Page 77 of Really Truly Yours
Grayson
“Do you have a better plan?”
Donny squirms in his hospital bed, looking as irritated as I’m beginning to feel. “My plan is to live in my own dadgum house!” Raw frustration quivers his jaw.
“Again, no roof, Donny. Keep that in mind.”
“Don’t matter. I’ve lived in worse places.”
I stare for a moment. “Well, sorry. The utilities are off and the city has tagged the place, so no can do until the roof is on and they’ve done an inspection. And I’m sorry, but building supplies are on backorder. It’s a slow go.”
He kicks the mattress with his bad ankle, protected, thankfully, by a boot. I swear, there’s something remarkably childish about this man at times. I guess when you reach his stage in life, you pretty much get to do what you want.
Within reason, that is. “Look, you’re going to love the place I found. I mean it. You’ll have your own apartment, brand-spanking new. It’s got a great patio and people close by if you need help.” But I do understand how a shift to assisted living is a downer, temporary though it may be.
Hopefully temporary. If my da—Donny—wants to be in his own home, then that’s what I want, too. Unfortunately, nobody penciled a roof collapse into their schedule.
His discharge papers sit on the bed tray, and Carly has been in twice to see if he’s ready to be wheeled down. But my father is a stubborn old coot. Guess I ought not have mentioned our destination until he was fully dressed and in the chair. Live and learn.
His ankle is set, his heart is hanging in there, and the cancer…well, his appointment with the new oncologist is in one week, so we’ll see. On a referral from a teammate whose mom is going through the struggle, I scheduled an appointment in Dallas for next week.
With Donny in the assisted living community in Chandor, I’ll be close, at least for the time being, and Sydnee won’t have to worry about keeping an eye on him. She can get on with her own life.
Her life. It’s a mystery, one my mind repeatedly mulls.
Strange. I see signs of, well, life, but I’m also getting a picture of solitude. More, I divine a deep well beneath a barely rippled surface. Mineral Springs is a downer of a town, old and either dead or in the process of dying. Does she have friends? She should still have a mom and dad somewhere, right? Is there family, other than the brother she mentioned?
None that matter. Yikes. That riddle’s been tapdancing around in my brain for days.
Donny thumps the bedrail with rising frustration. “I don’t need no help. Been doing fine on my own, and Sydnee helps me.”
There are at least a couple things wrong with his logic. This go-round he has a broken ankle and new heart medications to adjust to. Sydnee isn’t his nurse, either.
I scoot Donny’s boot aside and slide my rear onto the mattress. “Talk to me about Sydnee.”
He stops fiddling with the bedsheet.
I might be insulted by the side-eye he shoots me. “What?”
He wags his finger. “Don’t you be messing with her.”
I am officially offended. “Messing?”
The finger pulses. “She’s a nice young lady.”
“Yeah?”
“I know about you athlete types and women.”
Right, because he’s been around so many of us.
His yellowy eyes hold my stare.
Okay. Whatever. Stereotypes exist for a reason, and I wish I were innocent enough for righteous indignation. Still, isn’t a father supposed to assume the best?
Or…call you out on your worst?
Fine, I get it. Sydnee is like a daughter to him. To a guy who was the not-wanted son, however, the idea has sharp edges. Not that I begrudge him the inclination to look out for Sydnee. It kind of feels like she could use someone on her team.