Right. Time to get this under control.
I get up, set my plate next to Taz’s on the railing—to the great disappointment of the pups— and put my hands on her shoulders, backing her against the brick.
“If she does, we deal. The state you’re in, I’ll be surprised if she doesn’t cotton on. You need to settle down.”
“Don’t tell me to settle down!”
I slide my hands up her neck and rest them on either side of her face, leaning in close. “It’ll be fine. Whatever happens, we handle it together. You’re not alone in this, Sweets. I’m right beside you.”
Her face softens a fraction, but she’s not quite done yet. “But—”
I don’t let her finish and head straight for the last resort, shutting her up with my mouth on hers. Her body immediately goes rigid, but with a little coaxing her lips part, letting me in, and her hands fist in my shirt.
Then the dogs start barking as a voice sounds from inside.
“Daddy! We’re home!”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Taz
I feel my mother’s eyes scrutinizing me as she joins me in the kitchen.
Rafe is upstairs, putting the kids to bed. They’ve been glued to him ever since they walked in half an hour ago. Spencer announced within minutes of getting home that he was ’starving’ so I pulled out some cheese and crackers, which both he and Sofie devoured in no time, regaling us with excited stories all the while. It didn’t take long for them to burn off their energy and were half asleep when their dad announced bedtime.
I left Mom and Dad to finish the drinks Rafe poured them, to tidy the kitchen. Hiding out, more accurately. Not just to avoid them, but to come to terms with my father’s appearance.
He’s not doing well.
I’m a nurse, I understand the stages of Parkinson’s, and it’s clear to me sometime over the past week and a bit, Dad has deteriorated. He’s been pretty lucky so far, the first stages of the disease having been slow in progressing, but it’s obvious things are changing.
His face is almost expressionless. That wasn’t the case before. Sure, he had a few tics and twitches, which is common, but those muscular spasms have been replaced with lack of muscle movement altogether. I also noticed his hand missing his glass several times because of the increased tremors. When Mom finally picked it up and put it to his lips, I had to look away.
It’s clear this last adjustment in his medication is not working effectively.
Parkinson’s may be incurable, but in and of itself it’s not necessarily fatal. It’s the complications in the more progressed stages of the disease that can be lethal.
“You noticed.”
I turn to face Mom as she glances over her shoulder into the living room before stepping closer.
“Hard not to,” I admit. “Does he?”
She nods. “I wanted to come home right away, but he insisted on staying until today as planned. I need to take him to see the neurologist in Springfield. I already called for an appointment on Friday.”
“When?”
She looks at me questioningly. “Friday. Why?”
“Because I want to come.” There isn’t even a conscious thought involved when I blurt that out, and I’ve clearly surprised Mom.
She pauses before she responds. “You want to come?”
“I thought I might be helpful,” I scramble, suddenly not so sure. Still, in for a penny, in for a pound, so I forge on. “I have a decent understanding of the disease and have read up on treatment options since Dad was diagnosed.”
She looks disbelieving, which I can’t blame her for, all she knows is that I disappeared. She has no idea I’ve kept up as best I could through Kathleen.
“Have you heard of DBS?” she asks.
“Deep Brain Stimulation? Yes. Is that an option?”
“I don’t know. That’s what we’re hoping to find out on Friday. Maybe it’ll be good if you come, half the time I don’t understand what his doctor is talking about. Maybe you can interpret for us.”
“Be happy to, Mom.”
Before things get uncomfortably close to a sappy moment, Rafe walks in, cocking his thumb over his shoulder.
“Dad’s half asleep on the couch, want me to get him back in the RV or should I give you a ride home in the Honda? We can drop off the RV tomorrow for you.”
“Yeah, I should get him home. If you wouldn’t mind driving, that would be great. It would be easier for him to get in.”
“Of course.”
I touch Mom’s arm. “Why don’t I give you a hand getting what you need from the trailer?” I offer.
“Sure,” is her somewhat hesitant response.
It takes us only a few minutes to move their stuff into the back of the SUV. By the time we’re locking the RV back up, Rafe comes walking out, supporting Dad. I’m a little concerned at the jerky way he moves, but fatigue can be a factor there too.
When my father’s buckled in the front seat, Rafe holds the back door open for Mom to get in, while turning to me.
“Kids are already asleep. I won’t be too long, Sweets.”
I freeze when the endearment slips from his mouth and is followed by a sharp hiss. My eyes instantly dart to my mother as her head snaps around, her face showing confusion, as Rafe swings the door shut.
“Wave, Taz,” he says under his breath before he jogs around to the driver’s side.
I force a smile on my face, raise my hand, and watch them drive off.
Fucking hell.
I turn my head and look at the alarm clock on my nightstand.
Three in the morning and I’ve done nothing but stare up at the ceiling since I went to bed almost five hours ago. I went up after quickly letting the dogs out and locking them safely in their crate after Rafe left.
I heard him come home shortly after and listened to him move around downstairs until I heard him come up. His footsteps stopped outside my door and I waited with bated breath, but then they moved away down the hall.
My mind has done nothing but churn on that slip of the tongue, Mom’s reaction, Dad’s condition, the kids, and no Rafe in my bed. Not that I expected him here; we’d agreed on sleeping in our own rooms. Still, this new bed is massive with only me occupying it.
It would’ve been nice to ask him if Mom said anything—gave him any indication she heard what he said—but that’s my own fault. I’m the one who panicked and hid in the bedroom.
Stupid.
I check the clock again, three fifteen.
Shit.
There’s a rustle in the hallway and I freeze, my eyes focusing on the door. Even in the dark, I can see the handle move before it slowly opens and Rafe’s familiar form slips inside. He takes a few steps and I hear a thump, followed by a whispered litany of very creative swearing.
“Rafe?” I shoot up in bed.
“Shit. Did I wake you? Sorry.”
I feel the mattress dip when he slides under the covers. He pulls me back down and tucks me with my back to his front, his body curved around me.
“What’s going on?”
“I stubbed my toe on the damn bed.”
“Yes, I figured that when I heard the cursing. I mean why are you here in the middle of the night? I thought we’d agreed—”