Page 22 of Distant Shores (Stapled Magnolias #2)

“I don’t know who you think you are, keeping me here like this, but I’m going to be late if I don’t go now!” Dad’s voice was quieter now, not quite yelling, but it definitely had a threatening edge to it.

“Mr. Sewell, I need you to calm down,” Nurse Kelly said placatingly, like he was talking to a child.

Adair turned toward me, his dark hair falling over his glasses. He pushed it out of the way as he closed the distance between us.

My eyes widened in shock before I even knew why, and I glanced down to see his foot was in a walking boot now.

“How long has he been upset like this?” I asked quietly, keeping half my attention on Dad and Nurse Kelly, ready to intervene if the nurse stepped out of line.

Adair came to my side and turned so he could watch, too, his pine scent almost a comfort.

“Not long. Mr. Sewell and Pops were having lunch when we came in, but as soon as your dad saw Delly, he got upset, asking her what she was doing here. I asked her to step out, and that seemed to help. But then Mr. Sewell started saying he needed to get to a party. He isn’t as flushed as he was at the beginning, and he ate all of his lunch before it happened, so I’m thinking he was triggered by something.

When Pops saw that the nurse wasn’t making progress with him, he told me to call you. ”

I turned my full attention to him as he spoke, and as he finished his report, his hazel eyes met mine without hesitation.

Without judgment either. Or even pity. He was just stating the facts, cool as could be.

And God, if that wasn’t perfect .

I wasn’t sure how to thank him, so I nodded, handed him my longboard, and entered the fray.

“Hey,” I said, walking up to the pair of them.

Nurse Kelly turned toward me and sagged in relief when he saw me. I really missed Nurse Emily at this moment and vowed to order her a fruit basket.

“Dad?” I asked, stepping in front of Nurse Kelly and removing him from Dad’s line of sight. “What’s going on?”

“I’m late!” he yelled, throwing his hands in the air.

“What for?” I asked calmly. “Maybe I can help.”

He raked his hands through his hair and met my gaze but looked right through me without recognition. “For the party.”

“Which one?”

“My Dancing Queen. Her seventh birthday party is today.”

“Oh,” I said, swallowing against my dry throat. “That’s a great age.”

He laughed, but there was an edge to it as he fidgeted and paced. “It should be, but I can’t find my fucking keys.”

“Hey, do you happen to have something to write with?” I asked, directing him away from that atomic bomb. For his benefit and mine.

“What?” He still looked irritated, but at least his fidgeting lessened, his fingers uncurling into loose fists by his side.

“Do you have a pen or something I could borrow?”

He rolled his eyes and patted his breast pocket. “Yeah, probably. I usually keep something so I, um….” He trailed off, and a blank sheen covered his eyes.

The crashes happened so quickly. As soon as his mind got off the idea he’d been stuck on, it was only a short while until he’d be almost… void. Vacant .

“Come on, I’m feeling a little tired,” I said, resting my hand lightly on his back. “Let’s sit for a minute.”

I directed Dad to the nearest chair, and he sat without a fuss.

To my surprise, Wilbur joined us, taking the seat on the other side of Dad, and then Adair took the one beside Wilbur.

“Do you have anything to write or draw with?” I asked again, following suit and sitting down.

Dad reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his box of crayons, a small flicker of life sparking as he sat them on the table between us.

I glanced around for something to draw on, and seconds later, a hand slid a square white napkin in front of me. My gaze snagged on the long, strong fingers.

“What are we drawing?” Adair asked, and I lifted my chin to see him smiling at me, his wavy hair falling over his glasses and onto his face again.

I blinked out of my stupor and turned my attention to Dad. “I’m trying to remember Alabama’s state flower.”

He frowned, still not quite here with me.

I plucked the red crayon from the box and started drawing, rambling as I did.

“I kind of remember what it looks like, but I’m not a great artist, so bear with me.

It’s definitely more… circular. With lots of petals.

And dark-green leaves. I think.” I finished making the arcs that represented the petals, then started coloring them in.

It really was soothing. The longer I colored, the more my brain seemed to go offline, which was kind of ironic, considering I was trying to coax Dad back.

I laid the crayon down, humming as I inspected my work.

“Whatcha think?” I asked as I slid the napkin over to Dad .

He studied it for a long moment.

I held my breath as he reached for the crayon box, pulled out the green, then started making additions to the stem and leaves.

I blew out a breath of relief as discreetly as possible, then raised my gaze to the other two men at the table.

Wilbur and Adair were talking quietly, not paying us much mind, and I had the feeling that was on purpose.

They didn’t watch Dad like he was a train crash, but they hadn’t left us either. Hadn’t fled to “give us space” or to “not embarrass us” like so many had done before, especially at the previous facility.

Like I’d done to Ari.

“You all right, darlin’?” Wilbur asked, and I gave him a small smile in answer. It was the best I could do right now.

“Thank you for asking Adair to call me,” I said, looking Wilbur over with a frown. “Are you okay?”

It was only now that I realized how tired he looked too.

“Just fine. Don’t worry about me.”

Adair huffed at that response.

“It sounds like your grandson disagrees,” I said teasingly.

Adair and Wilbur looked at each other, something passing between them before Wilbur smiled fondly.

“He worries too much. Always has,” the older man said, still smiling. “I’m just getting used to some new medication we’re trying, and it’s made me feel, well… like an old, wet washrag that’s been left out in the sun, if I’m being honest.”

Adair cocked his head to the side, his gaze assessing. “Dry mouth? Muscle pain?”

“Water, rest,” Wilbur countered, and Adair laughed softly .

“It’s a camellia,” Dad said gruffly, and all three of us turned our attention to him.

He held up the napkin, which was much improved from my rough sketch, then handed it over to me.

“Devotion, adoration, and longing,” he added matter-of-factly. “And a much better state flower than Georgia’s.” He frowned deeply and aimed it at Wilbur. “The Cherokee rose is problematic as hell, not to mention invasive as fuck.”

I dropped my chin to my chest to hide my laugh, and Adair brushed his hand over his mouth, his chest shaking with his own repressed laughter.

“Well,” Wilbur said finally. “I suppose it’s good I live in Alabama now, Beck.”