NATALIE: I wish you'd be serious for once!
LEXI: Never!
NATALIE: Well, I wish you'd hit it off with Knox. It'd be fun to double-date or something. Clay and I had dinner with Ivy and Boone the other night. I really like them both! Ivy's so sweet. She wants Clay to look for a house and she wants my input on it. And Boone's really nice too-very protective of his wife.
LEXI: Did you not meet Boone before? Back when you and Clay were dating?
NATALIE: No, he was working at the rig with his dad at that point.
LEXI: Mmhmm. So tell me more about the house shopping.
LEXI: Ooh ooh! Wait! Tell them Clay wants to live in a yurt.
NATALIE: A what??
LEXI: A yurt! Google it. I'll wait.
NATALIE: I don't think
NATALIE: I'm getting another text from my dad's nurse. TTYL
LEXI: L8R
ALICE: Ms. Weston, I wanted to let you know that your father's had several very lucid days in a row, and he's been asking about you. It seems he misses you quite a bit. Do you think you will have time to stop by and visit him in the next few days? I know Mr. Price is keeping you busy, but I assured your father I would ask.
NATALIE: Mr. Price will be out of town tomorrow. I'll come by for lunch. Should I call right now and talk to Dad?
ALICE: He says it's not necessary. He's about to lie down for a nap. He says he's looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.
I'm feeling a little out of sorts as the sedan pulls into the new parking lot at the Chap Weston Museum.
In a way, I don't want to come back. That's terrible to think, but I can't help it. I've been so happy with Clay this last week, I don't want it to end. I don't want anything to interfere with my bubble of contentment. I realize as the car pulls in that while I've been going about the day-to-day of life, I haven't exactly been happy here with Dad.
And then I feel guilty for thinking such things. It's been less than two weeks since Clay came back into my life. Surely it'll take longer for us to fall back in love again, won't it?
Except I'm pretty sure I'm already there all over again. Maybe I never stopped.
Of course, I'm not going to tell Clay that. He'll think I'm crazy. I'm going to sit on it for a while longer, until I'm absolutely sure about how I feel-and that he feels the same way, too.
I just don't know how my dad is going to fit into this picture. Right now everything works out, of course, but I can't expect Clay to continue to shuck out money for three nurses permanently, nor can I expect my dad to be happy if I'm gone with Clay almost all of the time. We're in a weird holding pattern, all three of us. I'm terrified that the future's going to change things.
Focus on the present, I remind myself. Enjoy what you have now. Don't worry about what tomorrow's going to bring.
So I close my eyes and think about Clay, holding my phone tight in my hands. He's out visiting one of the potential dig sites with his brothers. It seems Boone is a dowser-whatever that is-and so they like to go in person for a lot of the site visits. Clay wanted me to go with him because he won't be getting home until late, and he didn't want to abandon me. I declined, even though I secretly wanted to go with him. Dad's asking for me, and I feel obligated to go and spend time with him.
And here I am.
I open my eyes again and gaze out at the newly renovated parking lot. I have to admit that I didn't realize how shabby the house and the grounds were until now. The parking lot I knew was lumpy and bumpy and full of potholes, and now it's smooth pavement, with neatly delineated parking spaces for customers. The hedges surrounding the parking lot have been neatly trimmed, and the garden area near the fountain has been given a facelift. Instead of a few scraggly cactuses and native Texas plants, there's blooming flowers, a pergola, and riots of color from brand new bushes. The lawns are trimmed and greener than I've ever seen them, and there's even a gardener planting more flowers along the walkway to the inside of the museum.
The driver parks the car and comes around to my side, opening the door. "I'll wait out here for you, Ms. Weston. Take as much time as you need."
I nod. "Thank you." I slide my phone into my pocket and gaze at the house, my stomach in knots. There's a few workers scattered outside the house, two of them on ladders and replacing a window on the second floor. There's a new sign for the museum with a charming logo and a picture of my dad back in his younger, more famous days. Even though I approved all of the changes, I'm still surprised to see the new opening for the gift shop, along with the fresh paint and the brand new roof. Everything looks brand new. Amazing what can be done in just two short weeks. It's almost like I'm not needed here.
Wishful thinking, I'm sure.
I open the front door and things look less finished inside. The museum pieces are all covered with dust cloths, stacked along the walls, and the carpets have been pulled up. Men are working feverishly-and surprisingly quietly-on the flooring. There's very little hammering, and everyone talks in hushed voices. I'm sure it's all for my father's sake, and I wonder if he appreciates the lengths the contractors are going to in order to accommodate him.
Probably not. My dad rarely thinks of anyone but himself.
I squelch the selfish thought.
Mr. Slocum waves at me as I make my way further inside, but I point at the stairs. "I'm just visiting my father," I assure him. "Carry on." I hurry up-even the stairs don't creak anymore!-and turn down the hall toward my father's room. Before I get there, I can hear music from Little Tiki Princess playing in the background.
I knock on the door, biting my lip. I wonder what Dad I'm going to get today-the one that doesn't know where he is, the one that's living in the past, or the one that's coherent and has all his thoughts?
"Who is it?" My dad's voice sounds strong, with just a hint of wobble due to age.
"It's me, Natalie."
"Come in."
I open the door, a beaming smile on my face. "Hi, Dad!"
The look I get in return is less than enthusiastic. "So you finally remembered that I exist, eh?"
Seems like the dad I'm going to get today is dramatic but coherent. All right, then. I shut the door behind me, keeping the smile pinned on my face. "Of course I remembered you."
"Hmph."
I ignore my dad's grouchiness and sit down in the empty chair across from his bed. He's sitting up, and I'm happy to see his sheets look fresh and crisp. The curtains have been drawn back on the big bay windows in his room, letting in the sunlight, and across from his bed on the wall, Little Tiki Princess plays on the big-screen TV. That's not surprising, given that my dad loves to watch himself in his old movies. I do like how tidy his shelves are, and how everything's been kept neat. It seems as if his nurses have been tidying his things, which is good. Dad gets in moods where he pulls everything out, looking for one particular item, and makes a huge mess. He's like a little kid in that you have to watch him constantly. "It's been a busy week and I haven't been able to steal away much," I tell him as I reach over and hit "Pause" on the remote. "I told you about my new job, didn't I? It's the one that lets me afford to get you all these great nurses."
"You told me about the new job, but I don't see why it's necessary," he tells me petulantly. He plucks at the sheets tucked at his waist. "I'd much rather you be downstairs so I can call for you at any time. You should quit this job. It's not necessary."
"Of course it's necessary," I tell him, clasping my hands in my lap and sitting with my back upright, just like he always chided me to do when I was younger.
"No, it's not. We're fine on money."
"We're not fine on money. There isn't any money. That's the problem, Dad."
"Nonsense." He waves a long-fingered hand. "Who told you we were broke? The accountant? It's his job to be cheap. He'll always tell you there's none left, and then he always magically finds more."
"No," I say firmly. I've gone down this path with him before. "You always magically found more because you'd open up a credit card or write a check that the accountants didn't know about. There's no money left, Dad."
"You're wrong. And if we're so broke, why did you hire all these men to come and fix up the place? I hear them hammering all day long."
My lies are starting to catch up to me. Well, they're not lies exactly. They're more like "glaring omissions of truth." "I told you that we got an investor in the museum. He wants the place looking good for the grand reopening. Don't you remember?"
Dad frowns and then gives a slow shake of his head. "I guess I don't. My memory isn't what it used to be."
That small, sad statement makes me want to cry. "It's all right." I reach out and take his hand in mine, clasping it warmly. "Tell me about your nurses. How do you like them? You look good! They must be taking good care of you."