Page 3 of Stopped

“Picking up for Will Senior?”

“That I am. How you doing?”

“Busy day. Three scripts, correct?” The kid scanned the tags on the bag, the rattle of pills drowning out the beep of each one.

“Sounds right. Should be the last refill on file, right?” I mentally calculated the date and made a mental note to check when my dad’s next appointment was.

“Yup! We can put in a request if you want?”

I signed and accepted and signed again before having to repeat the whole process in order to pay the copay. “Nah, the doc’ll call it in when we visit.”

“Have a nice day, Will! Send the old man our regards.”

“You too, bud. See ya around.”

Finally, I could leave town. We only lived about ten minutes outside the outskirts, but it felt a world away as soon as I crossed the bridge and headed into the forested roadway. Each minute of drive time meant the houses were fewer and farther between, just how I liked it. As soon as the cheerful yellow Victorian that needed a ton of work came into view, I braced myself. There was no telling what I would be walking into these days.

I parked in front of what used to be the attached garage. The in-law suite was now my home. My grandmother had stayed for a while until she passed. My mom followed shortly after when icy conditions sent her off the road in a freak accident. I missed them both fiercely. Even ten years later, the old adage of time healing all wounds had yet to prove itself true. Now, it was just me and my old man. My heart grew heavier as I collected my things and exited the car.

I made quick work of putting whatever I was keeping away and stripping out of the heaviest parts of my uniform—namely the boots, belt, and vest. With another deep breath, I stepped through the interior door that separated the studio apartment from the main house.

“Dad? I'm home!”

“Yeah, yeah. I saw the truck. How was school—work?”

I winced to myself as I followed the sound of his voice. Early onset dementia was a real bitch. Dad was only in his late fifties, but every day, the symptoms got a little worse. I honestly wasn't sure some days how much longer I'd be able to manage it all alone. We were right on that cusp of it becoming dangerous for him to be alone, but he was still lucid enough to get roaring mad whenever I suggested a community or in-home assistance.

“Work was good. I brought sandwiches and salads for dinner.” I plopped the plastic containers on the table and continued my search. If he weren't in the kitchen, the living room or dining room were the next best bets.

“Sandwiches? Really?”

“Yup. Grabbed your pills, too.” I leaned against the doorframe of the dining room and swept my gaze over the tabletop. He's been working on this puzzle for almost a month now. The only pieces connected were the ones I would sneak in and assemble late at night. “Good progress.”

“Bah! Don't mock me, boy.” He glowered at me with disdain. “I ain't that stupid yet.”

“Easy does it, Dad.” More and more, I found myself having to use my de-escalation training with my own father. It was a hard blow, and getting harder every time. “I meant it. Do you want me to grab you anything? I'm headed next door.”

“No! I'm not fucking crippled!” His hand slammed on the table and sent a bunch of pieces flying.

“I know. I'm just trying to be helpful—”

“I don't need help!”

Patience. Patience. Patience. “I know. If you need anything, you know where I'll be. I'll stop back in later on, okay?”

“Don't need a fucking babysitter, either.” He grumbled and rubbed his face with his palms.

“You're right. I'm not coming back to babysit, I'll pop in to say goodnight, that's all.” Except it was a complete lie. It wasn't his fault he couldn't see it, though. My heart broke every time I would sneak into the house one last time before bed to turn off faucets, shut off lights, and close doors and windows. It was a blessing he hadn't realized yet that I'd completely disconnected the oven. I only stocked the fridge with microwaveable stuff and his car had been “in the shop” for over three months now. It was deceptive and painful every time I had to lie to him to keep him safe.

“Yeah, that’s fine. I love ya, boy.”

“Love you too, Dad. Don't forget, sandwiches and salads are on the table in the kitchen.”

“I ain't gonna forget. Go on, get.” He waved me away with a grunt. He would definitely forget. I made another mental note to call over in an hour and remind him again. I departed feeling ten times more tired and foolish than I already had been feeling, and I couldn't wait to get on with my pity party for one. It wasthe little things that got me through most days. A lounge chair, a cold beer, and a slice of chocolate cake sounded just perfect.

Chapter Three

Elijah