I nod at the same time Josh says, “It’s someone to speak on her behalf and make decisions for her when she can’t.” He looks over my shoulder at his mother sitting in a chair next to me. “Like you were with Dad, right?”

Suddenly, his reaction, his anger, all of it makes sense. I see the fear in his eyes the moment they meet mine. A flashback of the past—of a scared, broken boy who thought he had to take on the world alone. But he didn’t have to. Not then. Not now.

Dr. Richards speaks, forcing us to break our stare. “We’re going to start Chazarae on some medication. It’ll be ongoing. I’ll need to keep seeing her on a routine basis, and because of how severe the dementia is, it’ll be a good idea to look at alternative living arrangements for her.”

“Like a home?” Dad asks, finding his voice for the first time since we left the house.

“She has a home,” Josh says. “She’s not going anywhere.” I can hear the frustration in his tone, feel the anger simmering deep within him.

“We need to stay calm,” says his mother. I know she’s trying to help, but going by the tick in Josh’s jaw, she’s doing the opposite.

“Look.” Dr. Richards sets Grams’s chart aside and clasps his hands on his lap. “I know this is tough for you all. I often see family members of patients whose reactions are the same as yours. But there are a lot of facilities around, nice ones, that will look after her better than she can look after herself. She needs constant care and supervision.”

Josh shakes his head. “I’ll quit skating.”

“You will not,” his mom snaps.

My fingers work fast on my phone, my panic rising. “I’ll quit college.”

“No, you won’t,” Dad and Josh say in unison. Great, at least they agree on something.

I type again. “You can’t quit, Josh. You’ve worked too hard to give up skating.”

His eyes narrow at me. “Yeah, well you’ve survived too much to give up college!” The loudness of his voice makes me flinch. He takes a breath, trying to find a calm. “Becca, I’ve made enough money to support her. I’ll do it.” Josh turns back to the doctor. “What do I need to do? My dad—we had to do things around the house so his wheelchair…” His voice fades, his throat bobbing with his swallow. “Do I need to fix—”

“Josh…” Ella’s hand lands on his arm. “You can’t just stop everything you have going at the moment to look after Chaz. I know you want to—”

“Shut up!” he blurts. “You weren’t there, okay? She was. She saved me! When you and dad turned your backs on me, she saved me! She practically raised Tommy, and me, because I had nothing. I was nothing. Nothing but a scared shitless little kid and she saved me. And now I need to do the same! Why don’t you get that?!”

Dad stomps toward us, but I raise my hand to stop him. Then I hold up my finger at Dr. Richards, asking him to wait. He nods once, and that’s when I stand quickly and grab Josh’s arm, forcing him to his feet. I place my hands on his back and push him to the door. The second we’re out of the room, he inhales deeply, his gaze on the ceiling and his fists in his hair. His eyes drop to mine, his lips trembling as he holds one hand over his heart, the other reaching for me. As soon as I’m in his arms, he breaks. “There’s this build up in my chest, Becs. This ache so strong it’s blurring my vision.” He sniffs once. “Or maybe it’s the guilt. Or the anger. I have no idea.”

“It’s okay,” I try to whisper, but nothing comes out. Nothing. Not that it matters. I doubt he would’ve heard it over the heaviness of his breaths. His chest rises and falls as he struggles with the news, and once he’s calm and his eyes are dry, he takes one more inhale through his nose. “Let’s go,” he says, taking my hand. Josh clears his throat a foot inside the room. “Just tell me what I need to do. Please.”

—Joshua—

Dr. Richards makes an appointment for us at his office the next day, saying it’s a lot more “tranquil” than the hospital. I know he directed the comment at me. I don’t care. I don’t need tranquil, I need solutions. Answers. He tells us Chaz is undergoing more tests, more prods, more pokes, and that she won’t be back in the room until later that night.

The others leave. I don’t.

I wait until she’s returned and spend the entire night watching her sleep, and while I do, I wonder how it’s possible that God can do this to a woman who’s spent the majority of her life worshipping the words of the Bible.