All They Need - By Sarah Mayberry Page 0,35
car to you.”
“Hang on, I’ll grab my shoes and come down,” she said, searching for her gardening clogs in the dim shadows beside the door.
“How about I come to you? It’s the least I can do.” He walked to the bottom of the stairs and started to climb.
“I hope you didn’t rush back. Like I said, I didn’t need the car for anything.”
When he arrived at the top of the stairs she saw that he was holding a bottle of wine. He offered it to her, along with her car keys.
“I really appreciate the loan,” he said.
She reached for the car keys but didn’t take the bottle from his hand.
“Mel…”
“If I’d wanted to rent my car to you for a bottle of wine, I would have said so at the outset. But I didn’t.”
“Fine. I’ll drink it, then. Have you got a bottle opener and a straw?” There was a dark undercurrent to his light words.
She searched his face and saw that he was tired and worried. “Come in,” she said, stepping to one side.
He shook his head. “I’ve already imposed on you enough for one day. But I appreciate the offer.”
She reached out and pulled the wine bottle from his grip. “Come in.”
He was silent for long enough she thought he was going to decline. Then he stepped past her, entering her house. She shut the door behind him and waved him toward the kitchen table.
“Grab a seat.”
She collected two wineglasses and the bottle opener while he pulled up a chair. She crossed to the table and slid the glasses and the bottle onto the table in front of him.
“Have you eaten?”
“You don’t need to feed me, Mel.”
“Have you eaten?” she repeated.
“Not for a while.” She grabbed a bag of corn chips from the cupboard, then she sat opposite him and reached for the bottle opener.
“Knock yourself out,” she said, indicating the bag.
He smiled faintly and reached for the bag, tearing it open and taking a handful of chips. She poured the wine and slid a glass his way.
He lifted his glass to his mouth, but after a second he set it down again without drinking.
“My father has early-stage Alzheimer’s disease.”
It was the last thing she’d been expecting him to say and it took her a moment to process his words. “I’m so sorry. How long…?”
“He’s been diagnosed for about a year now. But he’s probably been deteriorating much longer.” He sighed. “He went missing this morning. Just wandered off without telling anyone. That’s why I had to rush to the city.” He rubbed his forehead tiredly.
“But you found him, right?”
“Yeah. He’s okay.”
“How old is he?”
“Fifty-nine.”
“That’s young.”
Flynn nodded. “Yeah. It is.”
“It must be tough on your mom. On all of you.”
He nodded again. He looked so defeated. If he were anyone else—a friend, a family member—she wouldn’t hesitate to pull him into her arms. Instead, she nudged his glass toward him.
“Drink your wine. You look like you need it.”
He swallowed a big mouthful. Then he looked at her, his eyes dark with unexpressed grief. “I don’t want to be the one who takes away his freedom. I don’t want to be his jailer.”
“To keep him safe, you mean?”
“I know someone has to do it. I know it has to happen. But I don’t want to be the one who says no to him.”
She thought about it for a beat, trying to understand, trying to find a way through this for him.
“I guess it’s a bit like parents with children,” she said slowly. “It’s always a balancing act between what they want and what’s good for them.”
Flynn blinked rapidly and brushed the back of his hand across his eyes. “Sorry. Usually I’m good with all this. I guess I’m just tired—”
“I’d be a basket case if this was happening to my family.”
“What makes you think I’m not?”
“I don’t know. Your high level of competence and compassion, maybe?”
He smiled slightly. “Got you fooled, haven’t I?”
She eyed him seriously. He had had her fooled. She’d thought he was living a blessed life. But he was as human and frail as the next person.
“Would you like some lasagna?” she asked.
It took him a second to switch gears. “That depends on whether I’m stealing your dinner or not.”
“Absolutely not—you’re stealing tomorrow night’s dinner. I always cook for two. Saves cleaning up. Plus it means I only have to come up with three meal ideas a week.”
He smiled. “In that case, lasagna sounds great.”
She crossed to the counter to collect cutlery and place mats.
“I’ll do