Chapter 25
Chapter
Twenty-Five
CELESTE
“Oh.” The instant the sound passes my lips, I know it’s the wrong reaction.
It’s not the one I would go with if I had time to think about the sentiment. I’ve just . . .
His hand tilts my head, forcing my gaze to his. “No one expects that of you—well, besides Maise. But this is whatever you want it to be, Celeste. Whatever we want it to be, but if it’s just a temporary thing, we’ll keep it on the down-low, okay?”
Um. Okay . . . ?
Do I want to sneak around with this man or be his baby mama? What kind of choice is that?
“I think I should go,” I whisper.
“No, CC.” Hurt and panic flood his gaze. “God, can we just rewind like five minutes?”
“It’s fine. I have to get ready for Dad’s arrival today, anyway.”
“No, please stay.” He’s hauling me into his hold. “Fuck, that didn’t come out right.”
“I would, but . . . I-I can’t.”
Extracting myself from his tense embrace, I’m off the bed and out of his bedroom a heartbeat later.
“Tell Maise I’ll see her later,” I mutter before flying down the stairs.
I’m out the front door and across the snowy ground before my brain catches up with my actions.
And fuck.
I flaked. I did it again. My stupid insecurities screwing me over—again.
The man just doesn’t want his daughter to get hurt. A reasonable request. And shit, I’m sure I’d do the same if I was in his shoes. If I was a parent.
The thought sends a streak of panic through me. I can’t even take care of one grown man I’ve known my entire life. What kind of parent would I make?
The second the front door to my house clicks shut, I slump against it, head back and eyes closed. “Shit, Celeste.”
My pocket vibrates with my alarm, and I shake off the last ten minutes, forcing it to the back of my mind. I need to focus on Dad now. That’s all today is for. Getting him home and settled. Hopefully the medications have kicked in by now and he’s feeling more like his old self.
If I could be granted one last Christmas wish . . . it would be that my dad was home and happy.
His quality of life as good as he deserves.
I start with coffee. Every dutiful daughter needs a little spark at the beginning of their day. After I make up his bed with clean sheets, I fix the sunroom to make sure it’s just as he will be expecting. His chair, blanket, and of course, Mark Twain.
When the clock ticks over to ten a.m., I grab my bag and phone and head for the truck.
A few minutes later, I’m pulling into the hospital parking lot. And when I make it inside, the place is quiet. I ask for Dad at the reception desk and barely a minute passes when his doctor appears.
“Celeste, how are you?”
He’s not really asking, but I say, “Good. How’s Dad?”
He tilts his head to one side, indicating for me to come with him. I push to my feet and follow as he takes us back to the small room we were in last time.
As the door shuts, he waves toward a chair. “Have a seat. I want to talk to you about the medications before you decide to take him home.”
“Okay.” I sit, my ass barely in the chair as I clutch my bag in my lap.
“So, our initial change of meds didn’t work as we expected. In fact, he became more agitated not even twenty-four hours later. With that, we made another change and added something to calm him down. This was effective, but—”
“Like a sedative?”
“Yes, exactly.”
My brows fall. We never talked about sedating him. And the thought of him living in a daze doesn’t sit right with me.
“At this point, he can go home if you have help moving him around and he remains on the first floor of your home. Stairs won’t be safe.”
“Can’t you reduce the dose of the sedative?”
He sighs. “We worked in increments to ensure we had a balance of safety and effectiveness. But Celeste, I have to say, we recommend he is placed into care as soon as possible. The sedatives cannot be used long-term. As I’m sure you will understand why.”
“So the plan has always been to take him from his home. This is what you’re saying?” Pain lances through my chest, so tight I can barely breathe.
“We believe at this stage of his disease, it is his best option.”
He gives me an empathetic smile.
No.
The weight of a thousand tiny mistakes I’ve made my entire life crashes down on me. My hands shake, my body numbing further with every shallow breath.
“I-I have to talk to my brother and sister,” I utter, rising on shaky legs.
I came home for one thing, and I couldn’t even do that. I couldn’t take care of my father. I can hardly look after myself. Who was I kidding . . .
I push from the door, leaving the doctor mid-sentence.
Tears burn and my throat closes over. But I slide my phone from my bag and dial my sister.
She picks up on the second ring. “Hey, CC. What’s happening?”
I sniff, trying to haul in a lungful of air. “Nothing good. The doctor says Dad has to go into a home.”
“Oh, that wasn’t the plan. It’s too early yet.”
“He’s deteriorated,” I say softly.
“Did you stick to the routine and menu Marie left? It was crucial to slowing down the progress of the disease.”
I hate it when she talks down to me, but right now . . . I deserve it.
“I tried, as much as possible. Mostly, I did, yes.”
“Mostly.” Her tone sinks, along with my gut.
And when a tired sigh comes through the phone, my chin wobbles. “I really did try. I thought he was doing okay, you know.”
I’m sobbing into the phone now, which will only annoy my sister further. She hates criers.
“Listen to me. Just do as the doctors ask, okay? You tried your best. What matters now is Dad gets the best care he can.”
“Sure, right. Okay.”
I suck back a sob.
“And Celeste,” she adds. “Merry Christmas.”
The line goes dead.
Merry Christmas to you, too.
Not brave enough to fill my brother in, I leave that task to my sister. Instead, I turn back and push through the door to the small appointment room.
The doctor is tapping away on his tablet but looks up when I sit back down. “How do I apply for a place for Dad?”
“There’s a few forms to fill out, finances to sort, etc. I’ve already emailed it to you as per your sister’s request.”
My mouth falls open. She already knew. She already knew and didn’t think to include me in the decision, let alone the discussion that I’m guessing happened over the last few days.
While I was . . .
“You know what, I just want to see Dad, if you don’t mind.” I rise, and he follows.
“Sure, I’ll show you the way.”
We walk down the hallway until we come to a communal dayroom of sorts. Elderly people sit around in various conditions, all in recliner lounges. Some doing activities and some asleep. I spot Dad right away. He’s reading in the chair by an old piano topped with Christmas decorations.
It’s only now that I let my gaze wander and take in the festively decorated space.
It’s . . . lovely.
I cross the floor to where Dad sits. His head is tilted to one side, and I doubt he’s even read a word. His eyes are mostly glazed over.
“Is he sedated now?” I turn back and ask the doctor.
“A little, yes.”
“If he stays, can he be weaned off them?”
“Mostly, when he settles in.”
My heart twists in my chest at the sight of him like this. Doped out and only half there.
“Once the paperwork and finances are sorted, how long until he gets a place?”
The doctor taps his tablet, scrolling for a while before he looks back up. “There’s a place over in the medium-care facility if we’re quick.”
“Then be quick. Email my sister back, she can have it all taken care of. After all, I’m just the help.” I turn my back to him and sit on the arm of Dad’s chair. He looks up, as if in slow motion.
“Hey Daddy,” I whisper. Too emotional to worry about which name is best for this situation. I just want him to be my dad. Not Hank or Mr. Black. Just Daddy.
“Hey, honey. What are you doing here?”
I huff a sad laugh. He’s still there, despite all the drugs they have given him.
“Just here to see you.” I dot a kiss to his forehead.
He pats my cheek and returns to his book. “Have you read this one? It’s incredible, Tisha.”
Loosing a strained sigh, I nod. “Yeah, it is.”
We chat about the book in his hands, even though I’ve never read a word of it. His words slur when he tires from my visit. So I just sit with him. He listens as I hold his hand, running through every wonderful memory we’ve ever shared, letting my memory do the work for us this time.
And the contentment and happiness that shine through the eyes that have always seen me with all the love a parent can give fill my own with tears. If this is the last time we get to have this, it’s a moment I will treasure for the rest of my days.
A tap to my shoulder disturbs me twenty minutes later.
“Visiting hours are over, lovely.” The same nurse I met last time gives me a genuine smile, and I stand.
“Bye, Daddy. See you another day, okay?”
He smiles up at me, but I can tell by the vacant look in his eyes he doesn’t remember. The moment is over for him.
Sandy slides her arm through mine. “It will get better, I promise.”
I can’t even look at her, having to scrunch my face to stem the tears that won’t let up.
When we’re out of the communal space, she stops in the hallway and hauls me into a hug.
Her hand rubs circles on my back. “Every time you think you’ve not done enough, I want you to remember all the times your family was happy.
That’s all you can take from this disease.
” She holds me at arm’s length. “Alright?”
I nod. “Okay.”
“Oh, sweetheart, he’s in good hands here.”
“I hope so.”
She swats my arm, and I chuckle a strained, awkward sound.
“I know he will be, I will make sure of it. Now, you get home and focus on getting ready for your Christmas. Don’t let this steal your holiday joy, hon. Don’t give it that kind of power.”
It’s all I can do to stare at her.
After Mom’s death, that’s all my family ever did.
Let tragedy eat away at everything good left behind.
Us. We were the ones left behind, and the holidays were not the only thing we lost when we lost mom.
We fractured as a family. Three siblings drifted apart, with no central pull back home.
Or maybe the hurt kept us away. Coming home was—is—too painful.
But I’ve walked through it now.
That phase of my life ends now.
Sandy stands in my space, studying me. “You good?”
“Yeah, I think so, for the first time in a long time. Thank you.”
She tilts her head, emotion twisting her face. “Merry Christmas, Celeste.”
“Merry Christmas, Sandy.”
She waves me off, and I walk back outside to the truck with a renewed spark. It only took losing the one last anchor I had to this life to realize I wasn’t really living.
And for a moment, I’m envious of Dad. He’s no longer tethered to the sorrow that consumed us for decades. He found a way out.
A way free.
I’ll be damned if I don’t do the same.