When they’d first toured Seasons four years ago, Amanda had assured them if and when the time came for a transfer to memory care, Blah wouldn’t be isolated from the world she’d enjoyed; she would still participate in the activities of the assisted living side, if she wanted. If she could. Both Sewanee and Blah had brushed this off at the time. Neither seriously entertained the possibility of BlahBlah–gossipy, cackling, bright-eyed, sailor-mouthed, song-and-dance BlahBlah–needing locked doors and twenty-four-hour monitoring.
“Would you like me to keep trying your father or would you prefer to contact him?” Amanda asked.
“No, I’ll get hold of him.”
“Okay. Please have him call me as soon as you do.”
“Absolutely. Thank you, Amanda.”
Sewanee hung up and immediately brought up her father’s number.
She paused.
She sighed deeply and called.
“Sewanee, I don’t have time to chat, are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Not that he was really asking. And not that he really didn’t have the time. Which made it impossible for Sewanee not to goad him by saying, “I just wanted to have a long heart-to-heart about our hopes and dreams, Dad.” Sarcasm was her best offense against his unrelenting self-protection and she wielded it expertly.
“Is there something you want?”
“Yes. When your mother’s assisted living facility calls, I want you to pick up.”
The smallest pause. “Is everything okay?” he asked, parroting exactly what Sewanee had asked Amanda. But the difference was in the tone. She knew tone. It was her job to know tone. His was distracted, impatient. But–and this was what struck her–almost hopeful everything wasn’t, in fact, okay. It turned her stomach.
“No,” she answered, swallowing. “There was an incident last night, nothing serious, but it prompted Amanda to tell me–tell you–that Blah needs to go into memory care. So, Amanda has to speak with you.”
“Why?”
Sewanee paused. “Why? To discuss . . . literally everything?”
“Her hopes and dreams?”
Sewanee didn’t respond to the quip and Henry didn’t continue. When the silence grew too long, Sewanee said, “I was planning to visit on Monday, for lunch.” Still nothing. “Why don’t we meet there?” If it weren’t for the sound of his swallowing–what Sewanee assumed was coffee–she would have thought they’d been disconnected. “Dad?”
A slight chuckle. “There’s no need for that. You go ahead and have your luncheon, you ladies figure everything out, and we’ll talk after.”
“Okay. I’ll call you Monday evening.” More silence. “Would you like to at least know what happened–”
“Swan, we’ll talk Monday, I have to go.” He hung up.
BIBLIOCON LANYARD AROUND her neck, Sewanee hustled and dodged her way across the massive convention floor like a running back going for the end zone. The number of attendees was astonishing. For someone who spent a good portion of her working life with headphones on, hearing only the soft hush of her own voice in her ears, who prized, above all else, absolute quiet, the ambient din of the room made her shoulders creep up her neck.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket, just once, a text.
ADAKU:
You here?
SEWANEE:
Yep. On my way to panel.
ADAKU:
Come to the green room for a sec.
SEWANEE:
There’s a green room??
ADAKU:
Northwest corner.
SEWANEE:
What am I, Magellan?
ADAKU:
By the Starbucks. Under the poster of me.
Sewanee swiveled her head around the room. She located the poster for the movie Girl in the Middle–a stop-action close-up of Adaku’s face looking from left to right–and shuffled over. She quickly texted:
Only have 10 mins.
ADAKU:
Only need 2.
After finding the door and having her ID checked against the name tag hanging from her lanyard by the super-sized man guarding the room, she was ushered into the exclusive holding area, where Adaku was waiting for her, a to-go cup of coffee outstretched.
“Bless you,” Sewanee said, taking it.
Without a word, Adaku grabbed her hand and dragged her down the hallway into a women’s restroom. She quickly checked the two stalls, making sure they were empty, then practically leaped over Sewanee and deadbolted the door behind them.
“What’s up, you kill someone?” she asked, taking a gulp of coffee. Adaku clasped her hands together but couldn’t seem to speak. Sewanee peered at her now. “Is this good or bad?”