Page 10 of Shame

Irene helps me get Dad into bed. He fights us like crazy, which is becoming the norm. When I think he’s settled, he gets to his feet and storms out of the room, trying to leave the house. This goes on for a full hour. I don’t have money to pay Irene the extra time, but when Dad is this bad, I can’t handle him myself. So I’ll just have to cut the grocery cost this week so I can pay her.

Finally, his body must give out, or something clicks in his brain, because when we put him down this last time, he’s snoring a minute later. My body is on edge, my brain mush already. This is the last thing I needed after doing a double at the diner. But it’s quickly becoming my routine.

“Have you thought any more about what I said?” Irene asks as we make our way into the kitchen.

I’m so grateful for her. Truly I am. I don’t know where I’d be without her. I squeeze my eyes shut, leaning against the wall andrunning a hand down my face. Fighting the tears gets harder to do each day.

She’s a beautiful woman, with dark skin and bright eyes. She’s somewhere in her forties. Tall for a woman, too. Maybe about 5’10. She says it helps keep her tough patients in line. I believe her.

“Every damn hour of every damn day,” I say, shaking my head.

“What’s stopping you?” she asks carefully but gives me a stern look.

“Guilt,” I admit, opening my eyes. “My father has been there for me my entire life, and let me tell you, I wasn’t an easy child. I can’t give up on him.”

Irene walks to me, putting her hand on my shoulders.

“It’s not about giving up, honey, it’s about what’s safe and healthy. This isn’t either of those things for you or for him.”

I nod, but then shrug. “I just can’t do it yet.” My voice comes out raspy.

She gives me a sad smile. “I understand. You have a good night, okay?”

“You too,” I say, offering a smile. “Thank you for your help.”

She grabs her purse from the dining table that is full of bills and empty grocery bags and who knows what else.

“Oh, and don’t worry about the extra time. I stayed to help, not for the money.”

“I can’t not pay you, Irene. That was…” A lot. Terrifying.Mortifying.God, when I think of what that man must havethought. The handsome biker from the diner who asked for my number, didn’t get it, gave me a ride home, took care of my car, still didn’t get my number, didn’t get a thank you, and then he sees this nonsense when he drops me off? Bet he’s counting his lucky stars for dodging this bullet.

“I don’t want your money,” Irene says firmly. Then she leaves.

I slide down the wall, shrinking in on myself.

How did my life turn into this?

I sleep terribly, but when I wake up, I’m surprised to find my father in the kitchen… cooking! Hurrying toward him, I grab his arm.

“Dad, what are you doing? You’re not supposed to use the stove!”

He looks down at me, raising a brow. Giving me theexcuse me?look. I stop dead in my tracks. I haven’t seen that look in a long time. Years. Not since before he was diagnosed.

“Now why in the world would I not use the stove?” he says with a chuckle, going back to doing whatever he was doing.

He’s having a good day.

The smile that splits my face hurts, and I hug him tightly from behind. I nuzzle my face against his back.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” he asks.

“Just missed you,” I say.

“All you did was sleep,” he comments.

That has my chest tight and tears pooling in the corners of my eyes.

What year does he think it is?

---