“Perhaps.” A smile turned his lips as he observed me. That unfamiliar warmth lingered under his gaze.
“You are insufferable.”
He gave a huff of laughter, and I liked the smile that crept across his face entirely too much.
“Believe it or not, I’ve been told that before.”
He disappeared briefly and returned with his own plate, settling into the chair across from me instead of the couch. My phone buzzed on the coffee table.
I glanced toward it. Of course, it was just out of reach. He stood immediately, retrieved it, and handed it to me without asking who it was. He didn’t leave. It was a small thing, but I noticed.
“Hey, Dad,” I said.
His voice was calmer tonight.
“I can’t find my keys,” he said. “I need to get to work in the morning.”
My throat tightened.
“I have your keys. I’ll be there to take you in the morning.”
“You do?”
I swallowed. “Yep, it’s all taken care of.”
There was a pause.
“Oh, good. Goodnight, Bells, I love you.”
“I love you too, Dad.”
The line went dead a few seconds later. I stared at the phone for a moment before lowering it.
“You’re not driving anywhere tomorrow,” Raphael said, voice low and tight.
I didn’t look at him yet. “It’s easier to say yes.”
“You cannot operate a vehicle safely.”
“I know.”
“Then why agree?”
“Because he won’t remember in five minutes. It keeps him calm in the moment.”
He didn’t respond immediately. When I finally looked at him, his posture had softened into something else. Concern, maybe.
“So you just lie to him?” he asked.
“I guess it just makes it easier, especially at night. He is safe in his apartment, and when he wakes up in the morning, he usually remembers where he is and that he retired years ago.”
He nodded slowly. I shifted my leg slightly on the chair, trying to get comfortable.
“He has Alzheimer’s,” I said. “Early-to-mid stage. Good days and bad days.”
“And in the memory care facility?”
I nodded as I twirled a bite of pasta onto her fork.
