The Country Duet(25)

“Dad.”

“Hunter.” There’s a loud ruckus in the background then it ceases. “What’s going on?”

“I’m lost, Dad.” I pause for a second. “It’s Dave.”

I fill him in on the last couple of days and the most recent visit with the social worker.

“She’s right. You need to have that conversation with him. I can tell by your voice that this is wearing on you, son. The hardest things in life end up being the most rewarding. You are taking a lot on your shoulders, just know your family is here for you.”

“How in the hell do I ask an eighty-four-year-old man how he’d like to be buried? His mind is intact, it’s just his body failing him.”

“And you don’t think he knows this?”

“Of course he does, but still…”

“All you can do is be there for him, Hunter.”

“You’re right. It’s just not as easy as it sounds.”

“Remember, I’m always just one phone call away.”

I end the call feeling not a lick better about this entire situation. Dave’s been transported to a local nursing home. He hates it and hated the hospital as well. He’s always worried about his place and someone stealing his shit. He’s sent me out there daily, having me gather some of his valuables and checking in on his house. The window was fixed the first day I went out there. I made sure to mend it with my own hands, wanting it perfect for when Dave comes home.





***


Never have I felt like a felon until smuggling candy into a damn nursing home. Dave demands candy. The man devours it. The nurses bust my balls when I bring the candy since he’s not supposed to have it. The man doesn’t give two fucks about his diabetes. His sweet tooth is strong. I’m pretty much in hot water either way. After the first day of not bringing Dave his sweet treats and enduring his wrath, I figured I could handle the nurses.

“Bring me candy?” Dave bellows out.

I smile at him and then empty my pockets. An assortment of candy bars tumble onto the bed in the nursing home. Dave reaches forward, grabbing a chocolate bar, tearing right into it, and chowing down. Shit, the man only has three teeth left in his head, and those are rotten.

It’s the quiet before the storm. Dave has drool running down his chin, happier than a pig in shit. The door bursts open and in comes a nurse. I scrub my face, knowing what’s coming next. She’s young and good looking which means Dave will let her know so.

“You’re a cute one.” Dave manages to get out around a bite of chocolate. “Nice little ass to boot.”

“Candy? You’ve been warned.” She shoots me a death stare.

“What?” Dave genuinely asks.

This is nothing new. The man is hard of hearing, and he can’t understand a woman’s voice for shit. So I find myself in the middle, translating every bit of it. It's a constant cycle of everyone being upset and frustrated beyond belief.

I relay the message from the nurse, not making eye contact with her. Hell, the woman scares the shit out of me, but not Dave. He chomps down on the candy bar after I just told him what she said.

“You’ve been warned. They will kick you out for not following orders.” She checks his monitors, remaining with her stern stare.

“What’d she say?” he asks again.

And the process goes on and on like this. Nothing new.

“Thank fuck,” Dave grumbles out. There’s a pregnant pause in the room then he attacks. “You’re too uptight and need to get laid. My boy here, Hunter, is single and a good catch. You want to marry him?”

“Jesus, Dave,” I whisper, covering my face. He knows I’m not single, but it never stops him.

The young nurse gets right in his face. “No more candy.”

“What’s that?” he asks.

She turns on her heels, heading straight for me. “I’m not dumb, and we all know where he gets the candy from. NO MORE.”

Then the door slams. Dave reaches for another candy bar, giving zero fucks about his sugar level.

“She’s a feisty one. Those kind always make good wives. Hard workers and warm your sheets at night.”

“You should really listen to them. It will help you get out of here faster.”

“Fuck that, ain’t no one going to tell me how to live, Hunter.”

Pointless. It’s pointless to talk any sense into this man. He has his mind set on the way he lives and isn’t going to change for anyone. On his third candy bar, he leans forward in his bed.

“My back itches, can you scratch it?”

I grunt in disapproval. After a good ten minutes of scratching his back, Dave begins fidgeting.

“This ain’t working. Run on into town and buy me a back scratcher.”

“We are in town,” I reply.

“Dammit, Hunter, you know what I mean. Go to the drug store and ask to talk to the manager. They’ll give you a deal on it. You always talk to the manager.”

“Okay.” I act like I’m taking his message to heart.

I am not going to waltz into a damn store, ask for the manager, then dicker on the price of a ten dollar back scratcher. Hell, do they even make those anymore?

“I’ll see what I can do.”