Over the course of those three years, though, his disease had progressed. To make matters worse, he’d had a stroke while grocery shopping by himself. Mom normally did the shopping or sent someone out to do it. I was glad I wasn’t a witness to such a tragedy.
I wanted to be there for my father, and I also took it as an opportunity to focus on my next semester, take up some reading for my English degree. I wanted to become a second grade teacher, spread creativity, and help develop young minds the right way. It had always been a dream of mine.
I drove home the day after I finished exams. I could check my scores online. In that moment, family was more important. It took me an hour and a half to get home. As soon as I did, I called Izzy before getting out of the car.
She answered, her tone chipper.
“Izzy, you didn’t text me back earlier.”
“Sorry, Chlo. I got caught up with unpacking, and Dylan wouldn’t leave me the hell alone.” She groaned. “But I suck because I totally forgot to tell you that I can’t even come home this summer. I may be on a bit of an academic probation.”
I gasped. “What the hell? How?”
“All that partying.” I knew she was shrugging while putting on an innocent face. “It gets the best of you. But I swear, I’m going to get it together. I have to. My dad will kill me if he finds out. Hey, do me a favor and don’t bring up the summer school thing. I kind of told him that I volunteered to help for a summer camp for teens.”
“I… won’t. What makes you think I’ll even get the chance to talk to him?”
“I don’t know. You guys always talk. He asks about you all the fucking time like I’m supposed to know how you’re doing when you’re two hours away from me. I’m like, ‘Dad. We don’t go to the same school. I don’t know what Chloe’s doing.’” She laughed.
My heart stuttered, and I looked through the rearview mirror, spotting the familiar home that belonged to the Blacks. He asks about me? That was the first time I’d heard that one.
“Anyway, I’m sorry Chlo. I think summer school ends like two weeks before the fall semester begins, and if so, I’ll come see you. I don’t know. We’ll see. But until then, hang in there, and update me on Papa Knight. I can’t believe your mom, by the way. Total bitch move.”
I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “You’re telling me. I’ll call you or something soon. Make sure you focus, alright? Tell Dylan to get lost. Books before boys!”
“Always has been!”
“Always will be.” I smiled, Izzy laughed, and I hung up, blowing a sigh as I stared at the home ahead of me. My home. It felt so unfamiliar to me now.
My sick father was in there. Fortunately, there was a certified nurse also looking after him so I wouldn’t be completely on my own, but this was frightening. What if he forgot my name? Or the fact that he even had a daughter? The last thing I needed was my parents forgetting I existed.
Picking up my tote bag and slinging it over my shoulder, I pushed out of the car and shut the door behind me, adjusting my wool fedora hat and then my shorts. It was humid outside, the air thick with the California heat. My clothes automatically clung to my skin. I needed to get inside.
I walked to the door, pulling out my house key. I couldn’t believe it felt so strange to be home. And worse? Right across the street from the man I had constant fantasies about. Before entering the house, I glanced back. The garage gate was closed, the driveway empty. Lights out.
No one was home—well, he wasn’t home.
Work, possibly? I don’t know. His schedule was foreign to me now, but I used to know it like the palm of my hand.
I twisted my lips, walking inside and shutting the door behind me. The AC was strong, cooling the hidden parts of me that were hard to keep at a decent climate. I took off my hat and placed it on the wooden rectangular table by the door, calling for anyone to appear.
Several seconds later, a short Hispanic woman with curly brown hair appeared. Her cheeks were chubby, as well as her fingers. She was at least four inches shorter than me, but her smile was way bigger than mine could ever be. It was weird. She didn’t look like how I pictured her when we were on the phone a week ago. I expected a younger woman wearing loose clothing and her hair pinned up. But her hair flowed to her shoulders, her floral blouse and khaki’s proving she was exactly how she dressed. Simple.
Still beautiful, nonetheless.
“Hi!” the caregiver chimed as she came rushing my way. She extended her arm, and I shook her hand. “You must be Chloe!”
“In the flesh.” I smiled.
“Wow,” she gasped. “You look so much like your father.” She placed a hand on her hip.
“I get that a lot.”
“Well, welcome home! It’s so good to meet you. Margie, by the way. You know, just in case you may have forgotten.”
“I didn’t forget,” I laughed.
“Great!” She walked past me, entering the kitchen. “I was just coming down for your father’s soup and crackers. He has a bit of a head cold, but other than that, he seems fine today.”
“Today? What do you mean today?” I walked in the kitchen after her, head tilted.
Her eyes met mine briefly before she focused on the bowl she was placing on a tray. “Your dad has his days… some where he’ll know exactly who and where he is and some where he won’t even know why there’s a portrait of him with two strange girls on the wall beside him.” She looked up at me again, waving a hand. “The strange girls being you and your mother.”
“Oh.” I looked away, folding my arms. Margie walked around the island counter and went up the stairs. I was hesitant on following her up, but when she glanced back and caught my uncertainty, she quickly gestured for me to follow.
“Come on up! He’s been anxious to see his baby girl.”
I smiled, nodding as I took the stairs with her. For a heavyset woman, she moved fast. I loved it. It was just what my dad needed after living such a fast-paced life. Taking the stairs by twos, I followed Margie into my parents’ master bedroom. The room was much colder than the rest of the house, the way my father always liked it. The walls were no longer a pale shade of blue but more of an indigo. It suited him. A tranquil color. My father was never the type to be on edge. He was a laid-back guy, way easier to talk to than my mom… whenever he was around anyway.
A king-sized bed stretched across the center of the room, a TV mounted right across from it, and on the bed was my father. He was sitting upright, the blue blanket I knitted for him while I was in summer camp in 8th grade spread out across his lap. Pill bottles were lined up on the dresser on the east wall. There were at least ten little orange and white containers.
Entering the room, my eyebrows glued together as I stared at him. It seemed he hadn’t eaten in weeks. He was skinnier with dark circles beneath his eyes, lips a shade whiter. His dark skin was still smooth, though. A nice chocolaty-brown complexion.
I stared from the bedroom door, wanting so badly to cry for him. He looked lonely, but I knew my father. He would never show it, and he damn sure wouldn’t admit it.
“Daddy?”
Dad whipped his head to the right, eyes immediately turning bright as he looked from the quiet game of golf on the TV screen to me. “Baby girl!” He opened his arms, and when he did, I rushed forward, sinking into them as I sat on the edge of the mattress. “How’s my ladybug doing?” he asked, kissing the top of my head.
My eyes burned even more, bottom lip quivering. I pulled my shit together and said, “Never better.” Then I gently removed myself from his embrace, meeting his sad brown eyes. “How are you? Margie tells me you have a cold?”
“Ehh.” He waved a hand, dismissing the idea. “No cold. Just a runny nose.”
“Hmm. You sound a little sick to me.”
He laughed and then held up his forefinger and thumb like he was about to pinch something. “Maybe just a little.” He looked me over, proud to see I was still holding my own. “You look great. How’s school? Your grades?”