When It Falls Apart (The D'Angelos, #1)(9)

But Brooke stared down at her computer and blinked.

She sipped her wine and rolled her shoulders.

Her computer pinged, telling her she had a text message.

She clicked over.

How’s dad?

It was Carmen.

Instead of typing, Brooke pressed FaceTime.

Carmen’s smiling face came in view. “Hey, you.”

“Hey.”

“Oh no.”

“No. It’s okay. I’m okay.” I’m not okay.

“Where are you? I thought you’d be with your dad. Didn’t they transfer him today?” she asked.

“They did. They won’t let me in. Apparently, the nursing homes don’t play by the same rules as the hospitals.”

“When will that change?”

“At least a week.” Brooke reached for her wine.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to work.”

“How is that going?”

Brooke looked at the pergola above her that was falling apart. She really should do something about that. “Not well.”

“Wait . . . is that wine?”

She glanced at the glass in her hand. “Yeah, why?”

“It’s two o’clock . . . on Tuesday.”

Brooke rolled her eyes, sipped unapologetically. “My days bleed into each other here.”

Carmen was silent for a breath. Then . . . “I think I need to come down before you need an intervention.”

Brooke set the glass down, looked away from the screen, and said nothing.

“What? No argument?”

The constant feeling of being out of control rose to the surface once again. “I don’t know how to do this, Carmen. Not this time. I’m already drowning, and I’ve only been here a month.”

“I’m booking a ticket.”

Brooke looked at her best friend, a single tear rolled down her cheek. “I need you.”



Carmen sat by Brooke’s side during the consultation with the nursing home director.

She’d arrived the night before and they drank too much wine, laughed . . . cried, and ate entirely too many carbs.

“Your father’s level of care is rather intense at this time. The wound nurse expects his need for care to be a minimum of two months. The antibiotics he’s on will last for the next three weeks and at that time we will reevaluate for his discharge home.”

“Wait, I thought his wound care needs were for two to three months.”

The director, Kyle, was an older man, salt-and-pepper hair, and looked as if he needed to put on a few pounds to be truly healthy. Brooke felt as if he was annoyed she’d requested an in-person meeting.

“A home health nurse can be requested after he is off the IV antibiotics.”

Carmen sat forward. “I understand Mr. Turner is incontinent and confused.”

Kyle looked at his notes. “Ah, yes. But he’d had a stroke.”

“Which he recovered from enough to not have issues with incontinence. He was independent before this last illness. He had some right-sided weakness, but he managed.” Brooke looked between Kyle and Carmen as she spoke.

“Oh, well. Right. He lives with you?”

“No . . . Yes, kind of.” Brooke looked at Carmen. “I’m here to get him back on his feet like I did after the stroke.”

Kyle nodded a few times, then shook his head. “It’s too soon to say how well he’ll progress, but in my experience, in cases like your father’s . . . as the medical problems stack up, the independence diminishes. I wouldn’t expect your father to be what he was before this episode.”

Brooke blinked several times. “The doctors said—”

“Doctors tell you that wounds heal, and conditions improve. Here, we see patients lose their ability to feed themselves or use the bathroom . . . take their medications on time. The routine of normal life is completely oppressed by admission into our facility, and the desire to improve sometimes dissolves as well. I’m not saying that is your father, but I am suggesting that you prepare yourself for what his long-term care needs might be.”

“And what do you think those are?” Carmen asked.

Kyle looked back at the papers in his lap, flipped through the notes. “Your father lived alone?”

“Yes. Completely independent.”

“Did he drive?”

She sighed. “Yes.”

Kyle looked up at her. “You don’t think he should have.”

“No.”

“How was the condition of his home?”

Brooke opened her mouth, thought of the mess she’d walked into.

“Has your father made any extravagant purchases lately? Anything out of the ordinary?”

Carmen reached over and took Brooke’s hand.

Kyle stopped asking questions and rested his hands in his lap. “Bowel obstructions can happen to anyone, but elderly people who aren’t eating a balanced diet or getting enough exercise are more likely to have issues. Your father’s independence may not be something he can return to.” Kyle tilted his head. “It’s not my place to tell people what they should or shouldn’t do when it comes to their family members, but I can tell you after a lifetime of taking care of the elderly, caring for them is a full-time twenty-four-seven job with no weekends or nights off. It’s too soon to say if your father will get control of his bodily functions. If he doesn’t, you’ll need to—”