Chapter Five Prue
Five
Prue
“Mom’s asleep,” I say, through a yawn, slipping in next to my dad on his piano bench as he plays the final movement of Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata . ” It’s a foreboding piece of music.
Mom used to say that she never had to ask Dad how he was feeling, she simply had to listen to him play and the song would let her know. So, I guess I know.
Dad stops playing at a natural end point, then slides over, allowing me more space on the piano bench. We both place one hand on the keys unconsciously as we’ve done a thousand times before. And, as we have for the past twenty years, we begin playing “Heart and Soul” together.
I’ve never ventured to learn anything else, despite Dad’s best efforts to teach me.
I hate not being good at things from the start.
Piano never came naturally enough for me to continue practicing when my frustration took over.
It’s not that I need to be the best, necessarily; it’s more of a fear of embarrassment holding me back.
Then, there’s also the fact that watching Dad play made me feel as if I—or, really, anyone —shouldn’t even bother. When someone is that in tune with an instrument that it seems to pour out of their soul, it feels silly to get in their way or try it yourself.
“So, my favorite daughter…” Dad says softly. “It is officially time for us to have that little chat.”
“Do we have to?” I ask, my fingers keeping in rhythm with his. “After today?”
“Especially after today,” he replies while repeating the starting notes and looping us back around once again. “Do you want a cup of tea first? A snack?”
I sit in protest, not answering him, my fingers instinctively knowing which keys to press while my mind wanders elsewhere.
“Yes? No?”
Sighing, I shake my head. “No, just get it over with.”
“Prue—” He pauses, a jagged sigh accompanying my name. “You know I love that woman upstairs with every breath in these aging lungs, that she’s nothing short of a miracle to me, that I would rest at nothing to make sure…” He breathes, steadier this time. “To make sure she’s well taken care of.”
“Yes,” I reply gently. Because I do know that.
No one has ever loved anyone more fiercely, as far as I’m concerned.
No matter how many love stories I read, they’ve never held a candle to my parents’.
My father liked to tell the story of how they met whenever he’d had one too many drinks or, pretty much, whenever anyone would listen.
They first locked eyes just over thirty-five years ago in a darkened basement at a college party.
Dad, along with three of his friends at the time, was in a Beatles cover band.
He was the spitting image of Paul McCartney, according to himself though never confirmed by another living soul.
My mother’s university had hired Dad’s band, the Beetles , to play at their end-of-year 1960s-themed party for the graduating class, which Mom happened to be a part of.
I almost didn’t go! she’d chime in, every time, usually circling her arm around my father’s waist. My roommates had to force me out the door!
After their set, Dad waltzed off stage and nearly crashed into Mom, who was vixen-eyed and holding out a glass of water. Thought you could use this, she’d said, handing him the drink. Then, Do I have to call you Paul?
He didn’t believe her when she said her name was Julia and that her sister’s name was Lucy—both titles of Beatles songs. From that moment on, Dad believed in fate.
I said no fucking way, he’d say, repeating his words from years prior, laughing.
And the rest is history, Mom would add, usually kissing him on the cheek.
“Prue?” Dad nudges my knee with his after I missed my cue and my note.
“Sorry, yes, I’m listening.” We begin the song once more.
“We cannot keep this routine going forever. Jules, she…” He swallows, and I notice his finger almost press the wrong note before he swiftly recovers.
“Your mom would not want this, my darling.” He plays the last note, then he doesn’t begin it again.
Instead, he turns toward me, rubbing at the scruff along his chin with his palm.
“I’ve found a home for her,” he says, lifting his gaze to mine as if each eye carries an insurmountable weight.
I instinctively shake my head no, tears springing free.
“It’s thirty-four minutes away, but that’s the closest I could find with a team of people I trusted. This place, Horizon, specializes in memory care. They’re good people, like her. Kind. They have an arts program. They…They know what to do. How to best—”
“ We know what to do,” I state, my voice far harsher than I’d expected it to be. More cutting. “I’m doing my best, Dad. I—”
“You have done a wonderful job, darling.” He reaches out to lay his hand on the back of mine, but I wrap my arms around my middle instead. “No one will or has ever doubted that.”
“Why then?” I ask, tears spilling over. “Why now? If I’m doing a wonderful job then—”
“Because you cannot stay living like this, Prudence.” He states it simply, firmly. “Your mother wanted a full, adventurous, daring life for you. We both did. Do. You have to know—”
“I am not an adventurous, daring type of person!” I interrupt.
“I want to be here. I want to stay with you. I want to be with Mom.” My mind starts moving faster than my tongue can, and I do my best to try and keep up with it.
“I know I’m not always patient or calm with her but I’m trying my best and, sure, I’m not an actual nurse or doctor or psychologist or something but I’m her daughter.
Her flesh and blood. Doesn’t that count for something?
That I know her more than they ever could?
Putting her somewhere else—” I pause to suck in a breath sharply.
“Acting as if she’s a problem we need to solve instead of the, the, the base of this family is cruel.
It’s cruel and it’s not like you and it’s not like me and it’s certainly not what she would do, and I won’t let you do it either. ”
Dad breathes in slowly, his chest rising and nostrils flaring as he blinks repeatedly. Then, he begins to nod, as his eyes drift shut. A dreadful, heavy minute of silence passes before he speaks again.
“I never wanted any of this. But I made a promise to your mother, darling. The night after she received her diagnosis, I swore to her that I would never let you put your life on hold for her sake. And, you are, Prue. I’ve let you and I shouldn’t have.
” He pauses, pleading for mercy with a softened look in his eyes.
“You don’t go out. You don’t have friends.
You don’t even mention going to school anymore, or traveling, or finding a love of your own like you used to.
The most I’ve seen you think about yourself in the past month is when you steal my donut for an extra few bites. ”
“I-I’ve changed, Dad. Things changed, so I did too. I don’t want those things anymore. I don’t need them. I don’t even like people.”
“We both know that’s not true,” he replies with a skeptical look, the corner of his lip dipping.
I wish we’d never shared that silly journal.
“The truth is I am stuck between a rock and a hard place. Making you fly the nest means losing Mom, but keeping you here means disappointing Mom by allowing you to lose yourself. She never once asked me to keep her here or take care of her until the very end. She only asked for me to make sure that you were okay. And, I haven’t been doing that.
I cannot keep the store running and look after her at the same time once you’re flying free. ”
“I don’t want to fly free,” I tell him adamantly.
“I know it might feel that way now but—”
“No, I know,” I interrupt. “I know what I want.”
“Well, then, I’m sorry.”
“So, that’s it then?” My jaw shakes as I wipe tears from it with the gray sleeve of my sweater. “You truly think this is what Mom would want?” I ask, my voice verging on mocking.
“I don’t know!” His voice rises with a quaking breath. Then, a deafening but brief, sorrowful silence falls over us. “I don’t know what she would want, and I desperately wish that I could ask her but, regardless, I’m trying to do what’s best for you both. What she asked of me.”
Denial and rage and heartbreak flood my chest in such quick succession, it overwhelms me entirely and renders me unable to speak.
All arguments that come to mind seem pointless, like a dull knife slicing at a loaf of bread.
I sniff, wiping the last remaining teardrops on my sleeve as I avoid Dad’s gaze.
“All right, well…” I swallow. “If I don’t have any say in the matter, I guess I’ll just go to bed.
Tell me when I need to start packing my things. ”
“We have until January…” Dad whispers before I’m able to stand. “Three more months.” I turn toward him, noticing the tight grip his finger and thumb have on the bridge of his nose. “They don’t have a bed for her until then.”
So, there’s time. Hope. Chances and opportunities to change his mind. To be better.
“What if…” I ask, partially, collecting myself. “What if before then, we…” I don’t even know where to begin. “What if I —”
My father nods, picking up my sentence from where I discard it just as he always has. “I don’t know, Prue…”
“Please.”
“If we can get to a better place by then, get some extra help around here, if you can—”
“Get a life,” I interject.
That earns me a slightly crooked, subtle smile. “Yes, well, I wasn’t going to say it like that but…sure.”
“Then maybe she could stay with us? We could stay together?”
He studies me before replying, his eyes cautious as a sailor’s would be staring at a tempestuous ocean.
Love and fear forever intertwined. “Yes…but I’ll be the judge of it, okay?
No more Mister Nice Dad, darling girl. I need to start keeping those promises to your mother. I need to be a better dad to you.”