Chapter 53
CHAPTER
FIFTY-THREE
APRIL
“April, baby. Take a deep breath.” Mauve hurries around the bar, untying the apron at her waist.
“I need to find him. Dad… I need to find him.” I stumble to the door like a drunk.
Mauve steps in front of me, blocking me with her hands on her hips. “We’re gonna find your daddy. I doubt he would have wandered far, but there is no way you can get behind a wheel in this state.”
“I have to go.”
“Yes, you will go. Just give me a second.” She wipes her hands against the sides of her pants and yells, “Earl!”
“Yeah!” A head pokes out from the kitchen window.
“Call Steph and the others. Anyone who isn’t on duty right now. April’s dad is missing. He’s got dementia, so it’s a potentially dangerous situation. The faster we can find him, the better. Text the group chat too. Tell ‘em to keep an eye out.”
“On it!”
Earl’s head disappears.
One of the regulars, Tom—a retired pilot who offers flight trainings on his downtime—runs up to us.
“Did I hear that right, April? Your dad is missing?”
“That’s right, Tom. I’m going to drive April to the nursing home.”
“I’ll be on standby, Mauve. If you need eyes in the sky, I can fire up the rig.”
Tears fill my eyes at the offer. “Thank you.”
“Thank you.” Mauve dips her chin and leads me out into the sunshine.
Behind me, I hear a thunderous boom of footsteps. I look over my shoulder and spot half the patrons of The Tipsy Tuna pouring through the doors and heading for their cars.
As they pass me by, they call out encouraging words.
“We’re gonna find him, April.”
“Don’t worry about a thing.”
“It’ll be alright.”
My bottom lip trembles and I’m overwhelmed by gratitude. Seeing everyone rally around me and dad gives me courage.
I take a deep breath, settle my emotions and stop Mauve when she tries to slip in the driver’s seat. “It’s alright. I can drive there myself.”
“Are you sure?” She eyes me up and down.
“Dad might wander over here.”
“Earl and the rest will be here.”
“Yeah, but he won’t remember them like he’ll remember you.”
She nods slowly. “Call me if you find him.”
“I will.” I start the car and look out through the window. “Thank you again, Mauve.”
“Go. Drive safe.”
On the way to the nursing home, I call Rebel who immediately announces that she’s locking up the shop and heading out to join the search.
Dad has no idea that I own a garage now and I doubt he’ll show up there, so I reluctantly agree.
Next, I call Stewart Kinsey.
Although it kills me to have to ask that man for any favor, his garage is where dad spent most of his life. It wouldn’t surprise me to hear that dad somehow found his way there.
“No, I haven’t seen him,” Kinsey says flatly. “But I’ll keep an eye out.”
“Thank...” The dial tone rings and I realize he hung up. “You,” I finish lamely.
I guess I can’t expect more than that given Kinsey thinks I’m suing him.
After a few moments of internal debate, I decide to alert May to what’s going on. She’s my little sister and I want to shield her from panicking, especially when she’s on campus. However, if the shoe were on the other foot, I would be furious if dad was in danger and I wasn’t informed.
“Where could he be?” May shrieks. “How could this happen? Why are we paying that crazy expensive fee and they can’t take care of dad properly?”
“I have all these questions too. I’m heading to the nursing home right now. I’ll get there in about…” I check my watch, “thirteen minutes.”
“It’ll take me an hour to get back to town.” Her voice trembles.
“I didn’t tell you so you could rush back.”
“You can’t possibly think I’ll attend any lectures with dad missing, do you?”
“By the time you get back to town, he’ll already have been found,” I say as optimistically as I can.
“I wouldn’t be able to concentrate anyway. I’m catching a bus now,” she says resolutely.
There’s no point in arguing with her.
May ends the call, and I dial all the places dad used to love.
The old cafe run by the Duncans.
Phil’s Burgers.
The hockey rink.
No one has seen dad.
It’s been almost thirty minutes since he wandered off and my brain keeps picturing the absolute worst.
Frantic and sick to my stomach, I call the nursing home again.
“Is dad back?” I ask in a harried voice. “Was there any update from the security guard? Did the security cameras reveal what direction he went?”
“Unfortunately, he’s not back yet, but we do have everyone we could possibly spare on staff out looking for him.”
My grip around the steering wheel tightens. Worry consumes me and I snap, “What about the security cameras?”
“We’re still working on that, ma’am,” she explains sheepishly. “Our security company had a system wide update yesterday and there were some bugs. We made an urgent request to their technicians. One arrived and is working on restoring the data now.”
I can’t believe this. I chew on my bottom lip. “Every second that passes by is a second my dad could walk into incoming traffic or fall down a ravine or…” My throat clogs with painful emotions. I refuse to let my mind wander down that frightening path. “I need something .”
“We’ve already sent out an alert to the police with a description of what your father was wearing when he wandered out of the garden. We investigated all the landscapers at length. The one who left the back door open claimed your father had been hanging around the construction area an hour ago, so he must have left after that point.”
I squeeze the bridge of my nose.
“This is unprecedented, Miss Brooks, but I assure you that we’re doing everything we can to find him. We will return your father safe and sound.”
“You can’t promise me that,” I grind out.
She goes quiet.
I know I’m taking out my anger unfairly on her and even my breathing. “I’m almost there. I want to talk to the worker who last saw my father myself.”
“We can certainly arrange that, Ms. Brooks.”
The indicator makes a ticking noise as I flick it and turn into the parking lot of the nursing home. Throwing open my door, I jump out and rush inside.
“This way, Miss Brooks,” the receptionist says, personally escorting me to the manager’s office.
On the way, my phone vibrates with more and more new texts.
MAUVE: Your father hasn’t shown up here. Any new update?
REBEL: I drove by the park. He’s not there. I asked my embroidery group to be on the look out too.
As I’m about to type a response, I hear the creak of a wheelchair spinning and narrowly jump out of the way before I’m mowed down by a senior citizen on a mission.
“Did I miss it?” The woman squawks.
My thoughts are totally occupied with finding my father, but something makes me stop and follow the woman’s trajectory. She brings her wheelchair to rest next to the other residents in the great room.
They’re flocked around a television that, like the rest of Lucky Falls, is turned to Chance’s press conference. The red button on the left of the television says ‘LIVE’. A ton of mikes are strapped to a podium decorated with Chance’s team colors.
But the seat is empty.
There’s no Chance.
“Where is he?” The crowd of residents murmur.
“Why is no one saying anything?”
“What’s going on?”
“Miss Brooks?” The receptionist calls to me. She’s several steps ahead at the mouth of the hallway. Her back is ramrod straight as she beckons to me.
I shake my head. Chance’s delayed press conference is probably for dramatic effect. He would never miss such an important moment.
Hurrying along until I catch up with the receptionist, I walk into the manager’s office. A man in a tattered grey cap, worn jeans and a black T-shirt shoots to his feet the moment I enter.
“Miss Brooks,” the manager says solemnly from behind her desk.
“Miss Brooks, I’m so sorry.” He approaches me, eyes wide. “I thought I locked the gate securely. I had no idea—oh, you probably don’t want to hear this, but I’m so sorry.”
I lift a hand, indicating that he should stop. “Was my dad upset the last time you saw him? Did he say anything?”
“No, he wasn’t upset, but he did seem… how do I put this.” The man scrubs his fingers over his hair. “Agitated, maybe? He kept saying that Chance McLanely was coming and he shouldn’t be here.”
“Chance? He talked about Chance?” I squeeze the bridge of my nose and turn to face the manager. “We need to tell the police to look everywhere on the route to the ice rink. Dad’s been having delusions about talking to Chance for quite some time now. I should have paid more attention.”
The manager gives me a confused stare. “Miss Brooks, rest assured, we did tell the police this and we have people out looking along that very route.”
“Good. I’ll join them.” I reach for the doorknob.
“But,” the manager continues firmly, “your father was not suffering any delusions about Chance McLanely.”
My fingers freeze around the knob.
My back muscles stiffen.
Slowly, I turn to face the manager. “What do you mean?”
Her words and gaze remain frank. “Chance called your father frequently. They often spoke about hockey among other things. Your father’s mood improved after every call.” She pauses and studies my face. “Did you really not know?”
I didn’t.
Not at all.
But suddenly, I have a memory of dad grumbling about how Chance would scold him if he didn’t eat.
“Did Chance call recently?”
“I believe it was yesterday.” She picks up a folder, slips her glasses on her nose and nods. “Yes, it was yesterday.”
Yesterday.
Chance and I were fighting and our future as a couple was up in the air, but he still called to encourage my dad.
My heart picks up speed.
Without a word, I wrench the door open and take off down the hallway. Chance used to make off-hand comments about taking my dad for a drive in his Lambo and dad would threaten that all he wanted to do was get under the hood.
What if dad went looking for Chance’s car?
I put the phone to my ear, ready to call Rebel and ask her to check the local car dealership, when the door of the nursing home bursts open.
My eyes trail from the dirty plastic slippers, loose pants, and soft cotton shirt to the green eyes I know so well. Relief collapses my heart and I stumble forward, gasping, “Dad.”
Tears crowd my eyes and slip down my cheeks as I wrap my father in my arms. He gruffly tries to push me off, but I don’t care. I hold tighter, violent sobs wracking my chest.
After a while, dad goes still and lets me cry on his shoulder.
“Thank you. Thank you for coming back safely,” I cry in a hoarse voice.
Eventually, I notice that there’s someone standing behind my father. I loosen my grip on dad and look at the man who escorted him here.
Surprise sends me skittering back a step.
The man has dark blue eyes, Prince Eric black hair, and he’s supposed to be on TV right this minute.
Chance.