The Thief of Lost Time

Chapter 50: "I Hope I'll Be Here"

After six days in the hospital, Dad is discharged and sent to rehab in an ambulance. That night, I drive over to see him, but the center says they have no George Aherne.

"Would you check again? He came by ambulance this afternoon."

Unable to find him, the receptionist calls the charge nurse. "I'm sorry. There's no one here by that name."

When Leslie told me where Dad went, I was distracted. I thought I knew the nursing home she mentioned and didn't write down the name or address. I have no idea what facility I'm in. Thanking the receptionist, I return home. On the way, I stop at another rehab center whose name sounds familiar, convinced this is the one. No. Never heard of Aherne.

"Where were you?" Leslie asks when I call later in the evening.

"I forgot the name of the place—"

Before I say anything else, Rachel takes the phone. "I thought I was the only one he never listens to, but I like knowing I'm not the only one."

***

I drive over to see Dad the next evening. Leslie is still there. He's curled up on his bed in a fetal position dressed in his clothes looking like a visitor who became ill and had to lie down. He faces the wall lying on the spread, childlike and vulnerable, his bare ankles above the flimsy slippers. Supplied by the center, the slippers are little more than cardboard and reinforces my uneasiness since entering the facility. The place is operating on a shoestring.

I'm shocked to see him like this. Leslie is rubbing his back, leaning forward in a chair pulled up beside the bed. She acknowledges me with a discouraged look.

A nurse brushes by to take his temperature. She taps her foot in time to the song on the roommate's radio. She removes the thermometer and holds it up to the light. "It's not going down." Turning to my father she raises her voice. "Mr. Aherne, I'm getting a protein shake for you to drink before going to sleep." She looks at Leslie and me. Her expression is clear: 'It's up to you to see he drinks it.'

I see from my sister's expression she wants to tell me something but won't in front of our father. I can't help feeling impatient with him. Dad's supposed to be getting better. I expected to find him happy to be out of the hospital, flirting with the nurses, and planning the next time we'd go out to eat together. I want him to be like he was before Christmas.

"Dad," Leslie speaks softly. "Mark's here to visit." Her voice is hopeful that Dad will roll over and sit up, like Lazarus, healthy and raring to go.

He twists his head awkwardly. He's not wearing his glasses, and I doubt he'd recognize me if Leslie hadn't told him I was here. I've said nothing since entering the room. "Hi, Mark. Thanks for stopping by." He lays his head back on the pillow.

"How are you doing?"

He doesn't bother with the hand motion. "Metsa, metsa."

Leslie bites her lip. She acts exhausted.

"What's wrong?" I pull another chair over to the bed.

Leslie answers to prevent him from having to repeat everything. "He's complained about a pain in his stomach all day. He's been lying down most of the afternoon." She pantomimes that he hasn't eaten all day.

"How about some ice cream? That would go down easy."

Dad pulls his arms tightly against his chest. "No ice cream. I could do with some water."

"Of course." I jump up happy to have something to do. "I'll be right back."

He speaks as I leave the room. I stop and go back. I frown at Leslie.