Chapter 14
IT WAS COZY in the camper, smelling deliciously like Naomi. Trent could imagine her traveling the country and existing quite comfortably—for her size. For him, it was a tad cramped. Like trying to fit a draft horse in a pony stall.
He couldn’t sprawl out on the bed, but he could sit on it and put off going to sleep while he satisfied his curiosity about John Foster’s strange behavior.
If the man was fine a few weeks ago, why was he so far into paranoia and delusions now?
It reminded him of something; thank goodness he could do a little research on his phone.
Trent stretched out on the camper bed as much as his long frame allowed, propping himself against the wall with a pillow.
He pulled out his phone, determined to dig deeper into John Foster’s sudden and extreme paranoia.
The man’s behavior didn’t sit right with him—not in the way Ethan had framed it.
Something about it gnawed at Trent, and he needed answers.
He opened his browser and started with a general search: “sudden onset paranoia in older adults.” The first few results mentioned conditions like dementia and Alzheimer’s, but those didn’t seem to match the timeline Naomi had described.
According to her, her father had been fine just a few weeks ago.
He scrolled further, his eyes skimming phrases like acute mental changes and temporary psychosis.
One link caught his attention: “Delirium caused by infections or environmental factors.”
Delirium? He tapped the article and read intently. The description of symptoms—confusion, paranoia, erratic behavior—lined up eerily well with what he’d seen. The article listed possible triggers: urinary tract infections (UTIs), dehydration, medication interactions, and even exposure to toxins.
“Toxins,” he muttered aloud, thinking back to the disheveled appearance of Ethan’s house.
John’s place might be equally unclean and neglected.
If the man lived alone and wasn’t keeping up with basic maintenance, it wasn’t hard to imagine mold, a gas leak, or some other environmental factor playing a role.
Trent was intrigued. Could it be something as straightforward as carbon monoxide poisoning?
He quickly searched for the symptoms: headaches, dizziness, confusion, and yes—paranoia.
Bingo.
Trent sat up straighter, his mind racing.
Carbon monoxide poisoning was insidious and often misdiagnosed, especially in older adults.
If John’s house had a faulty furnace or poorly ventilated space, it could explain everything.
And the best part? It was fixable. He ran another search: “how to test for carbon monoxide poisoning.” The results were straightforward: a simple blood test could confirm exposure, and installing detectors in the house could prevent further issues.
But he wasn’t done yet. Something about the situation still nagged at him.
What if it wasn’t toxins? What about a UTI?
He pulled up a second article, and there it was again: Sudden mental changes in older adults, often mistaken for psychiatric disorders, can result from untreated infections.
UTIs were a common culprit, especially in men who might not recognize or report symptoms like discomfort or frequent urination.
Trent rubbed his chin, deep in thought. Either of these explanations seemed more plausible—and more hopeful—than a degenerative mental condition. He scrolled through the phone, bookmarking the articles.
Satisfied, he leaned back against the wall, a cautious smile forming. If he was right, Naomi and Ethan didn’t have to commit their father to a facility. He could recover with the proper diagnosis and treatment. The hard part would be convincing Ethan to give it a shot.
First thing in the morning, Trent decided, he’d bring this up to Naomi. She’d seemed open to listening to him earlier, and he hoped she’d trust him enough to take this seriously. For now, though, he’d pray. Closing his eyes, Trent bowed his head and clasped his hands.
“Lord,” he murmured, “thank You for giving me the sense to dig deeper tonight. I don’t know if I’ve found the answer, but I pray You guide Naomi, her brother, and her father through this. Help me say the right words tomorrow, and if it’s Your will, help John find healing. Amen.”
The weight of the day seemed to lift just slightly, and Trent stretched out as much as the cramped space allowed.
He closed his eyes, his mind still humming with possibilities and hope for what tomorrow might bring.
And he was pleased with this feeling of peace.
Could the Prodigal Son be finding his way home?
Praying was a habit he’d lost, but it came back to him with ease.
He wanted to tell that to Naomi. In fact, he wanted to tell her a lot of things, personal things.
He breathed in a deep breath. Her scent lingered, stronger now as the heater warmed the space. It was going to be nice falling asleep to thoughts of her.
***
Naomi tossed and turned. She woke up three times during the night, regretting putting her signature on the documents.
Five minutes wasn’t enough time to evaluate her father’s condition.
What an awful daughter she was. The third time she woke, she got up and searched the kitchen and living room for the papers, but Ethan must have taken them to his room.
She looked out the back window and stared at the edge of the camper that peeked out from the side of the garage. It calmed her just to think that Trent was close by. He’d be up early, she figured, out of habit. She’d talk with him then.
But for now, she couldn’t sleep. She flipped on a few lights and went to work cleaning the kitchen.
It seemed like Ethan always managed to dirty the place up extra when she was gone.
She didn’t mind helping, though. He hadn’t charged her a dime for staying with him.
Both her father and brother had offered her a place to stay when she wasn’t on the road, but she’d chosen messy Ethan just so she didn’t have to say she still lived with a parent.
By four a.m. she had the kitchen sparkling.
She started a pot of coffee and put the porch light on in case Trent woke before first light.
It wasn’t ten minutes later when she heard the creak of the side door opening and Trent came in, the cold air following him like a shadow.
He glanced at her, her hands wrapped around a coffee mug. He looked pleased to see her.
“You’re up early,” she said, offering a tentative smile. “I thought you might be.”
“Done sleeping,” Trent replied, shrugging off his coat and hanging it by the door. “Saw the light. Seems like I’m not the only early bird.” He nodded toward the gleaming countertops. “Kitchen looks good.”
“Thanks,” Naomi said softly. “I couldn’t sleep. At all. Too much on my mind, I guess.”
Trent stepped closer, his tall frame filling the small kitchen. He nodded at the coffee pot. “Can I have some of that?”
“Of course.” She poured him a cup and handed it over.
He took a sip and then hesitated for a moment. “I think I might have an idea about your dad.”
Naomi’s brows lifted in surprise. “You do?”
“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck and leaned against the counter. “I did some digging last night. What your dad’s going through—well, it got me thinking. You said he was fine a few weeks ago, right? No big changes, no gradual decline?”
She nodded, setting her mug on the counter. “Exactly. He was a little depressed, same as last Christmas, but nothing crazy like what we saw last night.”
“That’s what got me thinking,” Trent continued. “I looked into sudden-onset paranoia and erratic behavior. Turns out, a lot of things can cause it—stuff that’s not a mental illness. Like infections or even toxins in the house.”
“Toxins?” Naomi frowned.
“Yeah, like carbon monoxide from a bad furnace or mold exposure. It can mess with your head, make you paranoid, confused.”
Naomi’s eyes widened. “His furnace did go out last month. He got it fixed, though—or so he said. Do you really think that could be it?”
Trent nodded. “It’s worth looking into. There’s more, too. I read that older adults can get delirium from something as common as a UTI. You wouldn’t think it’d cause all those symptoms, but it can.”
Naomi stared at him, her mind racing. “I can’t believe this. You think it might be something temporary? Something we can fix?”
“I do,” Trent said firmly. “It’s not for sure, but it’s possible. If we get him to a doctor, they can test for carbon monoxide exposure or an infection. If it’s one of those things, treatment could bring him back to normal.”
Naomi let out a shaky breath, her shoulders sagging with relief. “I can’t thank you enough for looking into this, Trent. I was so torn about those papers. This gives me hope.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Trent said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “We’ve still got to convince your brother to hold off on submitting them. Think he’ll listen?”
Naomi groaned. “Probably not without a fight, but I’ll make him. You’ve given me a reason to believe we don’t have to give up on Dad.”
“Good,” Trent said. He glanced at the oven clock. “In about four hours … first thing this morning, we should take him to a doctor and check that furnace.”
Naomi smiled, her gratitude evident. “I knew having you along was a good idea.”
“What? No, you didn’t. It took Mrs. Olsen pushing you to let me drive.” He gave her a warm smile, “But anyway, I hope I’m helping.”
“Me, too. Do you know anything about furnaces? Maybe we could sneak over there now.”
Trent shook his head. “No way. Sneaking into a man’s house in the dark? That’s a good way to get yourself shot.”
Reluctantly, Naomi agreed. “And so’s crossing Ethan. He’s gonna want to shoot me when I ask him not to turn those papers in yet.”
***