Page 26 of Little Pieces of Light

“I hate to be obvious, but…Einstein?” Dean said with a grin. “And when you get on stage for the contest, you can give that lecture on nonsymmetric field theory like you did at our club meeting last week. You’re a sure win, even if no one knows what the hell you’re talking about.”

“I’d rather not stand out. What’s your costume?”

“Ferris Bueller.”

I stared at him blankly.

“Dude, we have got to get you caught up,” Dean said. “Okay, next order of business. Who are you taking?”

“I’m not taking anyone,” I said, trying and failing to keep the image of Emery and Tucker dancing together from parading across my eyes. “Who are you taking? Harper?”

Dean looked confused. “No, I can’t get a read on her. But if I had to guess, I think she likes you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, man. She’s always looking at you during club meetings. You should ask her. But quick, before someone beats you to it.”

“But not you?”

“Nah,” Dean said. “I like to keep my options open.”

We arrived at the parking lot, him to his Camry, me to my bike.

“See you Monday, Xander,” he said, leaning against his open door.

“And hey, good job today. Orion’s right—your form is top-notch, and if Rhett doesn’t get his shit together, I think you’d make a great stroke seat.

” He wagged his brows. “Then you’d be right in front of me on the boat.

We could stare meaningfully into each other’s eyes. ”

I chuckled as I climbed on my bike. “See you, man.”

Though Dean was joking, I wondered if he hadn’t asked Harper to the dance for a particular reason.

I tried to picture them together and couldn’t.

But when I tried to picture Dean with a guy, that didn’t work, either.

He was just…Dean. The guy everyone liked, who was always surrounded by people but always alone too.

In any case, it was none of my business who he liked or didn’t like. I had enough problems of my own. Namely, I was counting down the seconds to my next tutoring session with Emery.

My fiancée.

I ground my teeth together. Apparently, my intrusive thoughts had a sense of humor.

At home, my father was at his desk, staring at the wall.

“Hey, Dad?” No answer. I drew closer and put my hand on his shoulder. “Dad?”

He jolted out of his reverie. “Eh? Oh, Xander. Hi.”

I eased a sigh of relief. “I’m sorry if I broke your concentration.”

It was four in the afternoon, but he was still in his pajamas, and his dark hair—graying at the temples—stuck up in all directions.

Dad stood and took hold of my shoulders. “Xander. We need to start packing. We have to get back to Maryland.”

My stomach clenched. “No, Dad, we live here now. Since August.”

“Oh no, no, no, son. Your mother would never agree to live here.”

“Dad…Mom left us. She walked out seven years ago. Remember?”

Please remember…

Fear gnawed my insides. I’d heard him in the kitchen a couple of nights recently and came down to find him disoriented. I always told myself he was just tired. Sleepwalking, maybe. But the instances of him going away seemed to be happening more frequently.

“Hm?” Dad blinked as if he were coming out of a trance.

“Mom’s not here anymore.”

He scoffed. “Yes, I know that. She’s living it up in Paris.” He smiled. “It’s too bad she can’t see you now. She’d be so proud of the man you’ve become.”

I nodded, pushing down a lump of emotion. I didn’t allow thoughts of my mother to infiltrate my mind. Ever. “Dad, are you okay?”

“Me? Never better!” He returned to his desk. “I’m about ready for dinner, though. Unraveling the secrets of the universe is hungry work. Let’s order a pizza!”

“Sure.”

When the pizza arrived, I put on a movie, something I’d started doing recently to keep up with Dean’s references.

But I couldn’t focus; I had one eye on Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and one on my dad.

He chuckled at the funny parts, ate pizza, then popcorn, and all seemed well…

But later that night I woke to pots and pans banging in the kitchen. Dad was making breakfast at 3:00 a.m.

On Monday morning, I called the Academy front office and told them I’d be late, then made the phone call I’d been dreading but couldn’t put off any longer.

***

“This is ridiculous,” my father said in an exam room at a medical clinic in Newport. “And it’s taking valuable time away from my work.”

“I know,” I said. “But a checkup can’t hurt, right?”

Dad shot me a hard look. “Don’t tell me you’re suddenly believing what they said about me at the NIST,” he said. “Is that what this is about? That I’m losing my mind?”

“I’m not suddenly believing anything, Dad. I’m worried about you.”

He said nothing, and then the doctor arrived with a balding head and friendly demeanor.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Mandel,” he said. “You’re Xander, here with your dad, Mr. Ford?”

“Dr. Ford,” I said quickly. “He has PhDs in philosophy, particle physics, and applied mathematics.”

Don’t let him lose it all, please.

“Impressive.”

Dr. Mandel turned to my father, who looked less like a thrice-degreed scientist and more like a petulant child on the exam table. “And what brings you here today, Dr. Ford?”

Dad jerked a thumb at me sullenly. “Ask him.”

“I think,” I said slowly, “we should address some of my dad’s recent episodes with forgetfulness.”

“I don’t know what he’s talking about,” Dad grumbled.

With a pain in my heart, I told the doctor about his breakdown in Bethesda, his restless nights, and his episodes of confusion and blankness. Dad looked at me the entire time, wounded. As if I’d betrayed him.

Dr. Mandel nodded. “Xander, would you mind giving me a moment with your dad?”

I gladly stepped outside and sat in the waiting room, chewing on my thumbnail.

Twenty minutes later, the doctor came out, alone. “Your father is just using the restroom, but I wanted to tell you, I have some concerns.”

“Okay,” I said warily.

“He’s in wonderful physical health,” he said, taking a seat opposite mine. “But cognitively, I am seeing a few warning signs.”

“Warning signs of?”

“Early onset dementia. Possibly Lewy body dementia.”

My heart dropped to my stomach and clanged a heavy beat.

“I’ve seen my share of cases, but I’m no specialist,” Dr. Mandel added. “I would suggest taking him to see a neurologist for a concrete diagnosis and treatment plan. In the meantime, I’m prescribing donepezil, a common medication for someone in your father’s condition.”

His condition. Losing his memories, his education, his sense of himself…

“He’s only fifty-eight,” I said thickly. “He’s so young,”

Dr. Mandel leaned over his knees. “I’m so sorry, Xander. Do you have anyone at home to provide support?”

“No,” I said darkly. “But this medication will help?”

Dr. Mandel nodded. “Have him take it right before bed. It should alleviate nighttime wandering and slow down the cognitive decline, but it’s not a cure. Again, I recommend a specialist—”

“I’m ready to go,” my dad said, appearing behind the doctor. He mustered a weak smile. “Come on, son. Let’s blow this joint.”

Dr. Mandel shook our hands. “Don’t hesitate to call if you have questions.”

In the car, my normally jovial dad was sullen and quiet.

“I don’t need a specialist,” he said finally as I drove the Buick back to Castle Hill.

“Dad—”

“You’re seventeen years old. I’m still the adult here. I get to decide what to do, and I say I’m just fine. I’ll take the medicine, but that’s it. If— if —things get…harder, then we can reassess.”

“I can stay home,” I said. “I’ll quit school. It’s stupid to go anyway—”

“You’ll stay home and do what?” Dad asked, shaking his head. “I have work to do, and I don’t need you hovering over my shoulder while I do it.”

“But Dad—”

“Don’t do that, Alexander,” he said gravely. “Don’t act like it’s over.”

We’d come to a red light. I looked over at my father and saw the fear in his eyes. His brilliant eyes, through which he had delved deep into the quantum realm and shared what he found there. Whatever genius I possessed was only a fraction of his, and to think he might be losing everything…

“I’m not ready yet, son,” he said. “Not yet. Okay?”

I swallowed the tears down, like a hard lump in my throat. “Okay, Dad,” I said. “Okay.”

He smiled and gave my cheek a pat. The light changed, and we drove on. He seemed happy again. Like himself.

Because he’s still himself. He’s still here.

“So!” he said after a minute. “Given any thought about a Halloween costume this year?”

“I have actually. I’m going as one of the world’s greatest physicists.”

“Oh yeah?” Dad rubbed his chin. “Hmm, let me guess. Heisenberg? Feynman? Or your namesake, good ole Erwin?” He chuckled.

“Nope,” I said.

“Who, then?”

“You.”