One look in the bathroom and she closed the door . . . disgusted.
Dog tired, Brooke rolled her suitcases into the second bedroom, which was left relatively untouched, and rolled up her sleeves.
The offensive smells needed to be taken to the trash, and the bathroom had to be tackled or she’d need to find a hotel.
For the life of her, she didn’t think she knew a hotel within a ten-mile radius that looked any better.
What her father saw in the Inland Empire, Brooke couldn’t say. She’d never liked the area. Hot, dry, oppressive in the best of times. And when the Santa Ana winds started to blow, it became unlivable as far as she was concerned. Yet Joe had lived there for over thirty years.
Exhausted as she was, Brooke moved about the condo looking for cleaning supplies to tackle the most unpleasant needs first.
Sadly, she was fairly certain the bottles of disinfectants were the brands that she favored and likely the ones she’d bought the last time she’d been there. Which meant her dad didn’t pull them out and use them often enough. As evidenced by the smell and condition of the place.
It ticked her off, much as she hated to admit it.
Maybe he couldn’t do the work and was too embarrassed to tell her.
In search of a mop, Brooke opened the door to the garage and flipped on the light.
She stopped dead in her tracks.
There, in bright sparkly blue, was a brand-new, clean, four-door Subaru sedan.
Her jaw dropped.
“Son of a bitch.”
“Where are you?”
“In the parking lot of the hospital.” Brooke had her phone on speaker talking to Carmen. The windows of the rental car were cracked just enough to let in some fresh air. “Dr. Dubois said she’d call me when they were out of surgery.”
“You sound tired.”
“I’m exhausted. The condo was a pigsty. Is a pigsty. I was up cleaning until after midnight and only made a dent.”
“Oh no. Do you think your dad is losing whatever he has left?”
“That’s exactly what I thought, until I saw the car.”
“What car?”
“The brand-spanking-new freaking car in the garage.” She’d been seething about that ever since.
“Your dad bought a new car?”
Brooke nodded her head, not that Carmen could see her. “What the hell was he thinking? A little sporty Subaru fit for a seventeen-year-old. And it was spotless. Spotless, Carmen. My dad had enough cleaning supplies to keep the car on a showroom floor for the next five years, but he couldn’t brush a toilet to save his life. What the actual hell? He’s had the car for five months. Did he bother to tell me? No.”
“You would have bitched at him.”
“Of course I would have bitched at him. The money from liquidating his business is for his retirement. It has to last the rest of his life. He had his truck, it was fine. It was in good condition. It was paid off. What the hell did he need a new car for?”
“Deep breath, girlfriend. Stop pulling your hair out.”
Brooke looked at her left hand, which had wrapped around a chunk of hair, and forced it to her lap. “It’s so frustrating. I buy him a condo, it’s a filthy mess. He buys a car, it’s eat-off-the-engine clean. The payment is five hundred a month. Did he offer to help me with the mortgage? No. He bought a car. Ugh!”
“If your father was fiscally responsible, you wouldn’t have had to buy him the condo.”
“It’s maddening. And I’m pissed at myself for being pissed at him. He’s in surgery right now, and who knows how it will turn out, and I’m in a parking lot cursing about his life choices.”
Carmen’s voice of reason came out in her tone. “It’s okay, Brooke. Anyone in your shoes would feel the same.”
She wanted to scream. “Blah . . . just blah!”
“Have you talked to Marshall?”
“I texted him.”
“And?”
“Nothing. Just said I was here. He tried calling; I didn’t pick up. I told him I didn’t have the energy to fight with him and I’d call when I was ready.” Brooke wasn’t sure when that would be. If she told Marshall about the condo, the car . . . any of it, he’d only be clamoring about how she shouldn’t be doing so much for her dad, and how she should walk away and not care. The fight would circulate again, like it had so many times in the past.
“He’d just be a dick about this anyway.”
“Exactly.”
“You don’t need that,” Carmen said.
“I know.”
“You need the fairy tale.”
Brooke rolled her eyes. “That isn’t here.” She looked out the windshield at the neighborhood surrounding the hospital. It was quiet enough, but flat and boring. No rivers or lakes, mountains or ocean in sight. “This place is depressing.”
“I remember.” Carmen had come for a few days after the stroke and left once they knew he was going to make it.
Brooke’s phone buzzed with an incoming call. “That’s the doctor. I gotta go.”
“Go. Call me back.”
An hour later she was allowed to go in and visit her father in the ICU. He was sent there after surgery because his blood pressure was low, and the surgeon opted to keep him on the ventilator overnight with the hopes of weaning him off the machine the following day.
Brooke hesitated as she walked into the room and to his bedside, making sure she didn’t get in the nurse’s way.
She slid her hand into her father’s swollen fingers and squeezed. “Hey, Daddy. It’s me. You did great. You just need to rest up and get better now.”
He didn’t move, didn’t bat an eyelash.
The soft push and flow of the ventilator and the beeping of the monitor watching his heart rate filled the room with noise.
It was hard to believe that three short years ago, this man was riding his motorcycle and splitting lanes in traffic acting like he was James Dean. “You pulled a couple of bad cards,” she whispered to the room.
Ten minutes later the nurse let her know she’d call if anything changed. It was Brooke’s cue to leave.
A kiss to her father’s forehead, a promise to see him the next day, and Brooke exited the hospital.
Outside, the temperature had risen. She walked to the rental car and climbed behind the wheel. “Now what?”
Her phone rang.
Brooke’s eyes shot open, her pulse instantly in her throat. Not bothering to look at who was calling, she answered. “Hello?”
“Miss Turner?”
“Yes?”
“This is Lily . . . your father’s nurse tonight. We think you should come to the hospital.”
“Oh, God . . . what happened?” Brooke’s feet were already on the floor, her hand reaching for the light on the bedside table.
“Your father is alive. Just very sick. He spiked a fever. His blood pressure is low. We have him on medication to support it. His kidneys are failing.”
Tears were starting to gather in the back of her eyes. “Is he going to die?”
“Not if we can stop it. But it is a possibility, which is why I’m calling. Can someone drive you here?”
“I’m . . . no. I’m okay. Not far.”
“Okay. Take a deep breath. You have time. I’ve already cleared it with my charge nurse. I have a chair in the room for you.”