Page 16

CELINE

“ H ow’s he doing today, Sharon?”

The woman slowly ambles next to me as we make our way down the hall of the assisted living home. Pictures of smiling couples and families line the walls, aiming to incite happiness but instead fill me with dread with their hollow smiles.

Today’s the day.

Marked on my calendar every third Wednesday of the month.

It's my day to come see my dad.

Will he remember me? Will he be docile? How long can I stay this time?

Guilt gnaws on my stomach that I can only manage to come once a month.

Not because I don’t have the time, but because it’s so painful for me I just can’t make myself do it more than once every four weeks.

The facility isn’t exactly close—nearly two hours from Chicago with traffic so that serves as a deterrent as well.

“You caught him on a good day, sweetie.” She rubs my shoulder in reassurance, and I instantly relax, letting out a sigh of relief.

“I know you deal with it every day, but it never gets easier, does it?” My forced smile hurts my cheeks and I zero in on the familiar door at the end of the hall as we inch nearer.

“Unfortunately, not. Being a nurse and helping patients is one thing but having to see family and friends visit someone who’s a shell of their former self is heartbreaking.

The good days are some of the happiest, but the bad days stick with you.

I don’t regret working in this profession, but you need to have tough skin. ”

Glancing at the older woman’s face, wrinkles from years of laughter and hard times line her skin.

Sharon has helped my dad ever since he was first admitted to Avery Corr Living.

A stoutly woman with a bob of brown hair, sunspots around her face and kind brown eyes, her optimism and support have always been appreciated.

When you’re in a place like this it’s hard not to expect the worst every time you walk in but having staff like her truly keeps hope in peoples’ hearts.

I hesitate to ask my next question since I know the answer, but I have to. “Has my mom stopped by?”

With a sad shake of her head Sharon confirms my suspicions.

Mom never stops by. I hate that even now I hold a tiny flicker of hope that someday the guilt will be too much and she’ll visit.

“Sometimes all I can do is hate her.” Our steps slow as the door draws ever closer, but I halt my steps. This conversation isn’t one to be had in front of my father. “The way she abandoned him … who could do that to their spouse?”

Sharon stays quiet and simply listens. She’s amazing at that.

“But then there are times I hate myself because I understand in a way. It’s tough.

Look at me, I can only manage one visit a month.

” I give a humorless laugh. Toeing the light green carpet with my boot, I gaze at nothing.

“But at the end of the day, my dad can’t help his situation and being here for him is what’s right. ”

“You’re a wonderful daughter. I hope you know that. When he’s coherent he always mentions you.” She tucks a strand of flyaway hair from my ponytail behind my ear and smiles at me with a motherly grin. It’s more than my mother has done in the past fifteen years. “Let’s go see him.”

I nod and reach for the long silver handle when we walk up to the gray door. Soft music can be heard when I open it, and I turn the corner to find my dad sitting in his favorite chair. He turns at the noise and for a second I hold my breath.

“Celine!” A huge grin splits his mouth, and I nearly collapse on the spot. His good days are rare, and I didn’t know how badly I needed one until he says my name.

“Hi, Daddy.” My voice is barely a whisper, and I can’t hold myself back any longer. Rushing toward him I give the biggest hug I can muster. His arms come around me, now frailer than ever before, but the strength and love in them can’t be mistaken.

“What’s going on? Something wrong at school?”

My shoulders tense at his question because this is one of the worst parts. He remembers things but not always correctly. Yes, he remembers me, but his memory right now is from a past self when I was still in high school. It’s best to meet him where he’s at so I go along with it.

“No, nothing like that. Classes are great just happy to see you.” I mask the pain in my voice with false cheeriness.

“Hopefully Mrs. Masters isn’t giving you too much trouble?” His bristly eyebrows draw together, and I laugh.

“She’s just mad I get an A on every assignment and call her out on her bullshit grading.”

Untangling our arms I sit on the couch beside his armchair and wave to Sharon as she sees herself out.

“Language, young lady.” My dad always was a stickler for proper etiquette.

I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees, chin in hand and simply observe this man that’s half of me.

He turns his attention back to the television that’s playing over on the entertainment stand, content with the silence.

If I ask too many questions, it can set him off and I want to enjoy his good mood for as long as possible.

The wear of his illness is evident. Wrinkles bring his eyebrows lower into his once shining brown eyes that are so much like mine.

His dark hair has lightened significantly from stress and is unkempt around his face.

He dons a simple baseball tee and grey sweatpants, a blanket covering part of his lap.

My physical features reflect his, instead of my mother who had blonde hair and blue eyes. I’m grateful once he’s at peace and no longer on this Earth I’ll be able to look at myself in the mirror and see a reminder of him.

We continue to sit in mostly silence for the next hour and I soak in my time with him.

He’s slowly becoming less verbal and struggles for words much more now than before. I try to help when I can, but I can tell it frustrates him. We share simple commentary on the game, and he asks a few questions related to school. I don’t correct him and follow along.

In my relaxed state I jolt when he suddenly stands up and shouts. Frantically running around the room he slams open cabinets, throws open doors, looks under cushions and I follow behind the whole time.

“What’s wrong?!” My heart races and I inch toward the front door help button.

“I can’t find him. Where is he?”

“Where’s who, Dad? What are you talking about?” I put my hands up when he approaches, and a glint enters his eye.

“You. You took him. You did this.” He grips my arms painfully and I let out a squeak. There’s no recognition in his eyes now. “He’s not here!”

Slamming my palm on the buzzer I shout for Sharon and try to keep calm. Even though he’s my dad, I’m not his daughter in this moment.

“My friend. You stole him.” He’s hysterical now repeating himself and my heart breaks.

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about. Dad, please!” I plead and hold onto his arms as he falls to the ground in dismay.

“Midnight,” he wails and I suck in a breath.

He’s done this before and it’s why I pushed for him to keep the cat, since the facility allows it, but he was insistent I take him. He must have a memory of giving him away, but it’s warped, and he thinks I stole him.

Footsteps pound outside the door and it’s flung open when Sharon and two male nurses enter the room. They quickly take action consoling my dad, helping him to his bedroom. Sharon gives me a pitying look and I wipe a tear that has escaped from my eye.

“I think it’s best I leave.” My voice sounds hollow to my own ears and Sharon nods. “Thanks, Sharon. For everything.”

With a last pat to my back, she walks with me to my car and closes the door behind me when I get behind the wheel. No more words are exchanged but there doesn’t need to be.

The drive home is excruciating. There’s no way in hell I can listen to music or an audiobook and pretend what happened didn’t. That means I’m left with my thoughts as I stare blankly and go through the motions of driving home.

Was the light I just passed green?

I don’t even know, but the fact my car hasn’t been smashed by someone else's probably means I’m fine.

My thoughts continue in an endless cycle of nonsense and I’m honestly not sure how I make it to my building. Besides making a stop on floor five for someone to go up to fifteen I’m left blessedly alone in the elevator. The ding of the cabin lets me know I’ve finally made it to mine.

I step off and walk like an emotionless zombie down to my door.

Standing in front of it I freeze and then suddenly the dam breaks.

It’s like standing in front of my apartment far away from what just happened gives me an excuse to let go.

The sound I let out must sound like a dying animal, but I can’t hold it in any longer.

I made it so close to safety just to lose it now.

My coat catches on the textured wall as I back up and slide down it, collapsing in a heap on the ground.

My keys fall from my hands, sliding out of my reach.

Tears stream down my face in a constant flow and I curl up into a ball, tucking my head into my knees.

I can’t muster the energy to pick myself back up and get inside so I just sit there and let the emotions carry me away.

I cry for my dad who’s been dealt a fate he didn’t ask for. I cry for myself who’s lost both of her parents. I cry for the uncertain future that seems to hold nothing but isolation and agony.

I’m distantly aware of the creaking of a door opening and the thud as it shuts.

Clothing rustles and a warm presence to my right has me peeking out from under my arm.

I find Zavier crouched, watching me with a melancholy look on his face.

He’s wearing a black sweater that looks so soft I want to cuddle into it and his silver chain lies around his neck.

When he tilts his head, his silky red hair moves and covers his glasses adorably.

He watches me watch him and slowly opens his arms.

The silent show of comfort somehow has more tears flooding out of my eyes and I dive into his arms. They wrap around me so tight I feel my own heartbeat echo between us.

“Shh, Celine. I’ve got you, pretty girl.

” He holds my neck with one hand and undoes my high ponytail with the other to allow my hair to cascade down my back.

The pressure relief feels wonderful, and he gently strokes my tresses.

I swear I feel him press a kiss to my head but it’s so soft it could be my imagination.

His words only make me cry harder and I’m embarrassed by the way I melt into him, but it feels so good. He’s practically a stranger and yet the comfort I feel around him is undeniable. The invisible pull between us is magnetic and I can’t figure out how he’s always there when I seem to need him.

“I’ve got you. You’re safe,” he continues to murmur in a soothing tone. His voice vibrates against my chest, and I settle further into his lap, fully surrendering myself to the warmth. “Whoever hurt you, just tell me and I’ll kill them.”

“It was my dad,” I say, voice hoarse. “I told you about him. He has dementia. Today was … a bad day.”

We stay like that for God knows how long and I selfishly linger for longer than I should. When his arms randomly tighten, I feel like he needs this as much as I do. My face is tucked into his neck and his vanilla and cypress scent fills my lungs.

My hiccups finally quiet down and I know I can’t stay any longer in the safety of his arms. I have to pull on my big girl pants and bring myself back to reality.

Slowly pulling away, I’m stopped short when Zavier pulls my forehead back to his and keeps me there.

My eyes widen in surprise but his are closed tightly like he’s trying to savor the moment.

His thumb comes up to wipe my cheek with a gentleness that has my eyes blurring again.

I blink and the moment’s over and he’s pulling me to my feet.

I awkwardly avoid eye contact, slightly embarrassed by my actions and not wanting to talk about what just happened.

Zavier must sense how I feel because at my mumbled thanks he simply strokes the side of my head one more time.

He picks my stuff up and slips my key into my door for me.

I back away with one last small smile of appreciation and head into my apartment but not without one last glance at him where he stands with a sad smile.