The Chance (Thunder Point #4)(80)

Pax leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees, his drink in one hand. “It’s always been like this with you. All or nothing. You don’t fall in love till you’re practically over the hill and when you do, bam! You’re all in. You hate your father most of your life because he can be such an insensitive jerk and now that he needs you, you’re ready to dedicate your life to him. Laine, this isn’t forever. Let’s get this under control so you can have your life back.”

He was so right, she thought. She had such a hard time thinking one step at a time. She wasn’t sure how to do this. But all she said was “I feel like I just found my father. How can I leave him?”

“Let’s handle this with a goal that everyone gets what they need. Even you.”

* * *

There was no question, Senior did so much better in his own home. He had fewer periods of confusion and his forgetfulness went unnoticed with Laine there to keep his schedule. There was, however, an aspect of his disease that would not have been noticed by his children, his housekeeper or his business partner. When Laine got into his financial records, she found he’d been making crazy stock purchases in large sums and had a few deeds for property he couldn’t identify. He had a room full of Civil War memorabilia, most of it still in boxes. He had been buying up commemorative gold coins—they might still be worth something if they were really gold. Fortunately Laine was a detective—she managed to find the plots of land and property deals and had the coins appraised, but was stuck with the Civil War stuff. Not surprisingly, Senior had been scammed a few times. Poor judgment was a major symptom and one that can go undetected if the patient isn’t being closely observed.

It was something no one would have been aware was happening. Senior had always been too cynical for this sort of thing and he had been brilliant with his money. He was also very lucky, as it turned out. While he’d been fleeced out of a lot of money, he had plenty left. The bulk of his money was in accounts being managed by a financial adviser with a large and reputable holding company. Laine got to work on powers of attorney to take over his finances, an argument that lasted three days and rendered Senior quite stormy.

After examinations, CT scans, blood work and counseling sessions it was confirmed by specialists that Senior might have struggled with symptoms of his disease for several years, hardly noticeable symptoms that he had somehow managed to bluff his way out of, but within the past few months his mental acuity had deteriorated drastically. Laine learned that his partners and the staff at the practice had been concerned for some time, but where they fell short was in talking to Senior rather than to Pax. He had not voluntarily reduced his schedule, his partners had insisted and urged him to get a physical. But Senior being Senior had avoided the reality for too long.

They got a couple of home health-care workers installed. They could only find part-time help, but at least Laine could get out of the house now and then while she continued looking for more help. She at least needed time off duty. And then the inevitable happened—he followed in his mother’s footsteps and wandered off. He walked out of the house and it took hours to find him.

“Now I’m having the security system updated so bells and whistles go off when a door is opened,” she told Eric.

“Wouldn’t that happen anyway?” he asked.

“It seems the system hasn’t been worked on in years and some of the connectors are faulty. And the old boy is slippery as an eel! I’m also insisting he wear a bracelet with a GPS chip in it! And believe me—he’s not always cooperative!”

By the end of the first week, Laine had one of her hired babysitters removed and replaced by a different one. She caught the young man rifling through Senior’s papers in the study. He said he was just fetching a bank statement for Senior, but he was so nervous she didn’t buy it for a second. That Senior had no recollection of asking for it didn’t mean much, but still... This put a pall on the idea that she could eventually be replaced by hired help.

Mrs. Mulligrew, the housekeeper, was now coming to the house every day, though she had to hire additional help for the big cleaning jobs. Mrs. Mulligrew wasn’t old but she wasn’t exactly young. She was hearty and healthy at sixty and her job was to keep Senior’s most used areas in check and cook meals. When bigger cleaning jobs were needed, she brought family members to help. In the past she’d spend one afternoon cooking every week, setting up a few meals for him, refrigerating or freezing them. Now she was providing seven lunches and dinners every week and the home health-care provider was supposed to take care of his breakfast, a simple task since it involved cereal, toast and fruit.

But from four o’clock on, Laine was on her own.

Through some periods of confusion and forgetfulness, she and her father managed many conversations. She was sentimentally drawn in, grateful for this time, yet grieving this time away from Eric.

“Is he doing any better?” Eric asked.

“Better? God, no! He seems to slip a little more every day. When I bring up the subject of assisted living in a specialized facility, he cries. This is so shocking—I’ve only seen my father get emotional once, when my mother died, and that was brief. Now he cries at the drop of a hat. I’ve been secretly looking at some assisted-living places and you know what? I wouldn’t want to live in one, either.”

“This keeps getting more complicated,” Eric said.