Chapter 13: The Weight of Quiet
My father was discharged two days later.
I moved him into a temporary one-bedroom apartment near my own place—a clean, quiet unit with good locks and no history. Adult Protective Services helped arrange for a home health aide to check on him during the day while I handled the legal meetings and paperwork.
The first night in the new apartment, he sat in the recliner by the window and looked out at the streetlights for a long time.
“I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop,” he said.
“It already did,” I told him. “You’re on the other side of it now.”
He was quiet for a while.
“I miss your mother. She would have seen through Priscilla in a week.”
“She would have been proud of you for holding on,” I said. “And for calling me when it counted.”
He reached over and patted my hand the way he used to when I was small and couldn’t sleep.
“I’m proud of you too, kid. Even if I don’t say it enough.”
May you like
We sat together in the soft light of the lamp until he grew tired. When I left that night, I double-checked the locks and the new security camera I had installed above the door.
For the first time in weeks, I slept without keeping one ear open for the phone.
