Chapter 68
Tristan
After almost four months of working with the San Francisco Fire Department, I have not been late to work once.
Well, I guess there’s a first time for everything.
I very nearly spill coffee on myself as I take a sharp turn on the way from my apartment to the station, when my phone starts to buzz.
I answer it. “Hey, Bobbie! What’s up?”
Bobbie’s voice blasts through my car speakers. “Hey, sorry, am I catching you at work?”
“You’re in luck. I’m running late, so I’m still in the car. Everything okay?”
“Oh, yes. I just wasn’t sure if your dad had told you that we’re visiting a memory care facility today.”
I think about running a yellow light, but then it turns red, and I slam on the brakes.
“He didn’t mention it. This is news!”
“It is. It’s something we’ve talked about before, and I know it’s something you’ve brought up, but….”
The light turns green. “But he never wanted to talk about it with me. Yeah, I know.”
“Right. Well, Yuritza mentioned that she has some connections at Rockwell Gardens. Have you heard of it?”
“I think so.”
Actually, I know I have, but I don’t want Bobbie to know just how many hours I’ve spent obsessively Googling options for my father in case things take a turn.
Rockwell Gardens advertises a “new” approach to memory care.
It’s a combination of a retirement community and a memory care facility, with traditional apartments, community amenities, an on-site golf course, a swimming pool, a hospital, a physical therapy clinic, and a full staff of doctors, nurses, counselors, and psychiatrists.
It’s also incredibly pricey.
“We’re touring at nine,” Bobbie says quietly.
I pause for a second. “Would you want to move in there?”
“For your dad, yes. Plenty of spouses move in. Their setup is designed to accommodate partners who might not need care. Really, if we can get in, it would be the ideal scenario.”
“You don’t think it’s too soon?”
I don’t think it’s too soon, but I worry that Dad might.
“No. And neither does your dad, thank God. He agrees that it’s time to be proactive about things.”
“Finally,” I mutter. “Well, thank you for the update. Let me know how it goes. We should get dinner soon! I think I’ll have some exciting updates for you, too.”
“Does it have anything to do with the underwear model you’re dating?”
“He’s not an underwear model.”
I don’t correct her about the “dating” part, because at this point, what is there to correct?
“He’s my coworker.”
“Even more salacious.”
“Bye, Bobbie!” I shout, though I’m not actually angry.
“Wait!” She laughs. “What’s the update?”
I smile. “Just that I’m hopelessly in love. I’ll talk to you later!”
I hang up and continue smiling the rest of the way to work, tardiness be damned.