Page 6 of Unearthed Dreams
Good ol’ Brando had sucked me in, because next thing I knew, it was nine-thirty. I’d planned to be on the road by nine, but whatever.
I was operating according to my own timeline.
No one was actuallyexpectingme, anyway.
“Go fish.”
I drew a card from the pile.
“Do you have any threes?” Billy asked.
“Son of a bitch.”Every goddamn time.He beat me every time.
He let out a hearty chuckle, his bushy gray brows wiggling like caterpillars above his bright blue eyes. “Best three outta five?”
I sighed and unwound the elastic from my hair. “I guess. You’re just gonna keep fuckin’ winning.”
“Now don’t be a poor sport, son.”
Son.
He called me son because he didn’t know my name. Not anymore. At one point in time, he did. We’d met once, before I came to Sable Point, and it hadn’t been pretty.
“Ya know,” Billy said with a hint of nostalgia, “I’ve got a daughter ’bout your age, I think.”
Fuck.It had been a while since he’d brought up Kelsey. No matter how many times it happened, I never knew how to fucking handle it.
When I told him the truth, our visit always ended the same—he’d go quiet, his eyes turning distant, and then he’d ask to be taken back to his room. But if I went along with it, he’d talk about her for ages—and that was sometimes even worse.
“Hard to tell with that hair.” He gestured toward my head.
“You got a problem with my hair, old man?” I aimed for deflection. Maybe if I could change the subject, he’d forget his line of thinking. It seemed like a cruel thing to ask of a man who’d forgotten more than just his line of thinking a long while ago. “At least Ihavehair.”
“Pfft, I have plenty of ha—” He reached up and touched the top of his head, and his eyes went wide. “Where the fuck’s my hair?”
“Musta lost it all right along with your charm.”
Billy snorted a laugh and then dealt the cards for another game. Looked like we’d dodged the landmine—for now. Grateful as fuck for that small mercy.
After four games of Go Fish and a surprisingly good lunch—a grilled whitefish sandwich and coleslaw with a delicious fucking apple and poppy seed dressing, topped off with a homemade cherry crisp for dessert—Billy was spent.
I walked him back to his private room, which was nothing more than a studio apartment, not too dissimilar from the one he used to live in above the bar—minus the lingering smell of beer and stale popcorn. It was compact but functional, with everything he needed within arm’s reach.
The entryway led straight into the main space, where a small serving area was tucked against the wall—just enough room for a mini fridge, a microwave, and a coffee maker.
The sitting area had a couple of chairs and a table, perfect for watching whatever old western rerun was on. It was open to the sleeping area, which had a bed, a nightstand, and a closet big enough for his essentials.
The bathroom was actually a nice setup—spacious, easy to access, with a walk-in shower that had a seat and safety bars.
Overall, it was cozy. Felt a little like a scaled-down version of his old life. Maybe that was the point—enough independence to keep his pride intact, but with the security to keep him safe when his mind slipped.
I was busy taking in the space, so when he spoke next, it startled the shit out of me—on multiple levels.
“Kai.”
His moments of lucidity were fewer and further between these days. The facility managers kept me in the loop on his good days and his bad, but I was rarely here for the good ones.
I met my father-in-law’s eyes, and his gaze was fucking tortured.
