The Chance (Thunder Point #4)(90)

“Pack it up, junior. You’re unemployed. I’m calling your boss.”

“I’ll deny it.”

“Right. Go for it. Deny away. Oh, by the way, did my father happen to mention I’m an FBI agent?”

“Fuck.”

“It could’ve been worse,” she said. “I could be DEA. Lucky for you I don’t give a rip about your drug habit as long as you don’t work in home health-care ever again. Now get out of here before I just give in to temptation and beat you up. Loser.”

He disappeared pretty fast, but Laine lost the tough act and sank to one of the benches outside the study doors. Another one, gone. She’d been here almost six weeks and had been through six aides. There was one who was working out—Carl. He was fifty-six and had done this work for years, came highly recommended and from what she could observe he did an excellent job. She’d asked him for recommendations but those he thought of highly were otherwise engaged. He was more expensive than most and from what she was learning, worth every penny. But they needed two attendants. At least. She couldn’t leave her father until he was covered 24/7.

Although she was feeling very sorry for herself she knew she should be grateful. Her father was lucky. He had enough money to pay for the disabilities of his old age. What was she thinking? She was lucky! What would she do if there was no money to pay for all this caretaking? Except that right now she was the only caretaker.

Laine entered the house. Mrs. Mulligrew was in the kitchen, giving it a good cleaning, but Laine couldn’t find Senior. Laine had lost her father. In the house!

She could hear him softly calling for his wife, for Janice, but she couldn’t find him. She went from room to room, calling, “Dad? Where are you, Dad?” And just when she’d start to get closer, he’d be quiet. She had to enlist Mrs. Mulligrew’s help and the two of them were racing all over the large, three-story, six-thousand-square-foot house. Laine wondered, who do you call when this happens? Do you dial 911? But he was here, somewhere....

She could hear him calling out, softly. “Janice? Janice?”

She called louder and louder, so afraid that he might hurt himself before she found him. She looked in closets, under beds, behind furniture, in the wine cellar and attic, her pulse racing. Then Mrs. Mulligrew said, “Shhhh. No more yelling. Just listening. He’s afraid.”

So they prowled around, straining for a sound. It took an hour before they found him sitting on the floor inside a guest room shower. “Dad!”

“Where’s your mother got to?” he asked. “I could hear her but couldn’t find her. I think she’s sick. Is she sick?”

“Oh, Dad, I think you took ten years off my life!”

The three of them sat at the kitchen table and had a cup of tea and Laine’s hands shook so much she could barely lift her cup. She’d been in life-threatening situations without this much fear and shaking.

She called Eric three times that day; called Pax and Genevieve twice. But all her conversations were on the fly—keeping tabs on her father at all times. It seemed an eternity before he laid down for a nap. She settled into Senior’s den and fired up his computer, logging on to check her email. There was a note from Devon and she read it. Devon asked after Laine’s family, her father, herself. She gave a little local news—it sounded so boring! Laine felt tears sting her eyes—she so longed for that life again. She missed Eric desperately; she missed her friends. She missed sleeping through the night without interruption, without getting up three or four times to make sure Senior was resting. And then Devon asked, Spencer and I are getting married, very quietly if we can get away with it. Will you be back in July? Will you be my maid of honor?

And Laine put her head down on the desk and sobbed. She hadn’t cried like this since she was in high school. Not even when her mother passed away did she feel emotion this intense, this final.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Genevieve said from the doorway. “Lainie, Lainie....”

She lifted her head and wiped at her eyes. “Sorry,” she muttered. “It’s just...” And the tears came again.

Genevieve came into the room and sat on the edge of the desk. “He must’ve really scared you,” she said. “But he’s all right now!”

“Yes, I know. But Gen, he’s going to be like this for years. I thought I could make some arrangements for him, be sure he’s safe and cared for and then I could...” More tears flowed. “I’m never going to get home.”

“Oh, darling, you will. If necessary, we’ll find a safe and comfortable facility with specialists who can see he gets everything he needs.”

She was shaking her head. “At least eighty percent of the time he’s completely lucid. And when he is, he begs me not to put him in a home! How can I do that just so I can see the view, be with my friends, have Eric....” She grabbed a tissue and blew her nose. “I can’t give up on him now. It would devastate him. And he’s trying so hard.”

“Laine, we’re not going to let you give up your life for this. We’ll find a way.”

“Good luck with that. I could never leave him and have nightmares about bad caregivers who lose track of him or steal from him or go out back to grab a joint!” She bit a trembling lip. “Sometimes he’s so scared.”

Genevieve stroked her shoulder. “Listen to me. Most families make do with far fewer resources than we have. If you weren’t here, what would Pax and I do? I imagine I’d be running over here twice a day. Laine, this is terrific of you, but we do have to be realistic. Your parents kept your grandmother until it became impossible for them to work and raise a family with a patient in need of so much care and supervision in the house. There comes a time...”