“I want it to serve as a reminder that your father doesn’t see you the way Cassie did or I do or Jen does or anyone else. He views things through a different lens. Everyone else sees the dynamic, boundless, beautiful person you are.” She pointed to the kaleidoscope. “As if through that. Your father doesn’t and can’t. Don’t ever forget it.”
Kade studied her gift. She’d never thought her father might see things differently from others. Was her near-lifelong rift with him really so simple? Did their issues stem from him not seeing her for who she was? She covered Holly’s hand. “This is easily the best present I’ve ever received. Thank you.”
Holly smiled and gave Kade’s hand a brief squeeze. “Well, don’t judge yet, because there’s one more.” Holly delved into her bag and handed Kade a larger wrapped package. “Feel free to take this with you today.”
Kade stripped off the gift wrap and laughed. This was much more up Holly’s alley. It was a child’s toy, a Viking set of a plastic sword, chest armor, helmet, and shield. “I’m suddenly feeling extraordinarily prepared for my visit.”
“Kill two birds with one stone. You can protect yourself when you see your dad and wear it the next time you see Jen. Women love a gal in uniform.”
“No doubt if she was wavering, this would seal the deal. But I thought you’d cooled on her.”
“I don’t blame her for wanting you to make some sort of peace with your father. Her heart’s in the right place. I just wish he were.”
“You wish his heart were in the right place?”
“No. I wish he were in the right place, geographically speaking. Siberia, for example.”
* * *
Kade didn’t want to stare, even if her father wasn’t paying attention to her. She moved to stand at the foot of the bed, into what she thought was his line of vision. “Hi, Dad. It’s Kade.”
His eyes shifted slightly, enough for Kade to think he’d understood her. His gaze passed through her line of sight, caught and held her eyes briefly, yet didn’t settle upon her. During those few moments, she saw no emotion there, no recognition of her specifically.
She did stare then, not because of his distorted face, but because she was at a loss for what should come next. She looked to him for some sign of the steps she ought to take, some guidance for dealing with this incredibly uncomfortable situation. What now? What was she supposed to say to the man she’d loved and lost, the father who’d emotionally abandoned her before she left grade school? What was left to salvage?
Perhaps fueled by her self-preservation instinct, Kade felt a strong urge to remain physically distant from him. He’d never struck her—she wasn’t worried about him in any physical sense, clearly not now, and not ever. At his worst, he’d grab her by the arm and pull her down the hallway to shove her into her bedroom before shutting the door. Hardly Father of the Year material and nothing she’d wish to emulate should she ever have a child. But for likely the same reason she found herself holding her arm across her torso in a self-protective gesture, she could not sit by his side. Glancing around the room, she searched for something else besides the heavy, square visitors’ chair pushed back near the wall to the right of the bed. She spied a folding chair resting against the wall beneath the television set, and she took it. She unfolded it at the right corner of the bed and sat.
Seconds passed. Minutes. Flicking her eyes along the walls in search of a clock and failing to find one, she glanced at her watch. Time obviously passed slower here. Whether it was the facility, her state of mind, or the unsettled state between them, she wasn’t sure, but the three minutes that had ticked by felt like thirty.
Gordon’s eyes closed. Kade didn’t know if he’d fallen asleep or was resting. After more minutes slowly passed, Kade asked, “Dad?” He didn’t respond. “Gordon?” She asked another three times during several more minutes. Nothing.
“I’m not sure what I’m doing here, either,” she said to the room. And then she began to slowly release words into the air, as if once she let them go, she could allow herself to leave as well.
“I don’t want to be here, and you probably don’t want me here. So it’s a little crazy that I am. I guess I should start by saying I’m sorry this happened to you. We’ve had our issues, but I didn’t—I’d never have wished this upon you or anyone.
“What else? Still single. Still gay—I know you like that one. I’m a venture capitalist now, writing checks with other people’s money, spending most of my days in meetings. You’d hate that, being the outdoorsman you are. Oh—Holly Keller still works for me. She says ‘hi,’ by the way.”
A teensy lie. Holly wanted to say a lot of things to Gordon, and ‘hi’ wasn’t on the list.
“This place is supposed to be good, Dad. Reputable. Competent. Solid rehab program. The works.
“So. Not much more to report. I plan on popping by to check on you. Hope you’re okay with that.” Kade gave a hollow laugh. “Hope I’m okay with that. All right then.” Kade stood, the blatant omission weighing heavily on her shoulders, holding her in the room. She sat back down.
“There’s this woman.” Kade sighed, rudderless. “This amazing, warm, gifted…” She stopped mid-thought. Why go there? He wouldn’t want to hear it, and it’s not as if she and Jen had a chance. Still, she wanted to get everything on the table. She wasn’t here as a doting daughter.
“You probably don’t remember being moved to this facility or what the other one was like, but she thought you might do better in a place like this. She’s also the one who suggested I visit you, against my better judgment. To what end, I have no idea. Baffling, I know, since she knows our history.”
Kade shrugged and shook her head. “So. Now you know everything. We don’t have to pretend this is anything else.” Kade picked up the chair, folded it, and returned it to its place along the wall. She once again stopped at the foot of the bed, leaving the steady rise and fall of Gordon’s chest the only movement in the room. It was mechanical. Emotionless. A body trying to survive. Kade recognized herself in those signs.
Chapter Twenty
The following evening, Kade entered her father’s room and took the visitors’ chair this time, which was placed to his right, his good side. She dragged its massive weight closer to the bed, sat, and crossed her legs. She clicked off the television and set the remote back on the tray in front of him. With effort, she willed herself to touch his arm as part of her greeting and don a friendlier expression than the coolness she felt inside. Touching the stroke victim was recommended practice. “Hi, Dad. It’s me again.”
Gordon didn’t move.
Kade used a direct approach, as she’d read about. “Look at me, Dad.”
Gordon turned his head slightly and moved his eyes to hers.
“How are you feeling today?” The question sounded inane to Kade’s own ears. What was he supposed to say? Not that he could say anything anyway, but whether the answer was “great” or “terrible,” what was she going to do about it?
“Are they treating you well?” Again, Kade felt impotent. They couldn’t communicate, and given their history, she wasn’t sure that was such a bad thing. How could she possibly visit him at length, with any regularity? It hadn’t been two minutes, and she felt drained.
Thinking of minutes, she opened the large shopping bag she’d set on the floor and held up two square boxes. “Wall clocks,” she said, as she opened the boxes. “Cheapies from the office-supply store to start with, but you must be going crazy not being able to see the time whenever you want.” From the moment she’d first stepped into his room, she knew Gordon Davenport wouldn’t settle in unless he could constantly monitor the time. Once she popped the batteries in, she set about hanging them with adhesive hooks. The folding chair she stood on didn’t allow her to hang them as high as she wished, but when she reviewed her handiwork, she was satisfied.
Another thought took hold as she scrutinized his surroundings. Cold. No warmth, no personalization of any kind. No photographs, no books
, no plants aside from one plastic orchid. Two pieces of framed art seemed generic and un-Gordon-like, as if they’d come with the place. One way to give the room a decidedly Gordon feel was to have someone set up one of his beloved train sets. She’d contact the same company that had rigged the one in her condo and send them here.
She retook her seat by his side, and her gaze landed on his, fixated on the nearest clock. Less than ten minutes had passed. Oh boy, this was going to be fun. At least he’d noticed her contribution to his decor. No doubt clock-watching would be his preferred pastime until the train arrived.
When Gordon’s eyes returned to hers, they softened. Rightly or wrongly, she took this as a sign she’d done something correctly.
She eyed his hand. She’d always thought he had strong hands, and this one at least—the right one—appeared the same as she remembered. She hadn’t held it since she was a girl. Pushing past her distaste for him, she took it in hers.
“Odd twist of fate that I wish you could speak.” She sighed. She wasn’t here to make her father feel bad. She squeezed his hand. “Sorry.”
Wait. Was that…? Did he…? “Dad. If you can understand me, would you squeeze my hand twice?”
He squeezed twice.
“Wow, okay. Wow. That’s great. Um, let’s try two squeezes for yes and one for no. Does that work?”
Two squeezes.
“We need to get you started on speech therapy right away. I’ll talk to your doctor. Has anyone talked to you about speech therapy yet?”
Nothing.
She mentally replayed her question. Her research indicated that stroke patients often had difficulty comprehending complex ideas or ordering their thoughts. Should she simplify the question? Then she realized she ought to add one more concept. “Dad, give me three squeezes if you don’t know an answer, okay?”
Two squeezes.
“Has a doctor been here?”
Three squeezes.
“Okay. It’s only day two. But still. The sooner the better, from what I’ve heard. I’ll get on them.” Kade thought back to her running-at-the-mouthathon yesterday. Uh-oh. “Dad, do you remember my visit yesterday?”
Two squeezes.
Ugh. Had he heard her, or had he been asleep? She’d said she didn’t want to be here. At the time, it was true. Was it still? Kade kept her hand on her father’s, even though she felt like pulling away. Yes, it was true. Maybe a degree or two less unequivocal, but given other choices, pretty much anything she could think of, including getting a Pap smear or dental X-rays, was superior to sitting here with him. Still, she got a little excited at the prospect she wouldn’t have to do it in silence or by performing monologues. But they had too much hurt between them, too many years of disappointment built on top of disappointment, for her to want to spend time with him.
What if she asked him the same question? She’d told him she thought he probably didn’t want her here. Should she ask? If he said he wanted to be left alone, would she adhere to his wishes or show up despite them?
Jen’s suggestion that Kade visit him was the only reason she was here, and it wasn’t predicated on what either she or her father wished. Kade had sole control over whether to learn the answer, since he couldn’t very well bring it up himself. As much as she feared yet another rejection, shouldn’t she find out his preference? What if he did want her there, but only to relieve what must be nearly overwhelming boredom, making Kade as indifferent to him as any nurse? The answers could be incredibly painful, reopening wounds that had long since scarred over.
No. Perhaps one day soon, she’d ask. Today, she wasn’t ready. Perhaps they could balance along the blade of polite, blunt-edged conversation long enough to one day tip the scales to a different answer, one that said they both wanted this time together. Today was not that day. Not for her.
* * *
Jen didn’t recognize the second car in Nana’s driveway. It wasn’t time for a shift change, so she wasn’t sure what it portended. Laughter greeted her as she opened the front door. Nana and another gray-haired woman were seated at the dining-room table, shaking with glee. Upon seeing Jen, the woman immediately rose and moved toward her, smiling warmly and holding her arms out for a hug. “Jennifer Spencer. You’re beautiful in the photos your grandmother sends me, but they don’t do you justice. You’ve grown into a stunning young woman.”
“Mrs. Talmadge?” What was Nana’s former neighbor doing here? Jen returned the embrace. Mr. and Mrs. Talmadge had lived two doors down from Edna and Ben for many years until Mr. Talmadge’s heart attack. After his death, Mrs. Talmadge had moved to Arizona—or was it Nevada?—to live with their son. “It’s so good to see you.” Jen pulled back and studied the woman, who was a good decade younger than Edna and several inches shorter than Jen. “You look fantastic.” Mrs. Talmadge had large brown eyes and salt-and-pepper hair that curled slightly under her chin. Jen had always thought she was an attractive woman, and time had been kind to her. “What brings you to our neck of the woods?” Jen asked as she stooped to give Nana a kiss on the cheek.
“A lovely idea of your father’s, actually. He asked if I could visit for a few days.” Jen assumed her own confusion was obvious because Mrs. Talmadge continued as she retook her seat. “He had someone handle all the details so you wouldn’t have to be bothered.” Mrs. Talmadge smiled toward Edna. “He also explained how Edna was doing, and I was so delighted to learn she still lived in the old neighborhood. We were talking about old Mr. Stinkpot, weren’t we, Edna?”
Jen appreciated Mrs. Talmadge’s understated way of saying she’d been apprised of Edna’s declining mental faculties, but she remained confused. Her father didn’t have an assistant, nor had he ever suggested that Edna have a friend over, much less be instrumental in getting it to happen.
Edna snickered. “I’ll never know what God-awful things he planted in that garden of his, but between that and the manure, it was like living next to a farm.” She shifted her attention to Jen. “Do you remember Mr. Stinkpot?”
Jen smiled, pleased Edna seemed to be having a good day and enjoying her time with Mrs. Talmadge. She could hear Doreen in the kitchen and relaxed. All seemed well, if not as expected. She poured herself some iced tea from the pitcher on the table and joined them. “I do. The neighborhood kids used to take Cottonwood Street so we wouldn’t have to bicycle past his smelly yard. What are your plans while you’re here?”
Mrs. Talmadge eyed Edna fondly. “Golly. Whatever this troublemaker’s up for, I suppose. Thought we might visit the Winchester Mystery House, or maybe the municipal gardens. Doreen’s welcome to join us if she’d like.” She turned to Jen. “You too, Jennifer. What do you think, Edna? Up for some adventure? Or would you prefer to stick close by?”
Edna tilted her head toward Jen and smiled. “This one’s always on me about getting outside more.”
“Can you join us?” Mrs. Talmadge asked Jen.
“Unfortunately, I have to work. But I’m jealous. It all sounds terrific. Where are you staying, Mrs. Talmadge? Here? Can I help you with any luggage or anything?”
Mrs. Talmadge waved a hand at Jen. “Heavens, no. I wouldn’t want to put Edna out on my account. I haven’t checked in yet, but I think she said it’s called The Newcastle Inn. Downtown.”
“She?”
“Oh, the nice woman who booked everything for me. Holly someone.”
“Holly Keller?”
“Yes. That’s right.”
What the heck was Kade doing in the middle of this?
“I’m afraid I’m not clear on all the details, but I’m thrilled to be the beneficiary of all those extra mileage points,” Mrs. Talmadge said.
Jen was confused again. “Mileage points?”
“Holly said your father had a number of expiring travel rewards and wanted to ensure they weren’t wasted. He must have had a lot of points. Holly said everything’s covered, and she even overnighted a Visa gift card for some spending money. So thoughtful.”
Thoughtful, yes. A
ccurate, no. Jen’s father had been the butt of countless family jokes over his fear of flying. When Jen’s parents moved East to take care of her maternal grandparents, they drove across the country because of his refusal to board a plane. Holly had been spinning a yarn to Mrs. Talmadge. Jen wondered why. She gazed at Nana, whose expression gladdened Jen to the point of not caring. Mrs. Talmadge was here, and Nana was elated.
Jen laid her hand on Mrs. Talmadge’s. “Promise to include me in your dinner plans during your stay, and promise you’ll forgive me when I tell you about the time we left a dead fish in poor Mr. Stinkpot’s azaleas.”
* * *
Kade had an immediate problem with her visit aside from her father’s inability to communicate. The technology device she brought to aid conversation required her to sit close to him. Gordon’s facial deformity didn’t make Kade squeamish or bother her. Had he been healthy and talkative, she wouldn’t want to be near him either. Physical proximity to him made her uncomfortable. He’d been a father and playmate when she was a child, happily tossing her into the air, carrying her on his shoulders, tickling or hugging her, yet he grew into a man who didn’t show affection even if he’d felt it, which she doubted. Distancing themselves from each other physically had been the order of the day during her teenage years and the only way they managed to live under the same roof.
Now, a shared tablet was the sole tool they had to try to engage in any conversation, and Kade didn’t delight in the prospect of sitting next to him for long stretches of time.
As she had the first day, she grabbed the folding chair, sensing it would make her feel less restricted than the heavy visitors’ chair near his bed. She clicked off the TV, laid the tablet on her lap, and covered her father’s hand. Cheating a little, she thought of Jen’s beautiful smile, knowing the image would compel her to smile as well. It worked, and she brought her focus to her father’s face.
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