So I just wrote: We were saving it for something important. This is important.
He folded the page carefully, tore it off the pad, and put it in his shirt pocket.
The new hearing aids had to be ordered from the manufacturer. Dr. Nguyen said it would take three days.
Those three days were hard. I called Dad every morning and every evening by FaceTime, so he could see my face and read my lips. On Tuesday, he didn’t answer. I drove over on my lunch break, my heart in my throat, and found him in the backyard pulling weeds. He hadn’t heard the phone.
On Wednesday, the pharmacy in Ozark called his house phone to say his blood pressure prescription was ready. He didn’t hear that either. I found out because the pharmacist, a sweet woman named Gloria who’s known Dad for twenty years, called me instead.
“Kayla, honey, is your daddy okay? He didn’t pick up, and he always picks up.”
“He’s okay, Gloria. He just can’t hear right now. It’s a long story.”
That night, Josh came home from work at the John Deere dealership and found me crying at the kitchen table.
“He’s going to be okay,” Josh said, putting his arms around me. “Thursday. Just one more day.”
“It’s not just the hearing aids,” I said into his shirt. “It’s that she did this to him, and she doesn’t even care. She hasn’t called. She hasn’t texted. Nothing. She doesn’t even know if he’s okay.”
Josh held me tighter. “She called me,” he said quietly.
I pulled back. “When?”
“Yesterday. She wanted to know if we’d booked the cruise yet. Said the spring prices were dropping, and Darlene at the beauty shop had a cousin who works for a travel agency.”
“What did you say?”
“I said we’d talk Saturday. In person.” He wiped my face with his thumb. “I’m not doing it on the phone, Kayla. She’s going to look at me when I tell her.”
