Chapter Three

      “Okay, now, you’re settled.” Melba tucked the knitted afghan over Dad’s knees. He looked so old, the recliner’s worn cushions nearly swallowing his thin body.

      “What a lot of work getting up those front steps.” She couldn’t tell if Dad’s remark was in annoyance or admission. Did he have any sense of how frail he’d become? “When did we paint them that awful green?” He glared out the window at them, eyes narrowed in the expression of a man gloating over a vanquished foe.

      She could almost laugh. Maybe it was better if Dad blamed the steps. “Two years ago. And the green’s not so bad.”

      “It’s all wrong. I liked them better when they were brown.”

      The most amazing details from way back would pop into his mind like that. The steps hadn’t been brown for almost ten years—they’d been beige before they were green. Melba took her father’s coat and hung it on the bentwood coatrack by the door. “Maybe we’ll paint them this summer.”

      “I’d like that.” The smile seemed to transform her father’s face, to roll back the years as it lit up his eyes. “I’m hungry. The food in there was lousy.”

      “Nutrition is boring,” Barney declared, waltzing into the room with two sizable slices of chocolate cake. “So I’m banning healthy meals for the rest of the day.” She winked at Dad as she put the fork into his right hand. For a while they’d thought he’d lost his appetite, getting surly at meals, until one supper he let it slip that he couldn’t remember which hand to use. Now Barney slid the fork into his hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Barney was amazing at helping Dad without making him feel “helped.” Melba had run out of ways to thank her.

      “Where’s your slice?”

      Barney rubbed her hefty stomach. “Already gone. Someone had to make sure it was up to snuff.”

      “You’re a doll,” Dad said behind a mouthful of cake. “Delicious as always.”

      Picking up her handbag, Barney tapped Melba’s shoulder. “I’ll be at church for the women’s committee till four. I’ll be back to check on you and put the casserole into the oven at five so you all can eat at six. You all call me if you need anything. Anything at all.”

      “We’ve got cake, we’ll be fine as can be,” Dad said.

      Barney smiled, but caught Melba’s eyes with a silent “You going to be all right on your own?” raise of one eyebrow.

      “Fine as can be,” Melba echoed, banning all sounds of worry from her voice. In truth, she was more than a little nervous, wondering if Dad’s fits of anger or anxiety would soon loom larger than she could handle. Looking back at him now, she saw just a happy old man eating cake in his favorite chair.

      * * *

      They passed the afternoon without incident, Dad napping while Melba formatted half a dozen digital catalogue pages for work and plowed through the pile of emails left unattended during the hospital stay. “I’ll need to learn to give myself wider margins on deadlines,” she wrote her boss, Betsy, in the email that submitted the catalogue pages, thankful that she’d had the cable company install wireless internet a week ago. “Life can get upended on a moment’s notice over here.” It annoyed her that the pages were a day behind schedule—usually Melba managed to get things in early. “On time is late for Melba,” Betsy used to joke. She doubted anyone would say that anymore.

      “Melba?” Dad’s voice startled her, it was so clear and strong.

      “Right here, Dad.”

      “It’s four-thirty, isn’t it?”

      She glanced at the clock above the kitchen table where she’d been working. “Four twenty-eight, to be exact.”

      “Aren’t I supposed to take one of those enormous pills now?”

      Melba pulled the huge, multi-compartmented pill sorter toward her—recently refilled with some new additions—and consulted the list. “Wow, Dad, you’re good. Yep, it’s one of those big yellow ones.” She filled a glass with water and brought him the pill with two others in the “Afternoon” compartment.

      Dad made a face. “These are monsters. They used to be small and white.”

      They did. His memory was still there, peeking out, holding on. “Well, Doc says you need a double dose for the next few weeks.”

      “Let him choke ’em down, then.” He slid the collection into his mouth, grimaced, then swallowed. “I might need more cake to ease the way.” Dad grinned up at her like a mischievous child.

      “You’ll spoil your supper.”

      “Fine by me.”

      He seemed so here, so alert and happy. “How about a cup of tea instead?” Some huge part of her wanted to sit with him right now and make him tell her all of whatever he’d begun to say back there in the hospital. Another part of her wanted to run, to put her fingers in her ears like a disobedient child, and pretend she’d never heard a thing. Mostly, she craved the connected gaze of his eyes, the true conversation he seemed capable of right now. The urge to hoard his salient moments, to stockpile his wisdom and affection, surged up until she bent over the recliner and gathered him in a fierce hug.

      “What’s this fuss?” His words spoke surprise but his eyes told her he knew what was behind her embrace.

      “I’m just glad you’re home,” she managed, blinking too fast.

      “You and me both, Melbadoll.”

      She laughed.