Chapter 7

Emma"s handsgripped the steering wheel of her hybrid, her knuckles whitening as the vehicle glided silently through the streets of Missoula. As the car glided smoothly along the road, her inner turmoil churned. She drove almost on autopilot, her mind preoccupied with the uncertainty of her father"s condition.

After she had parked, she forced a smile and walked to the stately mansion.

As Emma entered the memory-care facility, sadness clouded her mood. In the common area, a group of residents congregated, some engaged in conversation, others lost in their own worlds. The air carried a mix of antiseptic and home-cooked meals.

One of the staff members greeted her cheerfully. "Hi, Doctor Sullivan. Your father"s still in his room."

Emma"s heart skipped a beat. "Why isn"t he with the others?" she asked, gesturing toward the communal room filled with residents and their families.

"Mr. Sullivan has opted out of the group festivities, preferring the solitude of his room." The young woman clearly noticed Emma's distress and petted her arm. "I'm sure he'll be thrilled to have you here."

"Okay. Thank you." Emma nodded politely and walked down the corridor. Her footsteps echoed softly, each one increasing the distance between her and the cheerful chatter emanating from the communal room. Her heart sank a little more with each step, the heavy air of the hallway seeming to press down on her. Approaching her father"s door, she paused and steeled herself. Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for the knob, bracing herself for the unpredictable moods that might lie beyond.

With a gentle nudge, the door creaked open. Her father sat alone, distant and lost in thoughts she could no longer reach.

Despite her achievements in cardiology, here she felt powerless, confronted by the slow erosion of her father"s mind. She walked into the room, where personal touches stood out—a family photo here, a well-worn book there. "Hey, Dad. How are you doing today?"

Squinting at her, he seemed to gaze through her before he blinked, and a soft smile grazed his face. "Eloise? Where have you been? I've missed you."

Tears pricked at Emma's eyes. "No, Dad, I'm not Eloise. I'm her daughter. Your daughter. Emma." She closed the distance and knelt before him.

"How can you be my daughter? You're an adult. My baby is just a little girl. Don't tease me, Eloise. I don't like it when you confuse me."

Emma swallowed. "Are you hungry? Dinner will be served soon."

"Are we going to a restaurant?" His face lit up.

"Um. I guess you could call it that. Come." She rose and held out her arm for him. Guiding her father to the great room, Emma felt the weight of responsibility as he shuffled beside her, leaning on her for support.

When they reached the table, she gently helped him into a chair. As he settled, his eyes roamed over the faces around them, his expression clouding with confusion. "Who are these people?" he asked, his voice laced with bewilderment.

Emma felt a pang in her heart, recognizing the depth of his disorientation in this place that was meant to be a home, yet felt so alien to him. "It's all right, Dad. You're home and we're having dinner."

"Oh. Okay." His gaze turned inside for a few moments, as if grappling with the information, then his dulled-by-age-and-illness gaze clashed with hers. "Why isn"t your mother joining us?" His brow furrowed in confusion, and his voice tinged with agitation.

She forced a smile, her heart aching. "Mom"s not with us anymore, Dad. Remember?" she replied gently, setting a plate in front of him.

He shook his head, frustration etching his features. "Nonsense, I spoke to her just yesterday. Why is she avoiding me?"

Emma bit her lip, holding back tears. "It"s been a long time since she passed away."

For a moment, clarity flashed in his eyes. "Oh, Emma, I... I"m sorry. I don"t know why I forgot."

During their meal, her father"s moments of confusion were interspersed with lucid insights, a jarring reminder of the impermanence of memory. Emma"s heart swelled with love and sorrow, her father"s intermittent clarity a cruel tease trapped in the fog of his condition.

"It"s okay, Dad," she said, reaching for his hand. "You"re doing your best."

As they spoke, the background hum of the home continued—a staff member gently guiding a resident adrift in the tides of time and memory, the distant laughter of a visiting family, and the ever-present watchfulness of the caregivers.

They ate in silence for a while, the clinking of cutlery filling the void. Then, unexpectedly, her dad"s tone lightened. "I remember when you got into med school. Your mother and I were so proud."

Emma"s heart swelled. "You were always my biggest supporter."

He smiled, a glimpse of the man he once was. "Always will be, kiddo. Always will be." With his next breath, he turned his attention to his meal. Emma watched him eat, her heart aching. She inhaled deeply, steadying herself against emotional turbulence as she tried to maintain a conversation, but his responses were erratic.

Her dad dropped his fork. "Emma, where"s your mother? Why hasn"t she visited?" he asked abruptly, his voice laced with confusion and hurt.

"She... she passed away, Dad. Over twenty-five years ago," Emma replied gently, her voice trembling slightly as she fought back tears.

His demeanor shifted. Half rising from his chair, he stared at her, his gaze hardening. "Stop lying to me! You"re always hiding things. You"re just like her—deceitful!"

She reached out, her hand trembling, trying to calm him even as her heart was breaking. However, he recoiled, turning his focus to his plate, eating as if nothing had happened.

Emma withdrew her hand. Helplessness washed over her. His sudden anger and immediate disinterest left her emotionally drained. His accusations stung, but she knew they stemmed from the confusion wrought by his dementia.

She swallowed and forced a smile. "How"s the turkey?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper, as she addressed her father.

He glanced up, a moment of recognition flickering in his eyes. "Emma, my smart girl, how"s work?"

Emma cherished these transient moments of clarity, their rarity making them all the more precious. Her heart lifted as she glimpsed the father she once knew, his eyes momentarily clear and aware. "Work"s good, Dad. Busy as always," she replied, managing a smile.

He nodded, then just as quickly seemed to drift away, lost in a sea of forgotten memories. Emma watched him, her heart heavy with the realization that these moments of clarity were becoming rarer.