“I’ll take care of the kids and call Kathleen,” I assure her. “You have other things on your mind.”
“Okay, I’ll let you go. See you tonight.”
The last is full of promise and spoken very softly, putting an immediate smile on my face. I drop my voice an octave when I answer.
“Yes, you will.”
Lisa is staring at me slack-jawed when I tuck my phone back in my pocket.
“What?”
“I’ve thought it, I’ve hoped it, I’ve sensed it, but until now I wasn’t sure. Now I know.”
“No clue what you’re talking about,” I lie, looking at her smug face.
“I bet. Happy for you, Rafe.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Taz
“How are you getting along with the kids?”
I lift my eyes to the rearview mirror, where I find Mom looking back at me from the back seat.
We’ve been on the road for an hour and this is the first direct question she’s asked me. For the most part it’s been quiet, with occasional exchanges between her and Dad about day-to-day stuff.
I’m instantly alert at her question.
“We’re doing well,” I offer carefully. “Spencer is…well, Spencer, so he’s pretty easygoing. Sofie has had a few tough moments, but that’s to be expected. She’s at that age.” At my mother’s affirming nod I’m encouraged to share a little more. “She’s been testing me.”
Mom’s eyebrows shoot up with more than only passing interest. “What do you mean?”
“Well, since you guys got back, she’s been a bit testy with me. Short, you know?” I chuckle as I tell my parents about Spencer’s relentless nagging for a variety of farm animals at his sister’s prompting. “It was pretty obvious she was orchestrating it. Rafe clued in to it too. He took her aside this morning for a talk.”
“And?”
I glance at my dad, who appears to be following the conversation, wondering if I should repeat what Rafe discovered. With another hour and some in our drive, it might get uncomfortable. Still, I forge ahead, since Mom opened that door, keeping an eye on her in the rearview mirror. “Turns out Sofie is afraid I might be leaving.” I catch Mom and Dad sharing a look, and I decide to throw the stick in the proverbial henhouse. “She overheard you two talking about me.”
The silence in the car is telling as Mom now stares out the window, her lips firmly pressed together, while Dad twists his head to give her a death stare.
“Well…” Mom finally drawls. “I’m sorry she heard that, but maybe it’s better she’s prepared.”
“Sarah!” Dad suddenly barks, startling me and almost sending me off the road.
“Jesus, Dad, you scared the shit out of me,” I admonish him before getting back to the topic at hand. “Mom, can I ask you why you think she should be prepared for me leaving, when I have absolutely no intention to? I know what you think. I know there is stuff we probably should hash out at some point, but does it honestly look like I’m going anywhere? Have I given any indication I want to?”
“You know what they say,” she replies instantly and rather snippily. “The only predictor of future behavior is past behavior.”
“Here we go,” Dad laments, dropping his head back on the headrest and contemplating the roof.
“Well, it’s true. Her whole life she’s done nothing but run away. Of course not after first causing trouble.”
“I’m right here,” I announce sharply, trying hard to keep the car on the road, I’m so pissed. “And let me set the record straight on one thing, Mom. I never ran away from trouble—I left because no matter what I did, I seemed to upset people. I know I wasn’t an angel growing up, and I’m sure most of those gray hairs you sport are because of me, but you’ve never let me live it down. You’re still judging me based on things I did as a teenager. I’m thirty-eight years old, Mom. I’ve done a lot of good things in my life you don’t give me credit for, yet you easily hold a grudge for things I’m not even guilty of.”
A derisive snort is all I get for a response, followed by another warning, “Sarah,” from Dad before he turns to me.
“Been thinking on that a lot lately, Baby Girl, and—without digging up old dirt—I for one am ready to move on from that. Your mom may be dragging her feet, but my time is too short to waste on what’s already behind me.”
I choke up at my dad’s words. I don’t like him talking about his time being short, even though I couldn’t be happier to hear him calling me his baby girl again. Seems like perhaps I have one parent pleased to have me back.
It’s a start.
We don’t have to wait long for the neurologist.
Barely five minutes after we take a seat in the waiting room, Dad’s name is called. He leads the way into the doctor’s office and as I’m about to follow him in, Mom holds me back by the arm.
“I just wanted to say I appreciate you coming along. I’m too nervous to take in any information.”
As far as peace pipes go, this is an effective one and I quickly cover her hand on my arm with my own. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, Mom.” We may not be able to settle all our differences easily, but for the sake of my father, we seem to be on one page.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” a handsome older man of Asian descent says, holding out his hand for me to shake.
“Natasha Boran, I’m Ed and Sarah’s youngest daughter.” Even as I say it, I wince at the knowledge I’m not only their youngest, but also now their only daughter.
“Right, I believe I met your sister at a previous visit then. I’m Dr. Chen. Should we wait for her to join us?”
Dad sucks in a sharp breath and Mom has a sudden fascination with the tips of her shoes.
“Actually, Dr. Chen,” I inform him with a lump in my throat. “Sadly my sister passed away quite suddenly this past April.”
The poor doctor’s eyes dart between my parents before landing back on me. “I am so sorry to hear that. Right, maybe we should get started then.”
“Please,” Dad says in a rough voice.
Dr. Chen is all business after that: outlining the decline in Dad’s condition, the options going forward, and his own personal recommendations.
Dad pales distinctly when he finds out what DBS actually entails; the battery of tests leading up to it, the many hours of surgery, the electrodes left in his brain, the insertion of an electrical stimulation device under the skin. Of course there are some serious risks attached to the surgery that should be considered as well.
“I can check if there’s room today, but otherwise we can schedule a day next week for the preliminary scans and blood work, if you choose to go ahead. We can also schedule a tentative surgical date for you.”
Dad swallows hard before nodding, but Mom looks panicked.
“Dr. Chen,” I interrupt what feels like a runaway train. “Is it at all possible to take a few minutes for all of us to process this? I understand you have more appointments, so maybe it would be easier if my parents go grab something to eat, talk things over, and perhaps pop in between appointments after lunch?”