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“Now that is rude,” she says with a smile. “We’ve only just met; you’re going to have to buy me dinner at least before I’ll give up all my secrets.”
“Oh, jeez, I’m sor—”
“I’m teasing, Quinn,” she says, cutting through my fluster and attempt to apologize.
A car turns the corner and glides to a stop at the curve.
“I’ve got to go,” I say. “It was nice to meet you.”
“We’ll see each other,” she says. When she speaks there’s a resonance to the words. As if they’re echoing off stone walls, but we’re on the front lawn of a ranch-style home.
“Right,” I agree. “I’m sure.”
That was odd.
I climb into the backseat and watch her disappear as the car pulls away.
“Dad, it’s me, Quinn.”
“Quinn?”
Dad’s voice quavers as he says my name. When did he get so old? I’d swear it happened overnight. All my life Dad was a rock. Unchanging. Always the same, bald on top with the remaining sides of his black hair slicked back. His slightly heavy, round face always with a ready smile. How proud he was of his gold filling where he’d had it fixed in his younger days after getting in a fight and chipping the tooth.
Strong. That’s the word that described my father. Consistent is another good word. But now, now he’s a little more than a shell of the man he was. Like a sad echo that clings to existence, repeating itself over and over but suffering from diminishing returns. Fading with each passing.
“It’s me, Daddy. I’m here,” I say, taking his now frail hand in mine.
His rheumy eyes stare without seeing. I watch them come into focus. It’s as if he was looking at something in the past, staring into his memories which overlay the now for him. The doctors said this would happen more and more until, sooner or later, we’ll lose him.
I choke up, unwilling to consider that. I’m not ready to lose him. Not yet. A little longer, please. His hand convulses in mine, then he clamps it down and his grip is like a vise. I wince in pain as he jerks my hand to his chest, pressing it there with a surprising strength.
“Quinn, don’t let them fool you.”
“I won’t Daddy, I promise.”
“No.” He shakes his head. He smells of old hair oil and a heavy layer of aftershave that smothers the hint of urine. “You don’t understand. How do I make you understand?”
Tears well in his eyes and my heart shatters. In all my life I’d never seen my daddy cry. Not once. When his parents passed, he was as stoic as they come. His brother died, nothing. Not once did he shed a tear that I ever saw and seeing them in his eyes now is almost more than I can bear.
“Daddy, it’s okay.”
“No, Quinn. None of this is right. It’s all wrong. I’m going to lose you.”
“Oh, honey,” Mom says. “Quinn isn’t going anywhere. She’s right here. You’re confused, dear, that’s all.”
“She’s here?” he asks, looking past me and staring at Mom.
“Of course she is, dear,” Mom says.
She grabs his hand that’s still holding mine too tight and she deftly pries his fingers free. My hand tingles sharply as blood rushes back in. I shake my hand to ease the transition.
“I’m here, Daddy,” I say. “I won’t leave you.”
I help Mom to get him lying back in his bed. His breathing has a soft rattle to it that is concerning. He’s frail too, much thinner than he’s ever been.
“Take your medicine, dear,” Mom says, pushing a pill into his mouth.
He struggles but he’s too weak to resist much. I hook an arm behind his shoulders and hold him up as she gives him a sip of water and he swallows, then I lay him back down. His eyes drift closed and his breathing regulates. I stand up, intending to walk away, but he grabs my hand and jerks.
