Chapter 3
LEE
Aweek later I’m sitting in the hospital lobby, anxiously waiting for a doctor to come out and speak to me.
This isn’t the first time my father’s been taken to the emergency room by cops because he’s drunk and out of his mind.
He’s always been an angry and mean drunk.
Par for the course is them getting him mostly sober at the hospital, then sending him home with me to deal with the rest.
But this time something is different.
The nurses are giving me some very pitying looks that make me flush and squirm in the uncomfortable hospital chair. Like really, after all these years, the small county hospital can’t upgrade to something nicer? We’re rural, but we aren’t that rural.
Dr. Monroe comes out to greet me, but the aw-shucks familiarity he usually has is noticeably absent.
He looks serious and even a little nervous.
Oh my god, maybe my dad is dying. That sparks a flurry of emotions that I am not remotely ready to confront.
Instead, I stand to greet Dr. Monroe and shake his hand in a firm grip.
“So?”
“Listen, there’s no easy way to say this, but I’m pretty confident I can make a dementia diagnosis now.”
Everything stops.
Dementia.
I laugh because it’s the only way I can respond. “Are you serious?”
Dr. Monroe grimaces and rocks back on his heels.
“We’ve been tracking him for the past year.
I know you think it’s just the alcohol, but I think his alcoholism just made it speed up, made it worse.
He has the marks of a form of dementia that can be present after heavy, prolonged alcoholism.
He came in here severely dehydrated, and now he cannot remember basic facts.
And, Lee… he hasn’t had a sip of alcohol. ”
“What?” I ask softly. Because the belligerent man I saw in the hospital room was clearly drunk.
Dr. Monroe nods, patient as always. “He’s sober. That man in there is already halfway gone.”
“But wouldn’t there have been signs? I mean, I just… This doesn’t come out of nowhere?”
“No, it doesn’t, but combined with the alcoholism…
It was hard to catch early. I really think now’s the time to consider a home that’s prepared for this sort of behavior.
” Dr. Monroe takes a deep breath and leans forward, his words now a whisper.
“It might be time to consider a memory care facility. I can’t release him in this condition, not back to his home. ”
“Fuck me.”
Dr. Monroe slaps my shoulder and squeezes, like all the older men who have known me my entire life have always done.
“There’s a home over in Lafayette County that might have room.
I can call in a personal favor, see what I can do.
It’s up to you if you proceed. He’ll need to be evaluated still, but I can tell you he’s far enough along for it to be no issue.
” Dr. Monroe starts to step away, then sends me a bittersweet smile.
“Sometimes they get meaner, but sometimes they get kinder, and I can’t tell you which will be worse. ”
I rub my chest and sit back down in the hard-ass chair, no longer caring about how uncomfortable it is.
One of the sweet nurses comes out to check on me, bringing me a hot chocolate from behind the counter.
They’ve always been so nice to me when I’ve had to come in to get Dad for discharge.
I sip the hot chocolate as I consider what to do next.
When the nurse returns to the counter, I lean back hard in the chair and tug out my cell phone. My finger hovers over Joey’s name for a moment, but I can’t take his brand of comfort right now. I think his hand on me right now would kill me. So, I call Beau.
“Hey, you on your way back from the hospital?” Beau asks. I’d texted him letting him know I’d be late to work because I had to deal with Dad.
“Actually,” I say, and then clear my throat awkwardly. “Can you come to the hospital?”
“Lee?”
“Please?” I ask, voice small and frail even to my own ears.
“Yeah, give me a few. Do you want Mama to come?”
“Yes, please.”
There’s a shuffling in the background, some muttered voices, then Beau says gently, “Trevor would like to come too, if you’ll let him.”
I think about it for a moment, fighting against the urge to throw up boundaries.
But I don’t know if I can afford to do that anymore with how much my life is about to change.
And Trevor is kind and sweet, never anything but supportive of Beau.
We’ve formed a tentative friendship over the past few months of group dinners and meetings at the farm. I like Trevor for Beau.
“Yeah, Trevor can come.”
Beau sighs in relief. “We’ll be there soon.”
We hang up and I mindlessly spin my phone around in my hands for a few minutes.
The worst part is that I wish Joey was here, but in the way I want him, not in the way he wants to be here.
Dreams are for fools, and I’m the biggest fool of all time.
I pull up the photo library on my phone to find pictures of Savannah because that always lessens my anxiety.
My favorite photo is of her in my backyard, dirty from playing in the garden, a sweet sundress on, barefoot, with a dandelion in her grips.
She’s laughing as she blows the dandelion weeds because I’d taught her long ago to always make a wish on them.
“I know what I’m gonna wish,” Savannah whispered with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I’m gonna wish that you were my daddy too.”
My heart hasn’t felt the same way since. If only she knew.
Beau, his mom, and Trevor show up about thirty minutes later. Beau gives me a big hug, Ms. Cindy too. Trevor squeezes my bicep hard because I’m not sure he’s one for hugs, which I respect. Trevor’s hair is up in a messy bun, and he’s clearly wearing one of Beau’s flannels because it swamps him.
“I’m goin’ back to see about him,” Ms. Cindy says before disappearing toward the room.
She hates my father—always has. It’s a shared hate between them, probably stemming from the time she and Beau’s dad showed up at our house and told my father in no uncertain terms that if he hit me again, his options were six feet under or county jail.
Dad hadn’t hit me after that; not on purpose at least.
“So?” Beau asks, clearly worried, frown lines on his face.
“Dementia.”
Beau rubs his beard. “They’re sure?”
“Yeah,” I admit with a shaky exhale. “All the drinking made it harder to diagnose. Doctor Monroe said his blood results show he’s totally sober, and I guess they’ve been, like… tracking cognitive shit. I don’t know. I know last time they did an MRI, but I don’t remember why. I trust them.”
“Can he go home like this…” Trevor says before trailing off, as if afraid he’s overstepped.
I nod so he knows it’s fine. “Nope. Some representative from a home over in Lafayette County is coming to evaluate him. If he fits their criteria, he’ll go there when he’s discharged.”
“Oh wow,” Trevor says in obvious disbelief.
“Really?” Beau asks, clearly a little more hesitant in believing everything can work out just like that.
I shove the forms the nurse handed me against Beau’s chest. “Here. I gotta, like, figure out his Social Security checks, probably sell the trailer. It’s a lot of shit. And ’cause his parents are dead, and his brother, and he’s single, that leaves me to make all the fucking fun decisions.”
“Lee,” Beau says softly, probably because he can hear the hysteria rising in my voice.
Sometimes I’m so sad I could cry, but sometimes I’m so angry I could punch the moon. It’s a thin line these days.
“Can you just… stay and help me deal with getting him into this damn home?”
“Of course,” Beau answers quickly.
Trevor and Beau exchange a look, then Trevor presses his shoulder into mine. “Come outside with me for a minute?”
I nod, because why the hell not. I follow Trevor into the elevator, then out into the bright March sunshine. It’s a nice day outside; it was when I woke up and tended the garden and goats, and still is as I prepare to send my abusive father off to a home, a better place than he ever deserved.
Trevor leads me over to a small garden to the side of the hospital, pulls out a box of clove cigarettes, and taps one out.
A few loose tendrils of hair blow softly in the gentle breeze as he cups his hand around the lighter and carefully lights the fragrant cigarette.
I thought he’d quit, but what do I know.
He takes a gentle inhale, then turns his head and releases the smoke over his shoulder.
He holds his hand out in a clear sign for me to take the cigarette, and I’ve smoked much worse, so I take it from him.
The smoke is sweeter than a tobacco cigarette because of its autumnal smell and taste.
I calm as I take a few inhales, letting them out over my shoulder just as Trevor had.
“Your father, he’s a piece of shit, yeah?” Trevor asks as he takes the cigarette back from me. His light blue eyes are squinted, probably from the sun, but also a little in suspicion.
“You could say that.”
“My parents were pieces of shit, too, and now they’re in prison.
Not too dissimilar from yours. Although, he’s now imprisoned in his head until he dies, instead of federal lockup.
” Trevor uses the hand holding the cigarette to point at me, eyes even more squinted and a little angry.
“This isn’t your fault. You’ll have to let that go. ”
“Is this psychotherapy time?”
“Nah,” Trevor says with a rueful shake of his head. “If it was, I’d be charging you a hundred and twenty-five bucks a session, my friend. This is friend-to-friend advice. Also, why isn’t Joey here?”
I can feel the blush spill across my cheeks. Trevor’s gaze turns knowing just as he hands the cigarette back to me. I take a few quiet pulls, closing my eyes and tipping my head back to feel the sun’s warmth across my face.
“You’ve got some shit to work on, Lee.”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“Some more than others. Beau knows, you know.”