Page 4 of Quiet Chaos

A young nurse assisting the others catches my eye and gives me a flirtatious smile. I glance out the open curtain, listening to the nurses buzzing around the confined area. To make more room, I step back. The curtain billows out and around my large body. The flirty nurse assures me I’m fine.

The curtain brushes aside and a doctor comes in. I remember him from the other times. He acknowledges me, flashes a light in my dad’s eyes, and tries to talk to him.

“Charlie? Can you hear me?”

My dad attempts to pull himself up as he says, “Yeah. Why you yellin’?”

The doctor directs the conversation to me. “At least he’s awake.” A slight laugh escapes me. “We both know this isn’t new to you, so I’ll spare you the details. We’ll keep him until the alcohol wears off and I’ll have a mental health professional come down to talk to him.”

My eyebrow raises as I shake my head. “It won’t do any good.”

“Maybe not, but I think we should give it another try.”

Once everyone is gone, I sit in the chair next to my dad’s bed. He floats in and out of sleep, mumbling to himself. His thin, veiny hand rests on the bed. He’s a different father from the one I remember as a boy. The one from boyhood was thick chested, with arms the size of Popeye’s. At least, that’s how I viewed him then. He was a hard worker, starting Briggs Bourbon when he and my mom were newly married. I’d never seen a man look at a woman quite like the way my dad did toward my mom, as if everything and everyone evaporated. Now his heart and mind no longer want to stick around. The best part of him left when mom died. It angers me to think how dedicated he is to the bottle. Something that betrays his body and mind. I also ache at seeing what the disease has done to him. A shell of the man I used to know.

There’s a touch to my shoulder, and I notice dad’s watery eyes on me, watching him.

He speaks like tires on gravel. “I’m sorry, Cade.”

I stand, take his hand in mine, and shrug. “I know. Why don’t you talk to someone?”

He shakes his head as he releases my hand. “No use.” I tilt my head, baffled by his surrender to the bottle. “I’m too far gone.” He pats my hand, avoids my eyes, playing with my fingers. “You’ve grown into a wonderful man. Your mom would have been proud. Hell, I’m proud.” I swallow the lump in my throat and my emotions. “You’ve done well for the business and yourself.”

I move my hand to the rail. “Maybe it’s time you move in.”

Without hesitating, he says, “No way. You got your own life to lead.”

“You’re part of my life.”

His head moves from side to side. “I don’t want to be anyone’s burden.”

I let out an exhausted sigh as I think,you already are,hating myself for thinking it. In my younger years, he was a great dad, and he gave me this business. So what if he couldn’t handle losing mom? It doesn’t dismiss all the great things and sacrifices he has made for me. It also doesn’t dismiss all the hardships he’s added to my life, either.

I take his shaky hand in mine, bend down until we’re at eye level, and say, “You’ll never be a burden. I think it’s time.” The honey dose of a lie comes with no regret.

Tears run down his cheeks as he looks elsewhere and nods. I remain at the hospital until mid-afternoon and take him straight to my house. Armstrong is in heaven, licking and jumping to show his appreciation. I called Hal earlier, and the man filled all the orders. I don’t know what I’d do without him. He’s saved my ass so many times when it came to a family crisis. I glance at my dad as he shuffles the food around his plate. This is my life, but I can’t complain. Overall, it’s been damn good.

***

Over the past months, my dad completely moved in, and we sold his house in Fish Haven. I thought about keeping it, but the memories of my mom are with me, not the house. It didn’t take long for him to acclimate himself and it’s easier to monitor him. Even though I can’t keep the booze out of his coffee mug, he’s near enough for me to help him into bed. Armstrong also alerts me if there’s a problem.

We fight about his drinking, and more times than not, I skip going to the club, so he won’t be alone. Both of us aren’t much for conversation but having someone nearby is enough. An ornery man, he sometimes takes the place apart in his hunt for the brown liquid that entices his body into oblivion.

Today, I find all the cleaning supplies thrown around the kitchen floor and my dad’s head underneath the sink.

“There’s nothing there for you.”

He hits his head while trying to get up. “Damn you, Cade! Give it to me!”

With my hands tucked under my arms, I ignore his request, which gets him riled up. On wobbly legs, he stands in front of me and punches my chest. The impact is barely noticeable as he loses his balance. My hand steadies him, and he throws it off.

“You asshole! I’ve never kept something from you.”

He stumbles to the tall kitchen cabinet, flinging cans, boxes, and bags, one almost hitting Armstrong.

Like a sack of potatoes, I carry my dad into the living room. “Alright. I’ll get you something.”

I hand him a half-empty bottle of bourbon, and he hugs the bottle. He takes a long swig and sighs a relief. The rest of the day, I clean his mess and get him to eat. Another challenge. My dad’s disturbed nature affects everyone else, and the fact he doesn’t care sometimes pisses me off. Even so, it’s my job to take care of him. To make sure whatever’s left of his life is at least tolerable.

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