“I know. No, it’s not the best solution, but it’s temporary anyway.”
“Why don’t you both go to my place?”
I stopped pacing, pressing the phone tighter to my ear. My stomach somersaulted. “Your apartment? Do you mean it?”
“Yes. There are enough bedrooms, and it’s big enough for Buddy too. The elevator is handicap accessible, and Martin will have an easier time wheeling about, okay?”
Wow. I couldn’t believe this. I pressed a hand to my chest. My smile was wobbly.
“Are you sure you don’t mind? It would be more convenient for Dad at your place, but—”
“Take him there, Mel. I’ll talk to Isabelle or Ian about getting you a key.”
“Thank you, Dylan. This is great. You’re great. How are you?”
“I excused myself from a shitty meeting.”
“Oh no! Go back to it. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”
“Anything you need, tell me, okay?”
“I will. Thanks.”
I was still stunned as I hung up. Dylan wanted me to take Dad to his place. Oh my God.
I poked my head inside the office. Dr. Denver had finished removing the splinters. Now she was disinfecting the elbow, which only had some scratches.
“Okay, that’s it,” she exclaimed, straightening up. “I’ll prescribe something for inflammation, and then you’re good to go.”
“Thank you, Dr. Denver,” I said, stroking Dad’s shoulder as she wrote the prescription. Once she handed it to me, I tucked it in my bag and wheeled Dad out on the street. There was a pharmacy right across from her office, so we stopped by to get the pills. Dad was unusually quiet. He was always a stoic man, so I knew he didn’t want to dissect everything.
I also knew he wasn’t a big hugger, but he needed it. Once we came out of the pharmacy, I wrapped both arms around him, holding him to me.
“Daddy, it’s all going to be okay.”
He patted my arms, drawing in a deep breath. I straightened up, arranging his hair. I’d messed it up a bit with the hug.
“I think you should move out of the house for a couple days until we fix the door. I spoke to Dylan, and he invited us both to stay at his apartment. He’s in D.C for two weeks. His place is much bigger than mine, and his building has an elevator that’s equipped for wheelchairs too.”
Dad beamed widely. “Dylan is a good man.”
“He is. So, what do you say?”
“Is he okay with Buddy coming with us?”
“Yes. He even asked if he was doing all right.” I smiled just thinking how thoughtful that man of mine was.
“Great.” Dad looked a tad forlorn, then said, “I think getting away is a good idea.”
On the way home, I texted Dylan.
Mel: Dad wants to stay at your place.
Dylan: I’ve talked to Ian and Isabelle. They’ll take care of everything.
My heart fluttered, and I smiled from ear to ear despite the shitty day. In fact, I was in a great mood even when we got home to the broken door. I called the police station, and they promised to send someone in an hour maximum. They had a unit patrolling the neighborhood, but those weren’t the officers in charge of taking statements. Dad said he wanted to lie down until the officer came, so he went to his bedroom.
I started packing his medical supplies and laptop. He’d tell me which clothes to add once he was up.
There was a knock at the door a while later. The officer is early!
I’d blocked the door by putting a chair in front of it, and it almost toppled over me when I opened it.
“I’ve got it,” Ian exclaimed, startling me. Isabelle was next to him with Tess.
"What are you all doing here?" I asked.
"Dylan told us to come help you move your dad," Isabelle replied.
“Isabelle was at the store when Dylan called, so I decided to tag along for moral support,” Tess said, inspecting the door.
Their kindness and warmth took me entirely by surprise.
"Thank you, I appreciate it. It's all a bit nerve-racking. Come on in. We’re still waiting for the police officer to come, so it’ll take a while. How much time do you have?”
“We’re flexible,” Ian said. He kept looking over his shoulder to the street. “I want to stick around in case that moron shows up again. He needs his face punched.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Is that Dylan’s initiative or yours?”
Ian trained his eyes on me. “Dylan just said to look out for the guy. But I’m more hotheaded.”
“Yes you are,” Isabelle said. “No one’s punching anyone. Mel, tell us what you need.”
“I was in the process of packing a few things for Dad. We also need to take Buddy’s crate, his water and food bowls, and a bag of dried dog treats.”
Ian and Isabelle exchanged a glance, then quickly looked away from each other, both trying to suppress smiles.
“What?” I asked.
Tess laughed. “These two were gossiping on the way here about how much Dylan’s changed, because he told them about Buddy.”
Ian pulled me in for a half hug. “You’re a terrific influence on him.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Mel
The next few hours were intensive. The police officer stopped by, taking Dad’s statement. It was unclear if we could accuse Elliot of theft since he’d bought the TV and coffee table. It was also unclear if we could press charges for trespassing, breaking, and entering. The door was off the hinges, but Elliot could always counter that the door was old and it gave in when he opened it, falling on Dad’s arm. Since Dad didn’t have any security cameras, it would be his word against Elliot’s.
I was fuming.
After the police officer left, we all went to Dylan’s apartment. Ian, Tess, and Isabelle helped me carry Dad’s and Buddy’s things. I belatedly realized I didn’t have any clothes at all, so I headed to my place to get a few things right after Dad lay down for another nap.
To my astonishment, all three of them were still at the apartment when I returned.
Tess was playing with Buddy, Isabelle was playing cards with Dad, and Ian was cooking. Dad smiled when he noticed me, and I could see the surprise in his eyes. He’d been shell-shocked when I’d introduced him to the group back at the house. We were used to relying on each other, and that was it. Now we were surrounded by these amazing people who went above and beyond.
“She’s good at the game,” Dad said, nodding to Isabelle.
“Excellent,” I said. I was pretty much crap at cards, so at least he had a worthy opponent tonight. I went to the kitchen, peering into the pan, and did a double take.
“Is that risotto?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Wow. I thought Dylan was the chef in your family. At least, that’s the story he tells.”
“Ha! I’m the better cook.”
“Really?” Isabelle asked, straightening up in her chair and looking over at Ian. “Then why is it that you never offer to cook for us when we have a family get-together?”
Ian grinned. “Because Dylan always offers. I conserve my energy for when it’s needed.”