Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86105 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86105 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“So,” Eliza says. “What do you think of Saskatchewan so far? Have you ever been here?”
I laugh. “First time and I don’t think I’ve been anywhere this quiet since… ever.”
She grins. “Give it an hour. The wind picks up and suddenly it sounds like the world is trying to argue with you.”
From the back seat, Grizz shifts. “It’s not that dramatic.”
Eliza snorts. “You say that because you grew up here.”
We fall into easy conversation. The topics move seamlessly between work, travel, the shock of prairie winters, the way Saskatchewan weather seems personally offended by optimism. Eliza tells a story about a snowstorm that shut down the town for three days. I counter with tales of New York transit that sound just as apocalyptic in a different way.
“It’s funny,” she says at one point, smiling at me. “Grizz never talks about what he does off the ice beyond ‘PR stuff’ and ‘meetings.’”
I raise a brow. “That’s Grizz.”
“He hates logistics,” she adds. “Always has.”
From the back seat, Grizz exhales loudly. “I don’t hate logistics. I hate unnecessary logistics.”
Eliza laughs. “You mean, like, planning.”
“I mean like overthinking.”
She shoots me a look that says good luck, and somehow it feels like we’re already aligned. The conversation flows so naturally it almost startles me—like we’ve skipped all the awkward getting-to-know-you steps and landed in familiar territory.
There’s a beat of silence before she resumes talking—to me. “So, Daisy, you’ll see pretty quickly why people underestimate how cold it gets here. They think snow is snow until it’s minus thirty and your eyelashes freeze.”
I smile, following her lead, answering, laughing lightly. And I can feel Grizz behind us, bristling, unsettled by how easily she keeps the conversation going, how little effort it takes for her to include me.
A few minutes pass before Eliza speaks again, quieter this time, directing it to Grizz without fully turning around. “He may not know who you are at first,” she says gently. “Or at all. Just… be prepared.”
I reach back without thinking, fingers finding Grizz’s hand between the seats. I wait a moment to see if he’ll accept and when his fingers intertwine with mine, I squeeze once—nothing dramatic but enough to ensure he knows I’m here for him. For a second, I think he might pull away, retreat behind the walls I know so well. Instead, his fingers tighten around mine briefly.
He doesn’t say thank you, but he doesn’t let go either.
It’s about a twenty-minute drive before we pull into a large parking lot outside a low-slung redbrick building with a sign that says Pilot Butte Assisted Living Facility. Eliza parks and we enter.
The halls are bright and lined with framed photographs of prairie sunsets and laminated signs printed in friendly fonts. Memory Care Unit is written everywhere in reassuring blues and greens, as if color alone could soften what it means to end up here.
The closer we get to the room, the tenser Grizz becomes. His shoulders draw in and his steps slow. It’s obvious he dreads what’s coming. He doesn’t say anything, but every instinct in me recognizes it for what it is… fear.
I stay close without touching him. Close enough that he knows I’m there. Not close enough to crowd.
Eliza stops outside a door halfway down the hall. She rests her hand on the handle, then pauses. Takes a breath that trembles slightly before she reins it back in and composes herself.
“Okay,” she says softly and opens the door.
Their father is sitting on the edge of the bed, hands folded neatly in his lap, staring out the window. He looks older than I expected, thinner and frailer somehow, his shoulders sloped forward, a man whose life has seen better days.
He turns at the sound, eyes moving over Eliza. Over Grizz. Over me.
A polite smile lifts his mouth, uncertain but pleasant. “Can I help you?” he asks.
Grizz breaks internally. I can feel it in the sudden stillness of him, the way he seems to retreat inside his own body. His face gives nothing away.
Eliza’s smile falters for a fraction of a second before she recovers. “Hi, Dad,” she says gently.
He nods at her, courteous. Then his gaze drifts to me and brightens.
“Well now,” he says, eyes sharpening with interest. “Aren’t you pretty?”
I blink, surprised.
He chuckles to himself. “They’re hiring prettier nurses these days.” He lowers his voice conspiratorially. “Good strategy.”
Eliza flushes crimson. “Dad—”
“It’s okay,” I say quickly, stepping forward a little. I keep my tone warm, respectful, easy. “I’m Daisy. I’m just here with them.”
“With them,” he repeats, testing it. “Well, lucky me.”
Eliza lets out a shaky breath, and I catch her eye, offering a small smile that says It’s fine. She nods, grateful.
I don’t know what triggers it—maybe I say Grizz’s name without thinking, maybe it’s the cadence of the room—but his father’s expression suddenly changes. His eyes widen, light flooding back into them like a switch has been flipped.