I assessed the casino entrance with a grimace. It was the only option. Well, not quite, but there was no way I was asking the security guard to check the men’s room for me. He would give Dad a heart attack. I straightened my shoulders and entered.
Voices and harsh sounds washed over me. I flinched when a slot machine shrieked to life and announced the gambler’s winnings as it spewed coins into a bucket.
Friday evening crowds filtered through the expansive room in clusters. Their attention focused on the felt and wood tables lying like fertile islands in the sea of ebony carpeting. They promised riches if blessed by a whimsical lady named Luck.
Narrowing my eyes against the glittering mirrors and crystal, I searched for a familiar face. I spotted him over at the blackjack tables, a head of pure white hair between a dyed brunette and a salt and pepper. Keeping my eyes on him, I worked my way through the crowd. I tried to recall if he had any money on him to lose.
He had promised to never do this again.
“Hi, Dad.”
He looked up at me and smiled absently. His rheumy blue eyes lit like a child’s. “Ah, Willow, you finished already?” His fingers clutched and released the chips rhythmically.
“How far are you down?” I scanned the empty table.
“Only $300.”
I took a breath. If we were careful, we could recover from that. I could work extra hours at the bank.
“Dad, we need to go.”
“Just one more time, sweet.” He smiled. “I can make it back in one ...”
I shook my head. “No, Dad, we need to leave.” My eyes fell on the security guard from the lobby. He was watching us. We needed to leave the casino area before someone recognized Dad.
“Remember, you aren’t supposed to even be in here. If they recognize you, they will throw you out.”
“Why?” Dad stared at me as though I had gone mad.
“A month ago, you gambled over the limit and then caused a disturbance when they wouldn’t give you more credit. Don’t you remember?”
His only response was a blank gaze. The dealer behind him carefully ignored our conversation but dealt my father out of the game.
Another memory lapse added to the tally. That was three today. I glanced over at the security guard. He frowned. Even from across the room he looked intimidating.
“We are going now.” Then taking the chips from Dad’s hand, I linked my arm with his. “Let me help you.”
Dad didn’t usually need help. However, my hale and vibrant father was growing unsteady and forgetful. He fell frequently, misremembered instructions, or simply stared at me in confusion at least once a day when I brought up recent events. I feared Alzheimer’s disease or something worse.
He stumbled. Please, God, not here. Leaning heavily into Dad’s side to prop him up, I pulled him forward. If we could just reach the lobby, it would be better than the casino floor. The receptionist’s scrutiny trumped the crowd of gawkers he would attract here.
“One foot at a time, Dad,” I coached. “If we make it to the lobby you can rest before we walk to the bus. Come on. We are almost there.”
“Do you need assistance?”
The rumble of a deep voice sent chills down my spine. I knew it was the security guard before I looked up. Well over six feet, he loomed over Dad and me. He assessed us sternly, but I took hope from the fact he didn’t block our way.
“We are leaving,” I assured him.
“It looks like he needs help. Do you want me to clear the way?”
I shook my head. We didn’t want more attention than the unavoidable curiosity of the people nearby. “We were heading to the lobby. He needs to rest a moment before we leave.”
“Then allow me.” He slid an arm under Dad’s other forearm and started forward, half-carrying him and dragging me.
I scrambled to keep up with his long strides and managed to hold up my side of the burden. A protest died on my tongue when I realized Dad sagged limply between us, head loose and eyes closed.
“Dad?”
His head lolled as the guard lifted him into his arms. My heart sank. With surprising agility, the guard navigated the rest of the way to the lobby and deposited Dad gently on one of the benches. He checked his pulse with the expertise of habit. Dad’s shallow breaths reassured me, despite my fear that something was very wrong. The guard rose to his feet and turned to the receptionist.
“Nicole, call an ambulance.”
“But ...” The protest jumped out before I could stop it.
The guard turned to regard me with raised eyebrows.
“I will get him there another way.” But what do I do instead? No answer came.
“He needs help.” His azure eyes studied my face, a strangely beautiful color set in the grim lines of his face.
I looked down at my father’s white face, frighteningly still. Suddenly, I was a child lost without my parent.
“I know, but we don’t have insurance.” They might turn us away at the door. Too many others already had.
“The casino will pay for it. Nicole, make the call.”
I stepped toward him to object, but nothing reasonable came to mind. Our money woes were none of this man’s business.
“I understand.”
My head snapped up at that. Encountering sympathy incongruous with the rest of his demeanor, I stared. “Thank you.” I offered a wobbly smile.
He didn’t smile in return. Pivoting back to Nicole on the phone behind the desk, he spoke to her in low tones. I stared at the broad stretch of his back for a few moments as my thoughts scrambled to catch up. Finally, I realized there was nothing for me to do but to comfort my father. Kneeling on the cold tile next to him, I stroked his hand and talked.
“Don’t worry. We will find out what is wrong. Just remember ‘Do not worry about tomorrow; for
