“One day at a time,” April said aloud as she closed down the computer. But how many days would she have to watch her father suffering like this?
“Give me strength, Lord,” she said aloud, her eyes closed to the pain and the fear. “Give me strength to accept that with life comes death. Show me how to cope, show me how to carry on. Please, Lord, show me that certain hope my mother used to talk about. That hope for eternal life.”
Turning her thoughts to her father, April got up to take her empty coffee mug into the kitchen. She wanted to watch to see how the nurse fed him, so she could help. She wanted to spend the morning with him before she went for that ride with Reed. Actually, she didn’t want to leave her father’s side. Maybe she could stall Reed.
He’d called about an hour ago, asking if she wanted to check out the property. Caught off guard, and longing for a good long ride, April had said yes. Then she’d immediately gone to check on her father, only to find the nurse bathing him. April had offered to help, but the other woman had shooed her out of the room. At the time, a good long ride had sounded better than having to see her father suffer such indignities. But now she was having second thoughts.
“Finished?” Flora asked, her smile as bright as her vivid green eyes. Flora wore her dark red hair in a chignon caught up with an elaborate silver filigree clip.
April put her mug in the sink, then turned. “Yes, and thanks for the Danish and coffee. You still make the best breads and dainties in the world, Flora.”
“Gracias,” Flora said, wiping her slender hands on a sunflower-etched dish towel.
“And how you manage to stay so slim is beyond me,” April continued as she headed toward the archway leading back to the central hall.
“Me, I walk it all off, but you? You need to eat more pastry,” Flora said, a hint of impishness in her words.
April turned to grin at her, her eyes taking in the way the morning sunlight fell across the red-tiled counters and high archways of the huge kitchen. Even later in the year, in the heat of summer, this kitchen would always be cool and tranquil. She’d spent many hours here with her mother and Flora, baking cookies and making bread.
“I guess I walk mine off, too.” April shrugged, thinking how different life on the ranch was from the fast pace of New York. Here, she could walk for miles and miles and never see another living soul, whereas New York was always full of people in a hurry to get somewhere. Wanting to bring back some of the good memories she had of growing up here, she said, “Maybe I’ll make some of that jalapeño bread. Remember how Daddy used to love it?”
“Sí,” Flora said, nodding. “He can’t eat it now, though, querida.”
“Of course not,” April said, her mood shifting as reality hit her with the same force as the sunbeam streaming through the arched windows. “I’m going to talk to the nurse to see what he can eat.”
Flora nodded, her brown eyes turning misty with worry. “He is a very sick man. I keep him in my prayers.”
“I appreciate that,” April said. “I guess our only prayer now is that God brings him some sort of peace, even if that means we have to let him go.”
“You are a very wise young woman.”
“Mother taught me to trust in God in all things. I’m trying to remember that now more than ever.”
“Your madre, she loved the Lord.”
“Yes, she did,” April said. Then she turned back to the hallway, wishing that she had the same strong faith her mother had possessed. And wishing her father hadn’t ruined his health by drinking and smoking.
As she entered his room, she heard him fussing with the nurse. “I don’t…need that. What I need…is a drink.” Stuart’s eyes closed as he fell back down on the pillow and seemed to go to sleep again.
The nurse, a sturdy woman with clipped gray hair named Lynette Proctor, clicked her tongue and turned to stare at April. “Man can barely speak, and he still wants a drink.” She gave April a sympathetic look. “His liver is shot, honey. Whatever you do, don’t give him any alcohol.”
“I don’t plan on it,” April retorted, the woman’s blunt words causing a burning anger to move through April’s system. “And I’d like to remind you that this man is my father. You will show him respect, no matter how much you agree or disagree with his drinking problem.”
Lynette finished administering Stuart’s medication, checked his IV, then turned with her hands on her hips to face April. “I apologize, sugar. My husband was an alcoholic, too, so I’ve seen the worst of this disease. That’s one reason I became a nurse and a sitter. I feel for your daddy there, but I just wish…well, I wish there was something to be done, is all.”
“We can agree on that,” April said, her defensive stance softening. Then she came to stand over the bed. In the light of day, her father looked even more pale and sickly. “This isn’t the man I remember. My daddy was so big and strong. I thought he could protect me from anything.”
“Now it’s your turn to protect him, I reckon,” Lynette said. “Do you still want to go over his schedule?”
“Yes,” April said. “Show me everything. I’m going to be here for the duration.” She stopped, willing herself to keep it together. “However long that might be.”
Lynette touched a hand to her arm. “Not as long as you might think, honey. This man ain’t got much more time on this earth. And I’m sorry for your pain.”
“Thank you,” April said, wondering how many times she’d have to hear that from well-meaning people over the course of the next weeks. How much can I bear, Lord?
Then she remembered her mother’s words to her long ago. The Lord never gives us more than we can bear, April. Trust in Him and you will get through any situation, no matter the outcome.
No matter the outcome. The outcome here wasn’t going to be happy or pretty. Her father was dying. How could she bear to go through that kind of pain yet again?
She turned as footsteps echoed down the hallway, and saw the silhouette of a tall man coming toward her.
Reed.
He’d said he’d be around for the duration, too.
April let out a breath of relief, glad that he was here. She needed him. Her father needed him. Maybe Reed’s quiet, determined strength would help her to stay strong.
No matter the outcome.
Reed listened as the very capable Lynette told them both what to expect over the next few weeks. It would get worse, she assured them. He might go quietly in his sleep, or he might suffer a heart attack or stroke. All they could do was keep him comfortable and out of pain.
With each word, told in such clinical detail, Reed could see April’s face growing paler and more distressed. He had to get her away from this sickroom for a while, because he knew there could be many more days such as this, where she could only sit and watch her father slipping away.
When Lynette was finished, Reed motioned to April. “He’s resting now. Good time to take that ride.”
At the concern in her dark eyes, he whispered, “I won’t keep you out long. And Lynette can radio us—I have a set of walkie-talkies I bought for that very reason.”
“I’ll take my cell phone,” April replied, watching her father closely. Then she turned to Lynette and gave her the number. “Call me if there is any change, good or bad.”
“Okay,” Lynette said. “He’ll sleep most of the afternoon. He usually gets restless around sundown.”
“We’ll be back