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“I am a bit tired.” His hand goes to his head, and his right eye widens. “Where’s my hair? Go away, Nica. I don’t like you seeing me like this.” He turns a steely eye on Justin. “Jason, get my hair.”
I lean down and kiss his papery cheek. “You don’t need your hair, Dad. I’m leaving. I’ll call Mr. Lewis and have him contact you.”
“He can come see me, but not until I have my hair on!” He pats around the bed with his good hand, as if his toupee might be lying nearby.
“He can’t come see you. He’s in LA and we’re at the Ranch.” He looks like he’s going to argue. “Copper Butte,” I clarify, since he has a ranch in the Santa Barbara foothills, too. “We’re a long way from LA.”
“Tell him to get up here anyway. I pay him good money—have for years. He can spend some of it on an airplane ticket.” He seems to run out of steam, and his angry words fade into unintelligible muttering.
Justin nods toward the door, so I leave, calling out a cheerful, “See you soon,” as I go. I loiter in the hallway for a few minutes, then wander back to the kitchen. After sending a text to Richard, and another to my brother John, I dig through the kitchen cabinets. Finding a nice selection of tea, I start the kettle and pull out two mugs.
My phone rings. I glance at the screen, then answer. “Hi, Mr. Lewis.”
“Nica, call me Richard. What can I help you with?” His hearty voice sounds forced and phony.
“You need to call my dad. He wants to change the contract Destiny signed with the health care workers.” I drop a tea bag into one of the mugs.
There’s silence on the other end. I pull the phone away from my face to make sure the call hasn’t dropped, but it’s still live. “Mr. Lewis?”
“Sorry, Nica.” He clears his throat. “What makes you think your dad wants to change the contract?”
I explain about my siblings and me being on the no contact list. “Dad wants us to be able to visit.”
There’s silence again, then he asks, “How do you know?”
“He said so!” I don’t remember Mr. Lewis being this dense before.
“I thought you weren’t allowed to speak with him?”
Crap. How do I fix this without throwing Justin under the bus? “Oh, that. He called me.” I cross my fingers at the lie.
“Why didn’t he call me? Especially if he wants to change the contract.”
I dither for a second. “Because—I don’t know! All I know is he called me, and I told him I tried to visit but the nurse wouldn’t let me in.” That should protect Justin. “Dad said he wants me to come see him, and this stupid contract means I can’t. Look, can you just call him?”
“Yes, you can be sure I’ll do that.” His voice is clipped and judgy. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Nica? I have a client waiting.”
Why’d you call me back now if you’ve got someone waiting? “That’s it. Thank you for returning my call so quickly.” I’m already hurrying down the wide hallway. “Bye.” I click off and burst into the bedroom again.
Dad sits on the side of the bed wearing only a pair of boxer shorts as Justin attempts to straighten his hair piece. He yelps and the wig slides down over his good eye.
I skid to a halt, eyes wide. “Arg! Sorry, I didn’t mean—” I back out, averting my eyes.
“Who was that, Joshua?” Dad’s voice sounds querulous.
“That was your daughter, Nica, Mr. Holmes. And it’s Justin, not Joshua.”
“What’s she doing here? Mrs. Holmes told you not to let anyone in!”
What? Two minutes ago, he wanted me to visit, now he doesn’t? Maybe he meant not to let anyone into the bedroom. I pace up and down the hallway near the open door, carefully staying where I can’t see the occupants. Inside the room, Justin and Dad argue over the hairpiece, the clothing choices, even the weather. Dad seems to automatically take the opposite side to any suggestion Justin makes.
Five minutes later, they’re still arguing. I give up and go back to the kitchen to finish making my tea. I find a box of cookies and debate opening it. Instead, I grab a container of cut melon from the fridge. I putter around the room, pouring the boiling water, arranging a few slices of fruit on a plate, finding some sweetener. They still haven’t emerged from the bedroom.
The doorbell rings, startling me. I automatically get up, but Justin races into the room. His eyes flick over the items on the counter. “Leave that stuff and go to the garage.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to get fired. That’s the therapist. She knows who’s allowed entry, too.”
