Chapter 34
Thirty-Four
“It’s not your responsibility. I don’t understand why you’re being so stubborn about this,” my mother says through the phone.
“Stubborn?” An incredulous scoff leaves my lips. “Do you honestly think I have a choice?” My fists twitch with the urge to punch my father’s ugly, dated kitchen cabinets. “I don’t see any other options. You certainly don’t plan to come play nursemaid, do you?”
She makes a noise that’s a cross between a sigh and a growl. “No, I do not. Why not put him in a facility? I’m sure the stingy bastard has the money for it.”
“He flat out refused to anything resembling that idea—multiple times—and he’s not incapacitated enough for someone else to establish guardianship and force his hand.”
“And the in-home care? What’s happening there?”
It takes everything not to snap at her. “You won’t be surprised to learn we’re quickly exhausting private nursing providers. No one lasts more than a few days because of his specific brand of charm.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “I wish this wasn’t heaped on you. You’ve already suffered so much.”
“Agreed. But my hands are tied. I’m stuck here trying to navigate all this bullshit because otherwise, he’d have no one. He’d starve. Shit himself. Probably be dead in a week.”
We’re both silent, knowing he’d be doing us all a favor. Especially me right now with my entire life on a hiatus I never requested.
“How can I help then?”
“Mom.” Jesus. “You’re not coming within an inch of this place or this man. Are we clear?”
“Let me talk to the boys. They should step up. They’ve left you in a lurch. It’s not fair.”
Yeah…because life is one big happy rainbow of fairness. “Good luck. They don’t seem to give a fu…crap, so—”
“Townshend has a newborn. You have no idea how overwhelming and exhausting that is. I’m sure they’re struggling just to get a night of sleep.”
Same, Mom. But I choke down the words.
“He feels badly about you shouldering the majority of this on your own.”
Of course she defends him. I’m too cranky to argue.
“Graham could be doing more,” she adds lamely.
“Mick.” My dad’s wheeze carries down the hall.
I ignore him.
“Mick,” he rasps louder, and I’m getting Darth Vader vibes for more than one reason.
I roll my eyes heavenward. “I gotta go.”
“Wait! Don’t hang up.”
“What, Mom?”
“I love you. So much.”
“I love you too.”
“Bye,” she says softly.
I brace myself as I approach my father’s bedroom. He’s sitting up in the hospital bed that replaced his useless queen. The television is on low, and the chair where the most recent nurse used to monitor him sits vacant.
“I need a…drink,” he croaks, shaking his empty cup.
“Ice water?” I ask, leaning in to take the cup.
“I want…a goddamn…scotch…on the rocks.” He can hardly gasp out a sentence. Between that and his pallid complexion, sunken eyes, and skeletal weight, he looks five minutes from the grave.
“You know I can’t give you that.” Nor do I want to.
“You can…but won’t…because you’re a…pussy!”
A small sigh rolls through my body. Those words bounce off my skull, as ineffectual as the man’s heart barely thudding in his chest. He’s fucking pathetic. I refill his ice water and when I return, he’s frantically mashing the clicker, aiming it at the TV.
“This…goddamned…thing is broken. It won’t…turn up…the volume!”
How I long to turn down your volume. I hold out my hand, and he slaps the rectangular control into it. I point it at the Philco unit and adjust it easily. My father grumbles under his breath beside me. Try pressing it calmly like a normal person instead of trying to kill it.
“That good?” I ask.
“Fine.” He snatches the clicker out of my hand. “You’re excused. I’ll call you…when I need…to take a…shit.”
It will be the highlight of my day.