CHAPTER 11

EMERY

I spent the rest of the day networking and trying not to think about Estelle’s pussy. And no, I didn’t mean her cats.

I contacted a few local shelters and vet clinics to let them know about our project and the urgent need to find homes for the cats. Most of them were more than willing to help.

When I called Remington Animal Medical Center, Christine answered the phone. We chatted for a good twenty minutes, catching up and talking about old times.

Then she told me something that could be a game changer for Estelle; more specifically, for Peter.

Apparently Twinkle Star Snowy Nose Tickle Toes (AKA Arnold) had been hit by a car six months prior and his injuries were too severe for him to pull through. Marty Miller was devastated.

But…

He was open to adopting another cat.

And who loved asshole cats? Marty Miller.

It was late afternoon by the time I made it to Windsor Lakes. The winding driveway was meticulously landscaped on both sides, and a big fountain sat out front by the parking lot. Behind the brick building there were gardens, a courtyard, and two large ponds.

There were reasons why it was so expensive.

It was nicer than any place I’d ever lived, and that included my fancy-ass condo. Whoever designed it had purposely made it feel more like an all-inclusive resort instead of a medical facility.

Complete with a barber shop, a library, and an eating area that was more like a nice restaurant than a cafeteria, most of the residents didn’t even have to leave. The lounge was cozy, with leather couches, a flat screen TV, and a billiards table. There was even an onsite gym with physical therapists who created individualized workout plans for the residents.

All the staff members were medically trained, and because they were paid so well, the turnover rate was extremely low.

But the best part? Every patient had their own living quarters, with their own bedroom and bathroom. There was something to be said about having your own space with your own personal belongings—it made people feel normal and in control.

Automatic sliding glass doors welcomed me into the entryway. The floors were paved with dark laminate flooring, the walls a soft beige. Framed prints of famous art lined the hall.

The receptionist flagged me down as I walked past the front desk. “Hey, Emery. Long time, no see. I’m glad you stopped in. I think one of the nurses would like to talk to you.”

I nodded. “Who’s on duty today?”

“Gretchen,” she replied before getting up to find her.

A minute later, Gretchen came around the corner in her usual uniform of jeans and a cartoon-covered lab coat. It was unconventional, but most of the staff wore casual outfits to make the patients feel more at ease. Her salt and pepper hair was tied in a neat bun, and she smiled when she saw me.

Gretchen was the best nurse at Windsor Lakes. She’d been here long before my dad became a patient. She was the one to show me around the first day I checked out the place, and ultimately, the one who convinced me it was the right fit for my dad.

“It’s been a while,” she said. “How are you?”

“Busy, but good,” I replied. I didn’t waste any time getting to the issue. “What did you want to talk to me about? Is my dad doing okay?”

“Oh, he’s fine.” She lifted a bowl in her hands. “I couldn’t get him to eat his tapioca this afternoon. Thought maybe you could give it a try. He always does so much better for you and Nikki. It has his medication in there because he was having trouble swallowing the pill.”

Taking it from her hands, I nodded. “I’d be happy to try.”

“You’re such a good boy,” she praised as if I was still that scared kid she’d met six years ago. “You’ll find him watching the ball game.”

“Wait.” I stopped her before she could walk away. “Nikki said Dad’s on some new meds. What’s that for?”

“Arthritis pain, mostly in his hands,” she replied before giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “He’s doing okay, Emery. Try not to worry so much. Oh, and I can’t wait for the next season of your show,” she whispered. “You’ve even got my husband hooked.”

All the staff knew who I was and what I did for a living, but I was grateful that they were discreet about it. Confidentiality was important here. They didn’t blab to people outside of work about my occupation or that my father was a patient.

“Thanks.” I smiled. “Tell your husband I appreciate the male fans, too.”

Stirring the creamy contents of the bowl, I headed for the lounge.

I spotted his blue ballcap first. Dad was sitting on the brown leather couch in front of the TV, tapping his knee like he was listening to a song I couldn’t hear.

Taking a deep breath, I sat next to him. Then I waited—for acknowledgement, for recognition, for some glimpse of the man I used to know.

The tapping slowed. His brown eyes slowly turned to mine, and he smiled. “How’s it going, son?”

I let go of the breath I was holding and grinned.

It was a good day.

“I’m great, Pops.”

“That’s what I like to hear. How’s work? You know the nurses in this place watch your show all the time. They can’t believe you’re my boy.” He chuckled. “Sometimes I think they give me extra pudding, hoping I’ll get them a date with you or something.”

Snickering, I raised the bowl. “Speaking of pudding, how about eating some of this?”

Seeming agreeable to the suggestion, he reached for the spoon but his hand shook so badly that he couldn’t get a good grasp on it.

“I can do it,” I said, picking up the spoon. “Here, like this.”

I fed him a bite, and he made a sound like it was good. I gave him another. We went on like that until I was scraping the bottom of the bowl.

“Last one,” I told him.

After he was done, I handed him a napkin and he wiped at his trembling lips.

It was painful, seeing someone you love in this condition. Seeing them helpless and dependent. Never knowing if they would recognize you.

When I was a kid, Robert Matheson had seemed like an indestructible giant, but now I was two inches taller than his six feet.

He’d aged quite a bit in the last few years, but on the outside, he looked mostly the same. Khaki pants. Reebok tennis shoes. The hat he’d worn for as long as I could remember.

On his bad days, I felt like I was trapped on the other side of a two-way mirror; I could see him, but he couldn’t see me. And I could bang on that glass and yell as loud as I wanted to, but he’d never hear me.

I missed him so much. Even at almost twenty-five, sometimes I just needed my dad.

“So,” he started, “tell me something great.”

Tell me something great.

I loved it when he said that. Because that was the dad I used to know. It was what he’d said to me after the first day of kindergarten, after my SAT test, and after Mom died.

And the day after we moved him here, I’d tried so hard not to get choked up as I sat on this couch and answered him. I’d told him I was going to make sure he was taken care of—that was the only good news I had for him at the time.

Scratching my jaw, I wondered if I should tell him about Estelle. It’d been a long time since I talked about women with my dad, and I didn’t want to confuse him.

Fuck it. He was himself, and I had no idea when another opportunity like this would come up.

“There’s this woman I met on the job I’m working on right now. I like her.” I paused, trying to think of how I could describe Estelle. “She’s kinda crazy, in a good way.”

Laughing, Dad slapped his knee. “That’s the best kind. The very best. What does she do?”

“She owns a costume shop.”

“An entrepreneur. Impressive.”

“And she has nine cats.”

He guffawed. “Sounds like she’s perfect for you.”

Loud cheering from the TV pulled his attention away. We sat together and watched the game for several minutes before he spoke up again.

“If I drop my bag over the railing, will they let me go get it?”

I turned my head toward him, my stomach sinking. “What do you mean?”

“My backpack,” he said, getting more distressed by the second. “My baseball glove is in there. Will they let me go onto the field to get it?”

“Where do you think you are right now, Dad?”

Finally glancing at me, he blinked twice. “I don’t know.”

Closing my eyes, I swallowed around the rising lump in my throat and told myself to be thankful for those few lucid minutes I got with him.

“Yeah.” My voice was raspy. “They’ll let you go get it.”

He gave me a lopsided smile. “Oh, good. Wouldn’t want to lose my glove.”

“No,” I agreed. “I wouldn’t let that happen.”

“Thanks.” He studied me for several seconds before grinning again. “You know, my wife has the same color eyes as you. Do you know my wife?”

“Yeah,” I replied sadly. “I know her.”

“Where’s Mary? I’d like to see her now.”

“You’ll see her tonight.”

I knew from the hospital staff that he dreamed of my mom often, and I was glad. I was glad he had that one thing left. At night when he closed his eyes, they were together—he was young and in love. He got to experience the best days of his life over and over, moments frozen in time.

“I can’t wait to see Mary. She’s the best part of my day.” Dad reached over and patted my arm. A subconscious fatherly gesture.

His hands were still callused from years of working as a handyman, playing sports with his kids, and gardening with his wife. The life he’d once lived was etched in every wrinkle on his face and every gray hair on his head.

And somewhere in his mind all the memories were jumbled, but they weren’t gone. Simply misplaced, but not missing.

“Tell me a story,” I requested, as I often did. If there was one thing Dad loved, it was regaling everyone with tales of his youth.

“Oh, I’ve got a bunch of good ones. Which one do you want to hear?”

“The one about the boy and the thumbtack.”

Slapping his knee again, he laughed.

“That’s the best one I’ve got. So,” he started, “I believe I was in the second grade. And there was this kid named Billy who used to torment all the girls. Real ornery. He used to put thumbtacks on their seats when the teacher wasn’t looking. Poor things got quite the unpleasant surprise when they sat down.”

“No way.” I acted shocked, even though I’d heard this story so many times that I could’ve recited it word for word.

“Yes way. One time, the teacher caught him in the act and sent him to the principal’s office. And do you know what the principal did?”

I hid my smile behind my hand. “What did he do?”

“He put a thumbtack down on the chair in his office. Turned to Billy and said, ‘Well, go ahead and sit down.’” His voice got deep, and I laughed at his impression of the old man he used to describe as a wet blanket.

“And did he sit down?”

Dad nodded. “Nowadays, schools would never get away with that kind of punishment. Keep in mind, this was the ’60s. So Billy sat down, expecting to get a sharp tack on his backside.” He paused dramatically. “But Billy just sat there and smiled. The principal pushed down on his shoulders, just to make sure he was down all the way. Still, Billy smiled. Eventually, he got sent back to class and the principal was baffled. Can you guess what happened?”

“Tell me.”

“When he sat down, that sharp point went right between his ass cheeks! Right in his crack. He couldn’t feel a thing.”

I laughed. “That’s a great story.”

“It is. Just too bad Billy didn’t learn his lesson.”

“That is a shame,” I agreed.

We went back to watching the game. I stayed until Dad dozed off and one of the nurses came to get him ready for bed. He didn’t say good night to me as he shuffled away.

My heart was a little heavy as I made my way out of the building. Leaving was always difficult because I knew my dad’s condition would only get worse over time.

But then my phone pinged with a text, and when I checked it my mood instantly lifted.

Estelle: I have a pussy emergency.

I grinned.

Guess I knew how I’d be spending my night.