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I say nothing. I hate to admit it, but my little sister’s advice doesn’t sound bad. When did she grow up and become so wise?
She pats my shoulder. “Go get your wife back, soldier.”
Chapter Nineteen ~ Crushed
Aster
I close the door to my father’s room slowly, carefully, so as not to wake him up. Lately, it’s been getting harder and harder to calm him down and get him to bed. As the gap in the doorway grows narrower, I hold a finger to my lips, a signal to Bart to remain quiet, which he has obeyed so far. After the door shuts with a faint click, I let out a sigh of relief.
Finally, I can say my day is done.
Lately, my days have felt long. Taking care of my dad hasn’t been easy. It was already hard before, even when he’d only forget things for a few seconds or minutes and then he’d go back to his old self and it would seem as if he never forgot anything. He’d forget that he forgot. Now, he forgets all the time. He doesn’t recognize me or the nurse. He forgets how old he is. He forgets that he no longer takes pictures for a living, and that – along with the fact that my mother is now gone – is the hardest for him to accept. Yet I have to make him believe it every single day.
It was hard before. It’s almost impossible now. Every day, it takes everything I have to not snap at my father, to not break down and cry in front of him – and I don’t really cry – to keep my sanity and just get through the day. Sometimes, I end up wishing I was the one with Alzheimer’s. Then I’d forget that my father has it and I wouldn’t have to deal with it.
Yes, Alzheimer’s is that hard. Not just hard. Cruel. With other diseases, both the patient and the one taking care of him suffer. With Alzheimer’s, the caretaker shoulders all of the suffering because the patient isn’t even aware that he is sick.
I hate it. I hate this.
I know I was the one who said I’d take care of my dad. I said I could do it. I thought I could. I have to admit, though, that I’m not sure anymore. I’m tired. And I don’t want to give up on my dad, but that’s hard to do when my dad doesn’t even recognize me. I feel like he’s given up on me, so now I feel like giving up on him.
Then again, maybe I’m just tired.
I go to my room and drop myself on top of my bed. As I gaze out my window, I see the one in the attic of the Burkes’ house. The one in Mason’s old room.
God, I miss him.
I miss his voice. I miss his smile. I miss his kisses. I even miss his devilish grin and his teasing and his sarcasm. I miss looking at him, at that incredibly perfect body of his. And I miss him looking at me with either that scorching, almost suffocating gaze of his or that softer, more tender look.
I get off the bed and walk to the window. I flatten my palm against the cold glass as I look up at the attic. My thoughts are even farther away, though, in DC.
I miss Mason. If he were here, I know he’d take me in his arms and I’d feel stronger. I know he’d help me and he’d make me feel better. I know he’d tell me that everything will be alright and make me believe it.
But he’s not here. No one is at the house next door, actually. Mr. and Mrs. Burke are using the tickets Giselle and Bill were supposed to use for their honeymoon and traveling all over Europe. Leander, of course, isn’t home but in some remote town of a faraway third-world country. And Giselle? She’s doing her internship in North Carolina.
The house is quiet. The windows are dark.
At least, that’s how they’re supposed to be, how they’ve been for the last couple of days. Suddenly, though, the light in the living room turns on.
Every muscle in my body grows stiff. Is it a burglar?
But no. A burglar wouldn’t turn the lights on. Besides, if the living room light is on, that means whoever is inside the house walked in through the front door. No burglar would do that. Which means…
At the next possibility that enters my head, my heart leaps.
Mason! Maybe he’s home. Maybe he’s come for me but he didn’t want to come straight to my house because it’s late.
In that case, I’ll go to him.
I go downstairs as fast as I can while making the least amount of sound. As I pass by the living room, Dali lifts his head and gives me a puzzled look. I signal for him to keep quiet before leaving the house. I go over to the Burkes’. In the driveway, I see an old black car I don’t recognize. Is that Mason’s?
