My lips twitched. “I don’t think how it happens is so important. It doesn’t change what we have to do.”
“WhatshouldI do?” She looked at me so earnestly then, as if I actually held the answer to that.
Looking away from her, I stared at the blank screen on the other side of the windshield. “Talk to him,” I said eventually. “While you can. Whilehecan. And when his world shifts to one you don’t recognize… walk into it with him.”
I’d gotten that last bit of advice online in one of the hundreds of blogs, chats, and threads about memory disease I’d read.
But the first part? That was from experience. The wrong side of it.
I never had the opportunity to talk to Dad about his illness in a meaningful way.
Getting power of attorney over him had been a horrible process for both of us, and I hated myself for missing the moment he crossed the line from eccentric to ill until he’d gone over it and had taken several steps past it.
My nose buzzed, threatening tears, but I sniffed them back and gave her a serious look. “One day, he may not remember who you are at all. It’s a shitty truth. But you know what he will remember even if he doesn’t know who Adeline Jacks is?”
She shook her head, her chin wobbling as fresh tears streamed down her face.
“He’ll remember how you make him feel. How the girl with the quick, bright smile made his life better. Something inside him will recognize that your presence is joy. So…. just be you, yeah?”
Delly wiped her face again, and I did the same even though there wasn’t anything there.
When she didn’t say anything, I clicked the screen on the console, bringing it to life. “Now, where to? Nurse Emily said to take as long as you need.”
A list of destinations lit up, and Delly looked at the screen, then back down at her lap. “Does the screen… flash a lot?”
I frowned. “Not really. I don’t think so, anyway. Why?”
She slumped down into her seat as if embarrassed. “I have, or, umm… used to have… seizures.”
“Oh,” I said dumbly. “Flashing lights can trigger them?”
She blew out a breath and opened her eyes. “That’s the theory, I guess. I don’t think I’ve had one in a long time. The type I used to get, petit mal seizures—absence seizures, they called them—I’ve apparently outgrown. According to my doctor.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
She shrugged. “I don’t think there is any ‘outgrowing’ what that kind of thing does to you. Like teachers calling me ‘space cadet’ because I would zone out mid-sentence during a seizure.” She turned her head toward me. “They’re really subtle, and mine were almost imperceptible. I just… go offline. Sometimes I don’t even realize it.”
I took a few seconds to imagine it, to feel the scars that might have left on such a bright girl. “That sucks, Delly.”
She laughed. “It does. I couldn’t even drive because of it. I had to go a certain amount of time without a seizure before I could have my license.”
“Can you drive now?”
“Technically. But I haven’t worked up the nerve.”
I hummed. “Driving’s overrated. We’ll get your longboard soon.”
She laughed, and the clouds in her eyes finally parted.
We sat in silence for a couple more minutes, relaxed in our seats, and something in my memories clicked into place.
I’d never seen or heard the TV being used since we started living together.
“You and Adair never watch TV at the house. Is this why?”
“I’m surprised you didn’t ask about it before,” Delly said. “Though you’ve been in your own world the past few weeks. You give my brother a run for his money in overworking and staying busy. So… I guess I’m not actually surprised.” She raised her eyebrows at me, then her lips twitched upward. “You might’ve missed a few things.”
I narrowed my eyes at her, but she just giggled and grabbed the door handle. “Time to get back, I think.” She pushed the door open, but paused before getting out, glancing at me. “Thank you, Ireland. I’m….” She paused, frowning for a second before she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin.
