I swallowed.
“Soon.”
Not a real answer. But the only one I had.
She studied me for a moment, then nodded. “Please let us know by Monday.”
Monday. That was two days. Maybe I could get Mr Renault to pay me for the basement work I did. That would at least pay for some of it.
“Thank you,” I said.
I wound through the corridor until I came to my dad’s room. His room door was half open. I could hear him before I saw him. He was angry.
“You don’t get to tell me where to sit!” he barked.
My stomach dropped. Bad day. I stepped inside. He was standing near the window, hands clenched at his sides. An orderly hovered a few feet away, cautious but patient.
“Hey,” I said softly.
His head snapped toward me. For a second, there was no recognition, just confusion. Then “Belle?”
“I’m here.”
He pointed toward the hallway. “They keep moving my things.”
“They’re just cleaning, Dad.”
“I know what they’re doing,” he snapped. “They think I don’t.”
The orderly gave me a small, helpless look.
“I’ve got it,” I mouthed.
She slipped out quietly.
I approached him slowly, like you would a spooked animal.
“You want to sit?” I asked gently.
“I don’t need to sit,” he said, pacing instead. “I need them to stop taking my things.”
“What are you looking for? I’ll help you find it,” I said firmly.
His hands trembled. “They moved the chair.”
It wasn’t about the chair. It was about everything shifting, about not recognizing his own reflection. Losing ground in his own mind had to be a terrible feeling.
I stepped closer.
“Okay,” I said. “Then we’ll move it back.”
He paused.
“You can’t,” he said.
“Watch me.”
I crossed the room and dragged the chair back to where it had originally been, at least where he remembered it.
