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“Oh.” I breathe out a pained sigh and blink to stop the tears. “But still—”
“Lilly,” Boone says, grabbing my attention. He squeezes my arm again. “Go to Aiden. I’ll call you as soon as I get your dad into your house.”
“Apartment,” I clarify in a whisper.
Boone smiles sympathetically at my discombobulation and turns me toward the hospital. “Go. Now.”
I start walking away from Boone… from my dad passed out in his car. I stop though, not seeming to understand what the hell is happening. I watch as Boone starts his Porsche and backs out of the space. Before he puts it in drive, he sees me standing there and points his finger and mouths “Go.”
I turn on my heel and run toward the hospital, eager to get back to Aiden and assure him everything’s okay.
Except nothing is okay about this.
Aiden is waiting for me where I left him, although a nurse is standing by his side. When she sees me, she gives me an understanding nod. Aiden must have told her what happened.
“Is Dad okay?” Aiden asks after the nurse walks away.
My hands shake as I grip the handles of his wheelchair and turn him toward the elevator. That ice cream curdles in my stomach. “Yeah. Boone’s going to take him home.”
“But what’s stopping Dad from coming right back here again?” Aiden asks.
I don’t know how to answer that. I’m not even sure how he got here in the first place. For all I know, he drove here drunk and his car is in the parking garage. I cringe thinking of the destruction he could have caused if he had driven intoxicated. Normally, he wouldn’t be so stupid and would take the bus, but he’s been spiraling the last few weeks while Aiden has struggled with recovering from the transplant. My father has never handled stress well and his comfort has always been at the bottom of a bottle.
We’re silent as we make our way back to Aiden’s room. I’ve spent so much time in the hospital with him over the years, I’m a pro at removing his infusion pump from the back of the wheelchair and reconnecting it to the bedside pole. I help Aiden remove the paper gown, mask and gloves so he can get into bed. I leave the wheelchair out in the hall, knowing someone will put it away.
Taking his hand, I squeeze. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just worried about Dad.”
“I know.” I have to stop myself from saying more. I want to say,I know, but Dad doesn’t deserve your worry. He shouldn’t even be putting this on your frail shoulders.
But I don’t because that’s akin to me telling Aiden to stop loving our father, and I can’t do that. Just like I can’t stop loving him. In fact, I love him even more because he’s weak and addicted and struggling. But I don’t want Aiden to have to carry this burden. I try to keep most of this away from him but today got out of hand.
I woke up this morning to find my father at our small kitchen table, passed out with an empty bottle of vodka before him. Dad normally spends part of the day at the hospital with Aiden while I manage the deli. I go visit after work and will stay as late as I can, often falling asleep in the chair beside Aiden’s bed and sliding quietly out in the wee hours.
This morning, Dad was in no condition to go anywhere. I barely got him out of his chair and then he stumbled down the short hall to his room where he flopped face forward onto the bed. He was mumbling about Aiden dying and I couldn’t bear to hear it, so I left him there to sleep it off.
I couldn’t leave Aiden alone. He’s been in the hospital for over five weeks so far and now we’re in a waiting game to see if the transplant will work. It’s important that one of us is there with him. I opened the deli, got things going and turned it over to Georgie who can be dependable on occasion. I don’t think he’ll burn the place down like Aiden predicted.
How was I to know my dad would not, in fact, pass out and sleep off his drunk but decide to go to the hospital? Once again, I cringe at just how disastrous all this could’ve been. He could’ve gotten into an accident, gotten arrested or made an even bigger scene than what he did. Thank God Boone was there. Disaster was averted thanks to him.
“He needs help,” Aiden says, drawing me out of my memories.
“I know,” I say with a sigh, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’ll start searching some rehab places—”
“No, I mean Boone needs help,” Aiden interrupts.
I frown in confusion. “What?”
“He’s going to need help keeping Dad calm once they get home. He might be pliable now because he’s so trashed, but as he starts to sober up, he’ll try to come back here because he’ll feel so guilty. And you can’t expect Boone to babysit him.”
“Oh, shit,” I mutter, popping off the bed and looking for my purse. Aiden’s right and it’s sad that he knows so well how to anticipate our dad’s actions because we’ve lived through this all before. I bend over the bed and kiss his forehead through my paper mask. “I’ll go straighten everything out and come right back.”
“You don’t have to,” he says earnestly and I pull back to look him in the eye.
Such a mature, loving child stares back at me. My partner through thick and thin. I might take care of Aiden ninety percent of the time, but he has my back when needed.
“I’ll see you in a bit,” I repeat with a pointed look. “I’ll get Dad straightened out, check on Georgie, and then I’m coming back to kick your ass inBattleship. Want me to bring you anything?”
