But is he really living now?
She shoved the awful question from her head, then hustled to his walker and helped him to his feet. The trip to the bathroom was a mere six feet—and an excruciating five minutes. When she finally got him inside and turned on the light, she helped him to the toilet, turning her head as he pushed his pajama shirt aside and settled on the commode.
“Goddamn it, I hate this for you, Heavenly,” he croaked out. “I’m sorry.”
How could he worry about her at a time like this? “Don’t apologize. I hate this for you way more. Tell me what I can get you. I brought home the paper someone left behind last night.”
“That would be good.” As she dashed off to find it, he called after her. “I don’t like you working at that hospital until the middle of the night.”
He’d like her working at the smoky bar in a skimpy crop top and a short skirt even less, so she spared him that detail. “I’m only doing it twice a week now that school is back in session. The money is too good to pass up.”
As she entered the bathroom again, he was shaking his head. “Be careful out there, sweetheart. I worry about you on the bus so late at night.”
She handed him the paper, trying not to show him that her heart was breaking. Just a few months ago, he’d been able to help himself to the bathroom most days. Now it was rare he could reach the toilet without her assistance.
“I’m a big girl. Did you manage a bowel movement yesterday?”
He closed his eyes. “We shouldn’t have to talk about this.”
“Well, we do. Your condition and the pain meds together constipate you, I know. You need to be honest with me and—”
“No. I didn’t.”
She pursed her lips together. “When was the last—”
“Three days ago.”
“Dad!”
“I’ll work on it. Maybe…get me one of those laxatives with my breakfast.”
The over-the-counter meds didn’t do much, but she had to try. If she could stabilize him, maybe he wouldn’t need a visit to the hospital…
“I’ll head to the kitchen and get everything ready.” She bustled over to the table beside his bed, then grabbed his phone, setting it on the counter beside him. “Text me when you’re done.”
He looked humiliated and frail and ready to give up. “Yeah. Go.”
With a fretful sigh, Heavenly ducked out, shutting the door behind her. She needed to pee, but that was the least of her problems now. Absently, she collected his pills and started peeling his hard-boiled eggs, all the while gnawing her lip.
If he had to go to the hospital, it would eat up every bit of her extra funds. And how would she get him there? If she had to pay for an ambulance, it might bankrupt her. The volunteer who had sat with him when she’d gone to Disneyland was out of town. Beck? No. She wasn’t his responsibility, and she didn’t want his pity. Heavenly thought of calling Raine. But the woman was pregnant and still dealing with the trauma of her father’s attack. During their last conversion, she’d sounded down and admitted that Hammer wasn’t dealing with the situation well. The last thing her friend needed was more problems.
She was boiling water for some oatmeal when she heard a groan and an ominous thud from the bathroom. “Dad?”
No answer.
After shoving the measuring cup and cardboard canister on the counter, she turned off the stove and raced to the closed door. “Dad? Are you okay?”
Still nothing.
Dread biting her composure, she gripped the knob. Her fingers shook as she cracked the door open. The creaking hinges shredded her nerves, but she didn’t want to violate his privacy or dignity any more than she had to.
When she poked her head in, she found him sprawled out across the floor. “Dad!”
Shaking him frantically elicited a low groan. “Boo.”
He was barely conscious.
“What happened?”
“Dizzy.” His body twitched, and he gave a pained moan. “Fell.”
His blood pressure must be way off. His pain was becoming unmanageable. Her father hated to admit these things, but she knew the signs.
“We need to go to the hospital.”
“No.” He shook his head weakly. “Help me to bed. I’ll be fine.”
How did he expect her to do that? She was young and healthy, but he still outweighed her. And he was practically dead weight right now.
“I’m going to need help, Dad.”
“Sure. I can—” Suddenly, he doubled over, clutched his stomach, and let out a terrible wail.
Heavenly felt utterly useless. “I’ll get help.” She had no idea from where. “I’ll get you to the hospital.”
He couldn’t even answer; he was writhing on the floor, too caught up in agony.
Panicked, she rushed into the main room and rifled through the plastic chest that contained the few clothes she owned. When she flung open one of the drawers, her mom’s old sewing machine, which she’d propped on top, nearly wobbled over. After steadying it, she dragged on a pair of yoga pants, an oversized T-shirt, and some sandals. She shoved her bra in her purse and set it on the sofa beside the door. She’d slip it on as soon as she delivered her dad into safe hands. Then she let herself outside, shivering at the predawn chill, as she scanned her neighbors’ windows. She didn’t know any of these people, but maybe one of them would feel sorry enough for her dad to help them…
The only light on belonged to their landlord, Mr. Sanchez. He was at least ten years her senior and the way he looked at her made her vaguely uncomfortable. But none of that mattered now. He had a car.
Dashing through the dark morning, she crossed the courtyard and began to pound on his door. “Help! Please…”
A long minute later, he wrenched it open with
