But a week after his stroke, Amelia brought the brush to his hospital room along with a bag of other personal items to help him feel more comfortable as he worked toward recovery. That day she sat down beside him on his bed, adjusted the pillows so she could reach the crown of his head, and spent a few minutes brushing his hair. He was still nonverbal and was only at the point of relearning how to swallow, and some part of Amelia wondered if the father she knew and loved had died the day of his stroke, but as the brush whispered over his thick, white hair, tears ran down his cheeks and she knew he remembered. Some part of her father was still in there, waiting until he could find the path back out again. After that night, she and Ellie swore they’d never let a night go by without brushing their father’s hair.
Chief Brown swallowed and reached for the glass of water on the wooden side table beside him. His hand shook, and Amelia had to quash her desire to just pick up the glass and bring the straw to his lips, but his physical therapist insisted that it was important for her father to do as many daily activities as possible by himself. Ellie was the best at this kind of measured patience. She’d spend an extra hour getting their father dressed if it meant he figured out how to fasten even a single button or found a way to adjust the Velcro on his waistband. Amelia was always bogged down with guilt at her irritation when her father spat out his food or spilled his juice.
Amelia leaned forward and as noninvasively as possible placed a towel under his chin to catch the streams that dribbled down the corners of his mouth. His stubble was as white as his hair, and he was in desperate need of a shave. Usually this was Ellie’s job, though once a month they’d take him to Stan’s Barbershop to get a good shave and a haircut. It was Dad’s favorite day of the month. Well, Amelia was unsure if he kept track of days in a linear way anymore, but it was a day where the one half of his mouth that could still smile would turn up more often than down. He never refused to eat on barbershop day and sometimes the old sparkle was there, the one that said I love you with no words. Maybe barbershop day was Amelia’s favorite day too.
“You need a shave, Daddy. Want to see Stan tomorrow?” she asked, whisking away the cup when he pulled the straw away from his lips one last time and then swiped the damp towel up to take care of the remnants of his drink and dinner that clung to the corners of his mouth. Chief Brown nodded eagerly.
“Try to say it. You know Patty says that’s the only way you’re gonna learn again. Try: Let’s see Stan.” Her father set his lips, and she knew that meant he was annoyed. “Come on, Daddy. You can do it.”
Amelia placed the glass down on the side table next to her and scooched up closer to her father. She reached out and scratched his stubble with her fingertips, eyebrows raised playfully.
“Or maybe you want a beard. I’ve always known how much you love beards. It’d look so nice and burly with your mustache.” She’d never seen her father without his neatly trimmed and now pure-white mustache.
“Let’s . . . see . . . Stan . . .” The phrase came out halted, his t’s and l’s sounding like mumbled d’s. Then he added one last phrase, this time in his own voice, clear as though he’d never had a sick day in his life. “M.”
Amelia’s throat felt thick, and it was difficult to swallow. There were so many memories when he said her name that way. Memories of when he woke her up early to get to orchestra practice before school or when he squeezed her hand and said he loved her one last time before he handed her off to Steve on their wedding day. With tears blurring her vision, Amelia leaned in and wrapped her arms around her father’s once burly and now thinning shoulders.
“I’ll call Stan in the morning. I promise. I love you, Dad.” She kissed his stubbly cheek and pretended not to notice that he had a tear gathering in his right eye. As she sat back, Chief Brown raised his right hand up in front of him, trembling with the effort and then extended two fingers. He remembered.
When she was a teenager, she hated public displays of affection; even an “I love you” was too embarrassing for the teen who was still mourning her mother by shutting off those emotions in other areas of her life. So her father started a code for good-byes. One finger meant I love you. Two fingers meant I love you too.
His hand fell, and the moment of clarity was gone.
“I know you do,” Amelia whispered, and kissed her father’s forehead in the special spot. She put a blanket on his lap and passed him the four-buttoned remote that was supposed to give Chief Brown some autonomy when in their home. It was time to put the kids to bed before she started a similar but supersize routine with her father. But the kids could wait for a few minutes while she texted Ellie about her father’s progress. They shared enough of the lows in this caregiving life that it was always a glorious moment when they could share a victory.
Amelia started to type, when the back door slammed shut. Steve was home. Her stomach fluttered. He was going to ask for her decision about the real estate training. It was impossible to know what to say. If she told him the truth about Randy and their wild ride, she knew Steve would never let her spend time with him ever again. Then again, she didn’t know if she wanted to have anything to do with Randy anymore anyway. Plus, there was that check—twenty grand in her name. How to bring that up without sounding like she was accusing him of some kind of error or manipulation?
Amelia slipped her phone into the back pocket of her jeans and swiftly tucked the lap quilt around Chief Brown’s legs. He was already dozing. She patted his hand and rushed into the kitchen, hoping to catch Steve before he went up to change.
As she pushed through the swinging doors from the dining room to the kitchen, she found him rummaging through the refrigerator.
“I made you dinner. It’s on the second shelf. Just pork chops, potatoes, and peas. Kate thought it was hilarious that they all started with p. Said we were having a P dinner, which Cora hated because she thought it sounded like we were having pee for dinner . . .” Steve didn’t laugh. He closed the door to the refrigerator, only retrieving a beer. The bottle made a gasping sound as Steve wrenched off the cap. “Hard day?” she asked.
Steve took a long drink from the frosted amber bottle and smacked his lips before speaking.
“Yeah, pretty shitty actually. Lost another one of my best workers to that Talbot’s Roofing in Carterville. And some stuff was stolen from our work site after Tom left the doors unlocked. Problem is, wasn’t just our stuff. Some of it belonged to the homeowners. Anyway, shitty. How about you? The girls already asleep?”
Amelia glanced at the clock. It was nearly nine and the girls were still awake on a school night. Wow, she’d gotten more distracted with her dad than she’d realized.
“The night has been nice and calm. Girls did their homework. Dad got his dinner down and did the most amazing thing—” Steve cut her off.
“Ohhhhhh. Forgot your dad was coming tonight.” He took another sip of his beer and wiped the remnants off his lips with the back of his hand. She knew that tone. He was trying not to let on that he was annoyed or disappointed or whatever he wanted to call it that her father was there on a night where he felt stressed out and tired. It was better to not linger on her father’s presence for very long.
“Yeah, switched with L, remember?”