Paris
I PRESSED MY palms onto the cool metal and closed my eyes.
Was it silly to hope today would go better than yesterday? Especially when yesterday had been the story of my entire life? Now though, at least, there was a medical diagnosis behind his actions.
That didn’t make stomaching it any easier.
I pushed open the door and found my father asleep in his bed. The passing of time hadn’t been kind to him. Not many years away from eighty, he was wrinkled, hunched, and now apparently, unable to stay by himself.
The broken hip I might have been able to deal with, but he’d been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, and that wasn’t anything I could try to tackle while attempting to keep Highway 128 afloat.
Stages. It was all about the stages and he was nearing Stage 5. Dementia setting in. Sure, I had noticed the disconnect where he couldn’t follow our conversations, but I blew it off as him just being him where I was concerned. I also questioned his bad decisions, but as always, he insisted I was wrong or ignored me.
Now that I knew the truth, it made so much more sense. Like how he could get dressed by himself but wasn’t able to put his own shoes on. Or the poor decisions he’d made for the business without realizing the consequences, like firing his CFO.
The stroke he’d had while attempting to break into Vince Gable’s house wasn’t severe. The doctor warned, though that it could have been the first of what they called a series of mini strokes.
In other words, my father’s remaining time on this earth was limited. How long though, they couldn’t answer. A week. A year. Five for all they knew.
Those old eyes opened and I smiled at him. “Hi, Daddy. How are you feeling today?”
His eyes were sharp when he looked at me, so his words stung even more when he spoke them. In fact, they felt like a jagged knife was being plunged through my heart. “London, sweetheart, what are you still doing here? You’re going to be late for work.”
Work.
Yes. London’s summer job at the old tasting room. He’d told me how hard she’d worked. That she’d gotten there by seven every morning.
He always told me how much better she was than me.
I never even bothered to come home for the summer during college, so I never could disappoint him. In that way, anyway. I’d done it in a million other ways, though.
Be a doctor like your sister wanted to, he’d told me. I put a fat X on that one.
It was always, like my sister.
Everything.
And now he thought I was her.
Chaos brewed like a violent storm inside me. I wanted to run and never look back. This was my biggest nightmare. But he was ill, and I couldn’t run. I couldn’t leave him alone. I was all he had.
He pointed out the window. “Hurry now or the staff will be waiting for you.”
I glanced out the window.
Sun setting. Sun rising. I guess they looked the same from his vantage point.
Picking up a large vase of wildflowers, I sniffed the scent of lavender that was woven through it and then set the magnificent bouquet beside him on the bedside table. “I have plenty of time, Daddy.”
The truth danced unreachably in the air.
London was dead.
I was Paris, her replacement.
The doctors had already explained to me that trying to correct him would only agitate him.
“Why are you wearing those ridiculous clothes?” he said.
I looked down at my silver cropped top and wide-legged black pants. Then at the patent 1960’s pumps I’d found for a steal online. “I’m going out to dinner after work. Remember, I told you.”
It slipped out easily enough.
“With who?” he demanded.
“Just some friends.”
“Well, you better not be hanging around with that Holiday boy, you hear me? He’s trouble and your mother and I want you to stay away from him.”
I blinked.
Holiday boy?
His realities must have been intertwining. London’s and my childhoods becoming one.
I took a seat in the hard plastic chair beside him. “I understand, Daddy,” I agreed. “Now, you should get some rest.”
He grumbled a few words and stared at the hoist around his body like it was the first time he’d seen it. Then surprisingly, he closed his eyes.
I did the same, pushing back the tears I refused to cry.
The hospital door swung open and a man in blue scrubs with a stethoscope around his neck came striding in. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Dr. White,” he looked down at the chart he was holding. “You must be Paris.”
Surprised he knew my name, I figured it must have been noted somewhere in the medical file.
Worried at the contradiction, my eyes shot to my father, who was now fast asleep. I got to my feet and smoothed my slacks. “Yes, I’m Malcolm’s daughter. I’m sorry, but I don’t think we’ve met.”
“That’s right,” he said. “I’m covering for Dr. Crane, your father’s orthopedic physician. I stopped in earlier to see him. He told me about you.”
I just nodded. There was no need to correct him, either.
“Well, nice to meet you.” I grinned.
“Nice to meet you, too. Your father seemed very proud of all the work you’ve been doing with the winery.”
Oh, yes, London and the old tasting room.
I just smiled.
“He said you’d quit your job to come back here and that your dedication was going to make you a brilliant CEO.”
My mouth fell open.
That was not London he was speaking of. It was me.
Dispensing with the formalities, the doctor started flipping through the chart. “Do you know if your father has a living will?”
Still in shock, I shook my head.
I didn’t even know if he had a will, period. And if he did, who he was handing his legacy down to.
It very well could be the coffee shop owner in town that he’d always been sweet on for all I knew.
“He’s doing much better now that we’ve got the pain under control,” the doctor said. “In fact, he can be transferred to Senior Living as early as tomorrow.”
Finding myself staring at the beautiful flower arrangement, I jerked my gaze toward him. I only wished that to be true. The nursing director had told me Senior Living was the premier rehabilitation center in the county and that it also specialized in late-staged Alzheimer’s.
It was the first place I’d called when I was told my father couldn’t remain in the hospital for much longer. However, the cost was astronomical and they didn’t accept insurance. Private pay only. Besides, even if the price was within my reach, they had a twelve-month waiting list.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “But he won’t be going there. I’ve arranged for him to be moved to the Center for Rehabilitation attached to the hospital until I can find a more suitable place for him.”
The doctor flipped even faster through the chart. “Are you certain?”
I straightened my spine. “Yes, I am.”
He glanced up. “There must be some mistake then because I have the signed admission paperwork right here.”
My brows twisted in confusion. “That doesn’t make sense. I did call them, but I didn’t give them any information.”
Just then the door swung open again and the nursing director came in with several pieces of paper in her hand. “Dr. White, Paris,” she greeted. “I don’t want to disturb you, doctor, but I just wanted to attach the Senior Living admissions paperwork to Mr. Fairchild’s chart.”
Dr. White raised the chart. “It’s already here. But there seems to be some confusion. Mr. Fairchild’s daughter was under the impression her father would be transferred to the Rehabilitation Center here at the hospital.”
The nursing director shook her head as if amused, and then placed her hand over her mouth. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said, “I think your husband wanted to surprise you with the news.”
White hot fury bubbled inside me. “My husband?” I managed to ask without clenching my teeth.
“Oh yes, Mr. Holiday is such a wonderful man. You’re one lucky woman to have a husband like that to help you in situations like these. And those flowers, they’re so gorgeous.”
“Yes, I certainly am,” I spewed through a fake smile. “Do you think I could take those copies?” I asked, pointing to the duplicate paperwork the nurse held in her hand.
“Yes, of course.” She held them out. It took all of my strength not to rip them from her hand and shred them into pieces.
After taking them cordially, I managed to keep my voice even and my words coherent despite the fact that my mind was whirling. “Thank you both for everything and I hate to run but I have to meet that wonderful husband of mine for dinner.”
Tossing my faux fur around my shoulders, my legs moved quickly, much like they had when I was escaping from my father’s lectures about behaving more like my sister had, being more like my sister was.
Yet, the adrenaline that was buzzing through my veins was hotter, wilder, filled with fury, and maybe something more.
Click. Click. Click.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
I went down the sterile corridor and then burst through the double doors. The cool air hit me as I strode toward his Range Rover with determination.
I hadn’t decided if I was going to meet Tyler for dinner or not, but I certainly had now.
And my ‘husband’ was going to be looking at divorce papers very soon.