodbye to me and led Charlotte away. After they were gone, I went to Dad’s room to see if he was back. He was alone sitting in his club chair, staring off in the distance with a frown on his face.

His white polo was wrinkled, and there was a piece of cheesecake hanging from a fold above his stomach. It took everything in my power not to grab the crumb and fling it in the trash, but I didn’t want to embarrass him. When Dad was a prosecutor, criminals were afraid of him. He was a fast thinker and an even faster talker, and he put a lot of people away for a long time. Now he was doing nothing.

“Hi, honey. I wondered if you’d come by to see me today,” he said.

If he didn’t remember seeing me twenty-five minutes ago, there was no way he was going to remember meeting Michael. “I love seeing you. How are you doing?” I asked.

“I don’t think I’m getting better. I’m afraid I’ll never get to go home again. And I’m so lonely here. No one ever comes to visit me. I wish I could go to sleep and never wake up.” Tears began to fall onto his cheeks, and he rounded his back and looked down toward his lap.

I’d never seen my dad cry before, and I wanted to scream,Stop it!I felt helpless and overwhelmed. “I’d be devastated if you didn’t wake up.”

“Why? You’re never here. You don’t care about me anymore. No one does,” he said angrily through his tears.

“I love you. I promise I’ll come much more often,” I said, even though I’d been coming at least four times a week now. How could you argue with someone who didn’t remember?

“I get why you don’t want to. I sit here all day and do nothing. I never leave this room.”

“You go to the dining room for meals, and you play cards with some of the residents.”

“I don’t like playing cards anymore because sometimes I don’t remember how to play.” He began to sob. I did everything in my power to hold back my own tears. “I shouldn’t be telling you all this,” he said in between sobs. “I’m sure you have enough in your life without me falling apart.”

“It’s okay,” I said, my words falling flat. I sat there like an emotionless statue, not knowing what to say because I couldn’t change anything. I handed him a tissue, and he pulled himself together. I was a horrible daughter, because all I could think about was that I had to get out of there. I hugged him hard. “I’m going to have to go,” I said, feeling guilt as I’d never felt before. I would be a puddle if I stayed longer.

“I’m sorry I’m not any fun anymore,” he said.

“You’re always fun,” I said, stumbling over my words. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I hugged him again, then ran out of the room and out of the building. Before I made it to my car, I heard my mom calling out to me. She and Jerry were walking toward me, and they were the last people I wanted to see right now. Mom’s hair was not brushed, and she was wearing only one earring.

Mom led me over to a wrought-iron bench outside the front entrance. The bench was cold under my legs. It was so uncomfortable that once I sat down, all I wanted to do was get up again, but my legs felt glued down. “Dad’s tests came back,” she said. “The doctor said your dad doesn’t have Parkinson’s at all. He has Lewy body dementia, which can look like Parkinson’s.” Mom said all of this without taking a breath.

“What is Lewy body dementia?” I asked.

“It’s when your brain has problems processing the protein alpha-synuclein,” Jerry said, jumping in. He loved knowing something that I didn’t.

“Can’t you just explain it like you’re not trying to impress me?” I said.

Jerry spoke very slowly. “It’s a type of dementia caused by abnormal deposits in the brain that are called Lewy bodies.”

“That can’t be right. Dad has Parkinson’s, not some kind of dementia I’ve never heard of. The doctor can’t change his mind like that,” I said.

“Lewy body is hard to diagnose. It can look like Parkinson’s,” Mom said. “Your dad’s confusion, his sleep issues, the way he can’t pay attention, and the hallucinations are all associated with the disease.” She kept talking, but all I could concentrate on was the fly that had landed on her hair that she wasn’t swatting off.

“At some point, Dad may not be able to speak or know who we are. They’ll move him to the memory care unit when he gets really bad,” Jerry said.

“I’ve seen the memory care unit. They lock the doors to keep the residents inside,” I said. The thought of my dad being locked in anywhere made my skin crawl. I turned back to my mother. “Maybe we should get a second opinion.”

“His doctor’s a specialist in dementia. He went through all of your dad’s scans and the cognitive testing. The doctor asked me all kinds of questions, and I realized your dad has been having symptoms for years. I just didn’t know that’s what they were.”

“Does Dad know?” I asked.

“Not yet, and I’m worried how he’s going to take it.” She blinked repeatedly to avoid tears. Then she went to see my dad, leaving me with Jerry.