Page 23 of The Christmas Box

Late in the day, I pick up some burgers and head to the manor.

Once there, I pop in on Shannon and ask if she needs anything moved today. She shakes her head and looks at me like I’m a moron and why would I think she needed anything moved?

Then I take Dad his usual hamburger and fries—and all hell breaks loose.

“Here you go,” I say, holding the bag up as I walk into his room. “Medium well and greasy, just the way you like it.”

“Who are you and why are you trying to poison me?” he asks.

I just gape at him, dumbfounded. He’s thrown me off yet again.

At a loss, my heart sinking in my chest, I simply turn back around, exit the room, and head to the nurse’s station. Without preamble, I announce at large, “My father just asked me who I am and accused me of trying to poison him.”

Helen looks up from the computer screen she’s studying, her expression troubled. “Oh dear. I was hoping to see you come in so I could warn you. He’s not himself today.”

Or maybe he’s back to hisoldself. But I don’t tell her that.

“He’s not recognizing anyone, I’m afraid.”

“Is this a sign of progression? Of the brain cancer?” Something in me stiffens as I ask, though. Despite myself, maybe Ihavestarted liking this guy I don’t really know anymore. And maybe I’m not ready for him to disappear just yet, especially if it means dealing with a mean, nasty guy going forward. Coming here sucks, but being met with a smile each day has at least made it tolerable.

“Yes and no,” she tells me. “Certainly, it’s indicative of progression, but we had days like this before you got to town, too. His cognition is unpredictable. And maybe that will grow more prevalent over time or maybe it won’t. When it comes to diseases like this, every journey is different, so I don’t try to predict what’ll happen next.”

I draw in a deep breath and blow it back out, again stunned to realize how much I want today to be just an anomaly, and how wounded I was by his hateful tone. It felt like being seventeen all over again, something I never expected. Steeling myself as best I can, I ask, “What should I do? Leave and hope he’s better tomorrow?”

She tilts her head in that calm, thoughtful way of hers. “That’s up to you, Travis. But if it were me, I’d probably take the food back in and try to reason with him, just remembering that he’s not in control of his own mind right now. If it’s too much, then leave. But maybe give it another shot.”

I sigh. Helen has a flair for pushing a person to do the right thing. Because I definitely want to take off, get away from this situation. I’d much rather be at the apartment with my dog and my Christmas tree, neither of which I like very much, so that’s saying a lot. But I finally murmur, “Okay,” and head back to Dad’s room, each step filled with dread.

“I said, ‘Who are you?’” He repeats when I come back in, as if no time has passed at all.

“I’m your son,” I inform him, perhaps a little too forcefully. Maybe I should be gentler, more understanding, but this is jarring

“My son lives far away and never comes home,” he tells me, “so you ain’t him.”

Where to go from here? “Well, I brought you lunch from Winterburger if you want it.” I’m back to holding up the bag.

“That nurse tried to poison me earlier. Saw her put something in my scrambled eggs. I refused to eat it, I’ll tell ya that much.”

Do you try to correct someone at a time like this, or do you just move on? Without any training in this area, I’m stumped. “Look,” I say, “I have two hamburgers and some fries here, and I’m gonna eat one of ’em. You can pick which one if you want. That makes it safe, right? And if you don’t want yours, I have a dog at home who’ll be more than happy to eat it.”

“You have a dog?” he asks with the sudden wonder of a child.

And that’s when I realize: Crap, I just said I had a dog. Which I guess means I have one. Again, I blame Lexi for this.

That woman has intruded into more than just my private space—she’s managed to meddle in multiple aspects of my life. She’s lucky she makes good coffee or I’d be avoiding her like the plague. Of course, she has a pretty smile, too. And warm blue eyes. I’m seriously not sure why I didn’t notice her in high school—how cute she is, I mean. And even though I never thought I cared about anything like this, I guess the way she looks on the bright side of life makes her…well, nice to be around. When she’s not forcing dogs and Christmas trees on me, that is.

“I miss my dog,” Dad announces then, drawing me back to the moment at hand.

He doesn’thavea dog, but I don’t tell him that since I’m still not sure of the proper way to handle his delusions. I could use Helen right about now. “What’s your dog’s name?” I ask.

“Blinker. He’s a good boy.”

Ah. Wally mentioned years back that Dad had taken in a stray, a little beagle, and called him Blinker. Apparently that’s what we Hutchins men do, take in strays. Strange for two guys I don’t think of as having big hearts. I’m pretty sure the beagle got old and passed away since then, so I guess Dad is in another place in time.

“Maybe you’ll see him again soon,” I suggest. I’m not sure what I even mean by that, but maybe I’m suggesting some form of an afterlife I have no idea if I believe in.

“Don’t think so,” he says sadly. “They don’t let you bring your dog with you in here.”

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