Page 20 of Meet Me in the Valley
Dad and I both flinch at the sound of Mom’s shrill voice. I look at my dad with eyes that scream, “See what I’m talking about?”
“One second, Connie! I’ll help you find them!” Dad just shakes his head, looking at me with an almost pained expression.
First, it’s no alcohol. Now it’s Looney Tunes behavior over a pie for a birthday that’s passed. It feels as if I’m inThe Twilight Zone. Or a victim of one of those prank shows.
“Dad, what’s going on?”
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his fingers steepled against his lips in thought. But he doesn’t get long to ponder before my mom’s voice cuts through the house again, sharp and urgent.
“Daniel!”
“Please play along. Go get what she needs, and I promise I’ll explain everything when you get home.”
No. Not good enough.
A morning at the gym did nothing to shake the frustration boiling inside me. I don’t want to add another thing to my emotional plate—and secrets from my parents might be the thing that finally tips me over.
“Dad, please. What is happening? I’m not a little kid. You guys have been acting weird since I got into town. I deserve to know what the hell is going on.”
Dad stands from his chair, walking over to me with remorse in his gaze. I stand with him, and he pulls me in for a hug. I rest my cheek over his chest, his heartbeat still strong as it thumps in my ear.
He plants a soft kiss into my hair. “Tia, trust me. Please, just get the things on the list and we’ll talk.”
“Promise?”
“Pinky promise.”
Mom buzzes like a little worker bee, shooing me out of the kitchen with flour dusting her cheeks and apple skins overflowing in a bowl on the counter. Reluctantly, I got everything on her list—including the Honeycrisps that were luckily on sale. That made Mom happy.
I said I’d help in the kitchen because it’s what a good daughter does. And I love cooking with my mom. But right now? I’d trade a dozen apple pies for a straight answer from my dad.
With my mom distracted and rolling out pie crust dough, I catch my dad in the corner of my eye, waving me down to meet him in the garage. He walks through the door, and I follow shortly behind. I don’t know why this is so cryptic—and why it feels like I’m lying. I just want to get to the bottom of this.
Dad stands at the deep freezer on the far side of the two-car garage. My heart beats in an erratic rhythm, unsure and anxious, as I step up to the white chest.
“Is there a body or something in there?” I attempt a joke, only getting a small curve of a smile from my dad. The pained expression is back, and it breaks something inside me. The pinch in his eyebrows. The thinning of his lips.
He finally opens the freezer, showing me the contents inside. My mouth parts on a gasp, equal parts shock and disbelief.
Apple pies. Dozens of them.
“Dad …” I whisper, digging through the pile of pies neatly stacked atop one another. Each is tightly bound in clear plasticwrap, the bold strokes of a black marker scrawling dates that stretch back nearly two months.
I have a pretty good idea why all these pies are here, but it doesn’t stop me from tossing out a Hail Mary, hoping I’m wrong.
“Are you and Mom, like ... starting a pie business or something?”
Stupid. A pie business. Jesus.
My dad gives a soft shake of his head, a quiet “no”on his lips. He swallows hard, working past the lump in his throat, and I notice for the first time how tired he looks—his green eyes dull, shadows resting heavy beneath them. I hadn’t realized just how worn down he’s become.
“Tia,” Dad murmurs, placing his hand in mine. He can’t look at me just yet, his eyes swimming with what looks like fear and immense trepidation. I squeeze his hand tighter in mine, tugging on it and will him to look at me.
“Just say it. I can handle it.”
I think. I hope.
“It’s Alzheimer’s, sweetheart. Early on-set. I’m so sorry.”
