On Friday, Kira was on her way out the door to work when a strange number came up on her phone. She hesitated, and then answered it, shrugging on her coat and searching through her purse for her car keys.

“Kira Bancroft, please,” said a female voice.

“This is Kira.”

“Oh, good, I caught you. This is Gemma Walton from Denver Health Partners.”

Kira let out a noise of surprise. “Oh, Doctor Walton, thanks for calling.”

“I was going to call your father, but I hesitated, not knowing how he’ll take the news I need to share with you.”

Kira’s heart dropped to the floor. “This doesn’t sound good,” the words tumbled out. “I can relay anything to my parents if you think that’s best.”

“I would normally go straight to the patient, but I’ve known you since your first stitches, and the fact that you accompanied your mother last week during her appointment—” the doctor broke off and Kira could hear papers shuffling in the background. “After your father’s accident, your parents signed the form that allows me to discuss their health issues with you.”

“I’m the only one of their children who lives locally.” Bracing herself, Kira added, “I’m ready, doctor. It’s not good news, is it?”

“Your mother is showing signs of early dementia.”

“Is that Alzheimer’s?”

“Not exactly, but it can be a form of it, and often an early symptom of Alzheimer’s. I don’t want you to be alarmed because there are new medicines all the time and new forms of life skills and rehabilitation therapies.”

“How can I not be alarmed? How in the world will my mother care for my father?”

“You have older brothers, Kira. I suggest you connect with them and create a family plan for the short term. And another plan for long-term. It will be helpful for all of you.”

“So did this show up in the blood tests, or something else?”

“The blood work plus her written SAGE evaluation was pretty conclusive. And then there was the small episode your mother had in the office as you were leaving. That told me a lot right there.”

“I know,” Kira said with a long, drawn-out sigh. “She got worse on the way to lunch. But once we’d ordered our food she was fine again.”

“In the early stages, it can definitely come and go. All the time. Dementia progresses slowly, too. Which gives you time to prepare and plan for the future.”

“I guess that’s heartening.” Kira tried to swallow past her dry throat. “But she’s only sixty-five.”

“Unfortunately, we sometimes see it even earlier than that.”

“I don’t even know what to say. Do you need to see her again?”

“I’d like to recommend an evaluation by a clinical behavioral doctor who can recommend medication and knows the programs here in Denver that assists families through this.”

“She’s going to fight the diagnosis,” Kira said softly. “She insists there’s nothing wrong.”

“Would you like someone with you when you tell her? I can do a referral for a counselor.”

“I’ll call my oldest brother and see if he can come out for a few days.”

“Please stay in touch and let me know how I can help. I’ve been your family’s primary care doctor for a long time. My nurse will contact you on Monday and we’ll be sending out some materials to read.”

“Thank you, Doctor Walton.”

Kira hung up and glanced at the time, but the numbers on the kitchen clock blurred. Then she realized that she was now late to work. A Friday but she was doing the lunch shift today.

On the way out the door she accidentally dropped her keys. After she picked them up, her gloves fell to the floor. Blinded by the tears swimming behind her eyes, Kira tried to scoop up her gloves and failed. And then she dropped her composure and burst into tears.

It was a long drive to work and an even longer day getting through her shift at Rossi’s. Add to that, the three painful phone conversations with her brothers during her late dinner break. They weren’t too happy about the late-night call, but they didn’t say much. Her brothers often didn’t. Especially when it came to difficult topics.

Kira could hear her brother’s children playing in the background, the voices of their wives preparing dinner, scolding. The usual family antics. Her eyes burned with homesickness. Her nieces and nephews were growing up too fast. Despite the occasional call and Skype visit, she wasn’t a part of their lives in any meaningful way. Who had money to fly across the country? Or the time off?

Carl finally said, “I have some comp time coming. I’ll use that to come out and help you figure out therapy and meds with Mom and Dad.”

“But what do we do when she can’t take care of Dad, let alone herself? What if she burns the house down some night forgetting to turn off the gas stove?”

“Relax, Sis, it’ll be okay.”

“I think Mom’s been hiding it for a while. Now that I think back over the last few months, she’s said and done some weird stuff. Nothing huge, but the signs were there. They can’t afford to hire help or a live-in, and neither can we.”

“So maybe we have to put her in a hospital.”

“That’s cold, Carl.” Her eldest brother could be so aloof. “You can’t separate them and Dad needs help, too. It’s a slow degenerating disease. She won’t need live-in care for a long time to come.”

“I’ll let you know when my flight is next week. Meanwhile, read the doctor’s paperwork, send a copy to each of us, and set up appointments so I can make good use of my time while I’m there.”

Kira stuck her tongue out at the phone. As if her time wasn’t as important as his. Carl had one valid point. She couldn’t do anything until the packet of materials arrived from Dr. Walton and she researched some therapists and treatments.

Grabbing a bite to eat at a drive-through burger joint, Kira stopped in at her parent’s home to check on them. While her mother was in the bathroom dressing for bed, Kira relayed the news from Doctor Walton.

His gray head slowly nodded when she told him about the blood test results and a few of Mom’s “quirks” that day of the doctor visit.

His hands clasped together, and his brow deepened with wrinkles. Kira’s heart ached to see how dramatically her father had aged in the last couple of years. Her father’s early morning jogging routine gone. Gardening gone. Playing tennis gone. His career over. Plans for retirement and traveling with Mom gone. What use was a bucket list when you could barely get around the house or dress yourself?

Gazing into his face, Kira could see the gears in his mind going. Then she was thunderstruck by a sudden realization. “I know why you stopped getting together with your friends to play cards and drink beer,” she accused him, gripping the armrest of the wheelchair. “Because of Mom. You stay home because you’re worried. You’ve been worried and didn’t breathe a word.”

He gave a half-smile, guilty, as if he’d been caught. “You’re too smart for your own good, my girl.”

“But Dad, this—this—” Kira waved her hands around the tiny, run-down house. After their big, beautiful home in a nice suburb, it had never gotten easier seeing her parents living here after losing the family home to foreclosure and bankruptcy caused by medical bills and the loss of her father’s job.

“Hey, I love your mother with everything that makes me a man.” He spoke quietly, but his words were forceful. “I can give up poker games for her. It’s not that hard.”

“But you’ve already given up so much.”

“I can’t leave Claire here alone. If she got hurt, I’d never forgive myself.”

Kira’s voice was shaky. “I understand, Dad. And I love you. I hope one day I can find someone just like you.”

He chuckled at that. “Be careful what you wish for, my girl.”

She waved that away, hearing her mother coming down the hall. “Carl’s coming as soon as I can get the paperwork and appointments set up.”

“Any chance he can throw one of those grand-babies into his suitcase?”

That was another wound in her parent’s lives. Her dad had loved whooping it up with her brother’s children. Wrestling. Making Cub Scout Pinewood Derby cars. Taking them to Disneyland. Picnics in the mountains where a wheelchair had no access.

Gone in a thirty second semi-truck crash.

“It’s not fair,” Kira said. She sounded like a petulant child, but she couldn’t help it.

Her father’s hand reached out to squeeze hers, and then planted a kiss on the back of her knuckles. “I have no regrets. I’ve had a good life, my girl. And you are one of the very best parts of it.”

“Oh, Dad,” Kira said, biting back tears.

Later that night, she tossed and turned, unable to sleep, going over the doctor’s conversation and the one with her father as if it was on permanent rewind.