The Chance (Thunder Point #4)(77)

“Laine,” her father said. “I need something to drink. Something like...I don’t know.”

“Orange juice,” she said. It wasn’t a question. She poured him a glass and took it to him.

He accepted the glass. “Why does he come around here all the time?” Senior asked.

“That’s Eric, Dad. You remember. He lives here.”

“Right,” he said. “Good to see you, Eric,” he said. He took a sip of orange juice and made a face. “This isn’t Coke!”

“It’s orange juice. Would you rather a Coke?”

“Yes,” he said, sliding the juice away.

She poured a Coke into a glass for him and took it to him, retrieving the orange juice.

“Yeah, I think maybe you should crush up one of those sedatives and put it in his soup....”

Laine just chuckled.

“You’re the one who’s taking this well,” he pointed out.

She leaned close to him, her voice soft. “Sometimes it makes me laugh, sometimes I just want to cry for him, and sometimes I just get the Coke. But I think the message is pretty clear—he needs me right now. He can no longer be on his own. I think he’s probably lucky he’s made it this long.”

“Laine! Get Eric something to drink. Eric, son, come here and keep me company. Tell me about that Packard you’re working on this week!”

“Punctuated by periods of acuity.”

Eric smiled and went to the table, sitting across from Senior. “Well, it’s not a Packard this week. We’ve got a mess of a ’67 Trans Am in the shop. Someone salvaged it—dynamite muscle car. I’d like to have it but it’s not for sale.”

“I remember that car,” Senior said. “Before Laine was even born. I was just married and had to have a sedate car, not some hot rod, but I did love that car. What color?”

“No color yet. It’s a rusted-out wreck—needs a total restoration.”

“Make the owner choose red. There’s no other color for that car!”

“I agree completely.”

It had only been four days since Senior landed on their doorstep but during that time Eric and Laine had done a record amount of talking. “You will be back, won’t you?” he’d asked quietly. She was leaving everything—all the furniture and her car—and had only packed two suitcases for herself. She wasn’t sure how long it would take to make sure Senior had a battery of tests, had an official diagnosis and a nursing service installed to care for him, but she intended to come back to Thunder Point. She hoped it was only two weeks.

“Of course I’m coming back here,” she had said. “How could I give you up?”

But Laine wasn’t the only one who had been reading about Alzheimer’s. Eric had studied it as well and one thing he learned—it was irreversible. From now on it would only get worse. Senior had valiantly held it back for years, even operating as recently as three months ago. How he had managed that when today he could barely remember where he was, it was a true mystery. But then he had left his patient.... It was pretty likely he had started the day on Friday and ended the day thinking it was Saturday morning.

Eric wondered if Laine, being away from him, away from this life they’d made together, would change her mind about Thunder Point. Almost daily Senior said to her, “Don’t leave me, Lainie! Don’t lock me up!” And she always said, “Of course not. Don’t be afraid. Everything’s all right.”

He should be encouraged that all the furnishings were left behind, but then she’d be staying at her father’s house, the family home as she called it. And her rent here was paid through December. Would she come back? Come back to pack? Ask him to pack her things and send them back to Boston? Send a moving company to the house to take everything?

After dinner, after a brief walk around the neighborhood to try to wear out Senior, Paxton was given a cup of hot milk. “Blasted nastiest thing I’ve ever had!” he grumbled. Laine supervised him getting to bed. Then she shared a glass of wine with Eric and they sat on one lounge on the deck even though she’d bought a second. He was behind her and she was sitting between his long legs, leaning against him, watching the sunset and then the stars.

“He asked me where we’re going to go tomorrow,” she said. “I reminded him we’re going home. Is it possible that the second it was out—that he’s been suffering from dementia—that his symptoms just got fifty times worse overnight? Because if he was this bad at the hospital or home, wouldn’t someone have noticed?”

“I don’t know,” Eric said honestly.

“I am coming back, Eric. I will. I just need a couple of weeks to settle things. Maybe three. But I’ll be back.”

“I know,” he lied. “Before you take on this adventure I want to be sure you know something. I’ve never felt this way before. No woman before you has meant this much to me. Not ever. I love you, Laine. No matter what you have to do, no matter how long it takes you, this won’t change. We’re not teenagers. We can get through this.”

“That’s what I’m counting on,” she said. “Because I love you, too.”

“Can we make love with the old man down the hall?” he asked.

She turned, looking over her shoulder at him, grinning. “It’s necessary. But you’ll have to try not to scream this time.” She grinned her teasing grin.