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I pressed at the buttons on my dash to dial Sadie’s number. She answered after a couple rings, saying, “My hands are covered in clay. You’re on speaker phone.”
“Any interest in going to a football game?”
Her mom squealed. “She’d love to go with you, April!”
Sadie let out a sigh. “Suddenly I’ve become great at ventriloquism.”
Arlo’s laughter boomed across the speaker, making me miss my dad’s laugh even more. “You two should go, have fun. If only for the story.”
“The story?” I asked.
Arlo replied, “When you’re old like me, I want you girls to have stories to tell and not regrets to warn against.”
I had a regret, alright, but it more so involved the fact that I’d have to see Diego tonight. He might have been the one to voice his disappointment in partner choice, but I was thinking the exact same thing.
I’d rather pair with the guy in the row in front of me who clearly had his headphones in throughout the entire lecture than spend an hour or more a week with Diego.
“I have to go tonight to talk to Diego about a class project,” I explained. “You’d be doing me a real solid.”
Another sigh. “Okay, I’ll see you there.”
We hung up, and I drove the rest of the way to the center. I was just on time as I hurried to the front entrance, jamming my finger into the buzzer.
“How can I help you?” came a woman’s voice.
“I’m April Adams. Here to pick up Doug Adams.”
“Great. Come inside and wait in the lobby, please. Dr. Sanders wants to speak with you.”
I squinted as the door unlocked, trying to figure out why Dad’s doctor would want to talk to me as I pushed my way inside. But since no doctor was here, I had no choice but to wait. I hadn’t taken the time to notice the waiting room earlier, but now I took it in. From the gold and red carpet underfoot to the beige chairs lining the walls, it was... okay. Not comfortable, not stylish, but not bad either.
I took a breath, getting a hint of eucalyptus mixed with cleaning solution.
“April?”
I looked up to see an older woman walking my way. She had on gray slacks, black clogs, a black shirt.
“I’m Dr. Sanders,” she said, extending her hand.
“April,” I replied, meeting her soft blue eyes framed by glasses.
There was a kindness in them as she looked me over. “Come with me, dear.”
I followed her, looking around to see if I could catch a glimpse of my dad. For the last few days, he’d come home in a decent mood but way more tired than usual. The social worker told Mom that it would take time for him to adjust, especially with all the new therapies they were doing with him.
She stopped halfway down the hallway in an office labeled Dr. Sanders. I stepped inside, noticing the heavy wooden furniture ornately decorated with carvings. She gestured at a gold seat across from her desk and sat down.
“Is everything okay with my dad?” I asked, worried she was going to tell me he wasn’t right for the program. It may have been hard, but I’d also seen my mom relax for the first time in years. On Wednesday, she even picked me up from school just so we could go get ice cream together. No worries about what Dad would do at home or if he’d try cooking and forget to turn off the oven. Just her and me.
The accident had changed my dad, but in a lot of ways, it had taken my mom from me as well.
“Your dad is adjusting better than most,” Dr. Sanders answered. “I think this program is exactly what he needs. I wanted to speak with you because we do things differently at Rhodora. I’m sure when you were in Kansas, the care was focused primarily on your father while you and your mom received little support.”
I didn’t need to confirm. The moment we got that call about his injury, our whole lives had shifted. Mom and I were an afterthought to Dad’s care, his appointments, therapies, and medications, because we had to be there for him to get the help he needed.
“We know, from personal experience and working so closely with these families, that caregiver health is vital to the health of our patients. If the caregivers are struggling, the patients struggle as well.”
I studied her for a moment, from the serious look in her eyes to the veins showing on her laced hands atop her desk. I didn’t know what she was accusing us of... or if she had seen through the strong family we tried to be. “What do you mean?” I finally asked.
