Page 39 of Distant Shores (Stapled Magnolias #2)

IRELAND

T hunder shook the windows of Zinnia House, making the frames rattle as the clouds shifted rapidly, and the smell of the atmosphere was morphing from sea and blossoms to ozone.

That storm Delly was so eager for was slowly rolling in.

We’d thought it might come yesterday, while we were at the beach looking for sand dollars with Adair watching from the pier, but it’d held off. I wasn’t worried, knowing the Live Oak community was prepared.

When the elevator doors opened on the third floor, I scanned the hallway for Adair’s dark-green scrubs even though I knew he was working on the second floor today.

A set of pink scrubs with little lollipops printed on them grabbed my attention instead, and I stopped in my tracks, immediately knowing something was wrong.

Delly was leaning against the wall outside Dad and Wilbur’s apartment, hunched over on herself as she furiously wiped away tears.

The elevator doors started to close, which unfroze my feet. I hurried through them, my heart skipping when they jolted to a stop halfway to closing, then pushed open again.

“ Delly ,” I said when I made it to her, gripping her upper arm. “What’s wrong?”

She hiccupped as she lifted her watery gaze to mine, her chin quivering.

I squeezed her arm as she stared at me for several long moments, my mind tumbling over itself as it provided me with a thorough list of candidates for catastrophe.

It was an effort to not try to shake the answer out of her when I repeated my question, and she didn’t answer.

“Is it Wilbur?” I asked, glancing over her shoulder at the closed apartment door. “My dad?”

She shook her head, but it did nothing to relax me.

“Tell me, Delly,” I said, softening my voice and my grip.

“P-Pops,” she said, stuttering over her words.

“I just popped into see him, and then the sky got dark, and it thundered really loudly, and he started saying some crazy stuff about Adair’s accident.

B-but when I questioned him about it, he got mad.

And then he got confused, and he… he….” She hiccupped, wrapping her arms around herself.

“He raised his voice at me, asking me what I was doing there,” she rasped, her whole body shaking.

“I kn-know it’s the disease, but he’s never yelled at me before. ”

The fist around my heart released its grip, and the tired organ fell to the floor.

“Oh, sweetheart,” I whispered, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Do you want me to go get your brother?”

She shook her head vigorously. “ No , please don’t. I can handle this.”

“You’re sure?” I asked, shifting my arm so it was around her shoulders .

She nodded. “I’ll tell him, but I need to get myself together first. I don’t want to throw this on him.”

“I’m sure he would want you to,” I said, guiding her to the nearest alcove, where I directed her to sit down, putting my board beside her.

She fisted the fabric of her light pink scrubs pants and bit her lip. “That’s the problem,” she whispered, looking up at me. “And that’s why I need to wait, okay?”

She looked so lost, and my eyes stung, but I sniffed the emotion back. I knew the exact brand of turmoil shredding her up, and there was nothing I could say to help it right now.

But I could make sure her loved ones were okay.

“I’m going to tell the nurse on duty what happened so they can check your Pops over, okay?”

She nodded.

“Okay,” I repeated, squeezing her leg. “Stay here and wait for me.”

Once she showed me that she understood, I took off down the hallway, but then slowed my pace.

If she was watching, I didn’t need her to think I was panicked.

“Hey,” I said, relieved to see Nurse Emily walking out of a nearby apartment. “Could you come check on them with me?” I asked, angling my head toward Apartment 3A.

“Of course,” she said, taking the initiative and knocking on the door before letting herself in.

Wilbur was sitting at the table, his hands in tight, shaking fists in his laps, his shoulders slumped.

“No, no,” Dad said, hovering over Wilbur. “That’ll never do, Willie. Here, maybe the big crayons will be better.”

Dad shuffled to his room, then came back out with a package of jumbo crayons. “The therapist said these are better for you.”

Wilbur didn’t take them, and I had no idea if Dad actually knew anything about Wilbur’s physical therapy for his Parkinson’s, but it sounded convincing, if not helpful at this exact moment.

“Mr. Smith?” I said, taking the chair beside him, racking my brain for something to ask.

Slowly, he uncurled his fists and looked at me but didn’t answer. I was kind of hoping that calling him “Mr. Smith” instead of “Wilbur” would prompt him to give me his usual “Just Wilbur, darlin’,” but no such luck.

“I heard Addy’s birthday is coming up.”

After several seconds, he relaxed marginally.

“I was wondering if you could think about ideas for a present for him?”

Wilbur wiped a shaky hand down his face. “Sure, darlin’.”

There it was. “Thank you,” I said, smiling softly at him. “That’ll be a huge help. I’ve gotta go now, but I’ll check back in later?”

He nodded, and I got up and said goodbye to Dad with a brief hug. I paused at the open doorway where Nurse Emily was hovering.

“I’ll check his vitals now,” she said before taking another bite of a peach she’d produce from who knew where. “Thanks.”

I nodded. It was no good to check them before they were relatively calm.

“And I’ll call Jillie if there are any concerns.” She glanced out into the hallway discreetly. “Tell Adeline she can take as long of a break as she needs.”

I thanked her before I went back for Delly, relieved that she was where I left her .

“Come on,” I said, holding out my hand.

She didn’t even ask where we were going, letting me tug her into the elevator, which we rode down to the first floor.

It was between mealtimes, so we didn’t pass many people on our way to the life skills room, which was good. No one needed an audience when their foundation was crumbling.

“Here,” I said, opening the passenger side of the Cadillac. “Get in.”

A flicker of curiosity cut through her sorrow before she slid inside. I shut her in carefully before walking around the back and getting into the driver’s seat.

It wasn’t long before the dam inside Delly broke. A choked sob escaped her mouth, which she covered with her hand, muffling the soft cries that followed.

I reached over and took her free hand. “You have nowhere you need to be. Let it come, and let it out, sweetheart.”

And boy, did she. She always seemed so free with her emotions, her opinions, and I’d suspected that there was a flip side to her happy squeals and audible gasps.

This confirmed it.

I squeezed her hand harder, bearing witness to it.

“I am the ugliest crier,” she choked out through a sob.

“Always have been. It is mortifying.” She twisted toward me, tear tracks marking her cheeks.

“I thought I was prepared. Even before the Parkinson’s, I knew it was only a matter of time before he finally started to show his age.

But he’s always seemed invincible to me.

Just like Addy. But then with the accident, and Addy being in the hospital, and then Pops suddenly being here, it’s just like… the world has flipped upside down.”

I squeezed her hand and nodded along. I didn’t know the details, but it didn’t matter.

What mattered was how it affected this sweet girl.

“Aging is hell. For them, and for us too. Change is abrupt. And also a bitch.” She huffed a surprised laugh, and I smiled sadly at her.

“And honestly, there’s no preparing for things like this.

For seeing your parent or parent figure decline. Not really.”

She swiped under her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. “I get that now,” she whispered. “I just didn’t think this would happen. Not yet. Is that how it was with your dad?” Her eyes widened before she rushed out, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t. Not from you,” I assured her, letting go of her hand as I sat back in my seat and thought through my answer.

“As you probably know, Dad’s condition isn’t quite the same as Wilbur’s.

Even if Wilbur had Alzheimer’s, it probably wouldn’t look the same as Dad’s or have manifested the same.

And not just because they’re two very different people. ”

Delly nodded. “Pops is a lot older than your dad. Jillie said it’s one of the reasons they thought he’d be a good fit as a roommate for your dad even though they weren’t really at the same stage of disease. At first.”

I blew out a breath. “If it had been anyone but Director Links, I probably would’ve fought against it.

But the care program she put in place for Dad probably saved his life.

She saw the bigger picture, and I just had to trust her.

” My stomach churned just thinking of earlier this year, but I pushed through, wanting to answer Delly’s actual question.

“It was sudden,” I said quietly. “To me, it was. I was just doing my own thing, trying to shape my life how I wanted it. But once I realized something was really wrong and tricked him into going to the doctor….” I grimaced at the memory, at how angry Dad had been .

When I glanced up, Delly was frowning at me, but there was only compassion in her eyes.

My lips twitched. “I don’t think how it happens is so important. It doesn’t change what we have to do.”

“What should I do?” She looked at me so earnestly then, as if I actually held the answer to that.

Looking away from her, I stared at the blank screen on the other side of the windshield. “Talk to him,” I said eventually. “While you can. While he can. And when his world shifts to one you don’t recognize… walk into it with him.”

I’d gotten that last bit of advice online in one of the hundreds of blogs, chats, and threads about memory disease I’d read.

But the first part? That was from experience. The wrong side of it.

I never had the opportunity to talk to Dad about his illness in a meaningful way.