On that Monday afternoon, Monica and I sat in a booth with my father. He was working intently on one of his puzzles, although he no longer tried to solve the actual clues. About a year ago, he’d started filling the boxes with random words. At least he was still using real words when he did. One of the next warning signs, according to the doctors, would be when he began using nonsense letters.
“Looks like you’re almost done with that one, Tom,” Breezy said brightly as she topped up our coffee.
She was right. Dad had filled in most of the boxes, and he beamed when she noticed it. “Why, thank you, young lady. If I am good at one thing in this world, it’s crossword puzzles.”
Breezy squeezed his shoulder affectionately. She’d been “young lady” to Dad for about nine months. That was what he called all of the women he didn’t recognize now. Age didn’t matter in his calculations. I was still Shelby. Monica was still Monica. Everyone else in the world was “young lady” or “sir.” He didn’t know who any of them were.
The doctors in Stanton had told me that my father was in what they called stage five of the disease. We’d been at that plateau for about two years. If you asked him what he’d had for breakfast, he wouldn’t have a clue, but he could talk about the details of police cases from decades earlier as if they’d happened the previous day. Maybe, in his mind, they had. He could still bathe and dress himself, and he made it a point to look good, the way he always had. But I wasn’t comfortable with him being alone anymore, and the doctors said it was only a matter of time before he moved on to stage six, at which point I would either have to quit my job to take care of him 24/7 or find a facility we could afford. I hated the idea of either option.
Dad put down his pencil. He focused on Monica, who was crocheting a navy-blue scarf that I knew she intended as a present for him. “How’s that puppy of yours?” he asked her. “Is he house broken yet? You have to stick with training once you start and be consistent, you know. Firm and consistent. Dogs appreciate that.”
Sometimes we couldn’t always keep up with the shifting sands of my father’s mind.
“Puppy?” Monica asked, looking puzzled.
“Moody! Isn’t that what you call him? Malamutes are such beautiful dogs.”
Moody, of course, was sitting where he always did, in the flowered urn on the table in front of Monica.
“Oh, he’s just fine, Tom, thank you for asking. Of course, puppies have limitless energy. I swear that dog will wear me out.”
“I’ve thought about getting a dog myself,” Dad went on. “Shelby loves the idea. It’s good for kids to grow up with a dog. But right now, that little girl is so much work that I don’t think I could handle a puppy, too.”
I wondered how old I was at that moment in his mind. Two? Three?
Dad had a proud, happy look on his face, but then he glanced across the table and focused on me, and there I was, thirty-five years old. He knew me. He recognized me. But his eyes went glassy with confusion as his mind tried to reconcile the impossible contradictions. I couldn’t be a toddler who wanted a dog and an adult in my deputy’s uniform at the same time.
The confusion made him afraid, and I hated seeing fear on my father’s face. Then, as if giving up on things that made no sense to him, he went back to finishing his puzzle.
I got out of the booth, because I couldn’t stay there at that moment. Monica patted my arm in sympathy. I followed Breezy back to the lunch counter and sat down in one of the chairs. I’d left my coffee on the table, so Breezy filled another cup for me.
“Sorry, Shel. That’s hard.”
“Thanks.”
“Where’s Anna? I mean, it’s the anniversary, right? I figured the two of you would be hanging out together.”
“I truly have no idea where she is.”
“Things aren’t so good with you two?”
“Not good at all.”
Breezy lowered her voice. “Listen, just so you know, I saw Anna back at the bar in Witch Tree last weekend. She was with Will Gruder again.”
“Great. That’s just great. Was she drinking?”
“Beer.”
I shook my head. “She’s underage. I could bust the place.”
“I know, but don’t do that. I’ll talk to the owner and try to get her cut off if she comes in again.”
“Is she doing drugs, too?”
“Not that I saw.”
“Come on, Breezy, be straight with me.”
“I am, Shel. I haven’t seen her with drugs. As far as I know, she’s clean.”
“Thanks.” I eyed Breezy, who was as thin as a sapling but had clear, bright eyes. “How about you? Are you still clean?”
She offered a cynical laugh and pulled up her sleeves to show off her bare arms.
“Cleanest I’ve ever been. Being on food stamps will do that to you. No drugs. No cigarettes. And hey, I’ve lost ten pounds. This no-money diet really does the trick.”
“You need any help?”
“I need plenty of help, but you’re not rolling in dough either. I’ll be fine. Something will turn up.”
Everyone around here knew Breezy had it rough this year. She’d never been flush, but she’d had an emergency appendectomy the previous summer, and the medical bills had cleaned her out. The diner didn’t need her for extra shifts during the slow season, and there weren’t a lot of ways to make money on the side in January.
Breezy leaned across the counter. She tried to put the best spin she could on my situation with Anna.
“I know you don’t want to hear this, but it’s actually sweet that she hangs out with Will. Most girls won’t do that. I mean, the burns and all.”
“It’s Will Gruder, Breezy.”
“I get it. He’s not your favorite person. But you know, he’s not dealing anymore. He paid the price in all sorts of ways. Right now he’s just kind of pathetic. He blames himself for Vince’s death, and he wallows in it. Mostly he drinks in the bar and reads the Bible.”
“The Bible? Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Well, if Anna wants religion, she doesn’t need to get it from Will. She can come to church with me and Dad.”
I knew I sounded bitter. I was feeling bitter. It was a bad day.
The bell on the diner door jangled, and all of our heads turned like trained dogs. Adam strolled inside, bringing a cold burst of winter air with him. He took off his sheriff’s hat and tucked it under his arm, and he used one hand to primp the few remaining brown curls on his head. His hair had thinned over the years, but his waist had gone the other way, bulging as he added twenty more pounds. He greeted people at every table the way a politician does. He said hello to Dad, too, which I appreciated, but Dad simply called him “sir.”
Adam joined me at the counter but didn’t take a seat immediately. “Is Rose here?”
“Rose? No, I haven’t seen her. Why?”
“She called and said she had something she needed to show me.”
He slid onto the chair and eyed the morning glory muffins under a glass dome. He checked his phone, found no new messages, and put it faceup on the counter in front of him. I could smell cigar smoke clinging to his uniform the way it usually did. Now that he was the sheriff, no one was going to tell him to stop. He had money, too. His mother had died three years earlier and left him her fortune. I thought he might retire at that point, but he didn’t. He was in the second year of his third term as sheriff. People kept voting for him because he was a known quantity, although he wasn’t really beloved the way my father had been. And I think Adam knew it.
You can check off all your goals in life, but it doesn’t necessarily make you happy. Adam had the job he’d always wanted and the money he’d always anticipated, but something was still missing. The old restless Adam was back. Physically, he’d let himself go since he lost his mother. In addition to putting on weight, he was drinking again. He was back on his motorcycle and driving recklessly when he wasn’t on duty. He’d gone through a string of girlfriends. None of them had stayed.