Page 21 of For the Record
The decision to get him in an assisted living area was hard enough on its own, but finding a place where I felt comfortable leaving him that also allowed him to feel like I wasn’t watching his every move was challenging. It took almost nine months, but when I’d settled on this place, it had felt right. It was a tough transition, but he had been here now for three years and had made a good bit of friends. He was definitely one of the youngest guys here at only fifty-two, but with his memory slipping more as time went on, it was necessary. I knew he got frustrated that there were people here whose job it was to check in on him. It made him feel invalid, but he never blamed me for it. He never acted as though I was selfish in my decision to not care for him by myself, and I appreciated that more than he would know.
Almost reaching the front door, I stopped in my tracks and turned to Adam. He was trailing so closely behind me that he bumped into my chest, causing me to almost fall back before his hands gripped my arms. I placed my palms on his wide chest and looked up, forcing myself to see past his strong jawline.
“I should warn you before we go in there.”
He curled an eyebrow.
“Dad might think he has met you before. If you remind him of someone he went to school with or maybe an old coworker when he was young, he will get confused. Also, don’t be surprised if you tell him your name and he forgets it by the end of the night. Please don’t get offended. He is the nicest man in the world and would never hurt a fly—”
“Rachel,” Adam’s hands roamed up and down my arms in a soothing caress. “It’s okay. My grandmother had dementia when I was little. I don’t remember much, but I know the feeling of it all. I chose to be here.”
He had, hadn’t he? He’d chosen to leave a fun party with his family to come to an assisted living dance class with a woman he’d randomly become friends with. My heart warmed at that, and a sense of ease seeped through my body, allowing me to rest. He was right. It was okay.
I opened the door, and Adam followed behind me. At the front desk sat Betty. She usually worked the night shift here since she’d been hired last year. I always made a conscious effort to check in on her. Every now and then I would find her staring into the distance like she was going to fall asleep standing up.
“Hi, Betty,” I announced, and she jolted up in response.
“My darling, Rachel. I was worried you wouldn’t make it tonight. You know Jack has been all excited.”
I smiled. Of course he was. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I turned and held a hand out, gesturing to Adam behind me. “This is my friend Adam. He loves dancing.”
Adam’s neck turned a light pink as Betty smiled at him. It was really cute.
“Well, you’re going to love tonight. I heard the instructors have a whole new routine planned.”
Oh, this was going to be great.
After catching up with Betty and learning all about her son’s newest wrestling obsession, we slipped down the hall to classroom D. Approaching the room, you could hear the loud bass of Earth, Wind, and Fire’s “Let’s Groove” playing through the surround sound mixed with the sound of feet tapping. Adam had no idea what he was in for.
I opened the door to see about ten or so couples dancing in a circle. One man in particular in the middle, the one wearing a flannel I’d bought for him last Christmas, was so focused on the dancing that he didn’t realize everyone around him was smiling and clapping his way. That would be my dad.
My heart leaped at his smile as his feet tapped to the beat and his hands clapped in the air. He’d always been such a dork. One year, he got me a karaoke machine for Christmas. It required a CD, and the only one he’d bought was Best of the ’80s. It featured a good mix, including Michael Jackson and Bruce Springsteen. I was convinced he’d mostly bought it for himself, but I loved it still. Each birthday and Christmas after that, we got a new CD for the machine. I put on a show for my family, requiring them each to “purchase” a ticket, a.k.a. colored paper with my name on it. He watched me lip sync to Alanis Morissette and even drew a pretend lighter and waved it slowly in the air for me. Mom and my sister absolutely hated it. I snorted at the memory.
I reached for a nearby chair that was leaning against the wall and unfolded it before setting my keys and water bottle on it. Adam scooted closer to me as I waved to a few familiar faces around the room.
I looked over my shoulder, finding him inches away from me, looking at everyone warily, like a toddler hiding behind his mom’s leg in a grocery store. It was almost comical how much he hated a crowd.
The song died down, and everyone clapped. The instructor with leg warmers and an old headset lifted his microphone and told everyone to take a break.
Dad turned to face us, his smile growing even bigger as he raced across the dance space over to us. “There’s my girl!” he shouted, yanking me into a hug as if I hadn’t seen him the day before.
My eyes instantly fell to his shirt, checking for any missed buttons or signs that he had a hard time getting dressed this morning. There weren’t any. I wrapped my arms around his torso and gave a tight squeeze, cherishing the fact that he was having a good day. Bad days, the ones where he couldn’t remember why he was here or where his family was, were few and far between. But they hurt. They left scars and marks in my brain that I feared would never heal. Which was why I liked to never take moments like this for granted. I never knew when it would be the last.
“I brought a friend with me if you want to meet him.” I gestured to Adam behind me, who nodded hello.
Dad eyed him warily, his focus going from his tattoos to the scruff on his jaw. He turned to me and spoke close to my ear. “He has tattoos.”
I chuckled to myself. “So do you.”
He looked down at the few inked spots on his arms and huffed. “How am I supposed to threaten him after he watched me salsa?”
“If it helps, I don’t think anything threatens the guy. Besides, he’s just a friend.”
“Hmm.” He squinted and moved around me to get a better look.
Adam held a hand out, not the least bit threatened. “Adam Wells.”
“Jack.” Dad shook his hand, eyes stuck to Adam’s arm, taking in the airplane with a symbol I didn’t recognize behind it. “Air Force?”