“You know you don’t need an invitation,” her mother reminded him. “We usually have dinner between six and seven.”

“I’ll remember that,” he said. He shook hands with her dad, gave her mom a kiss on the cheek, then looked at Lauren. “You want to walk me to the door?”

No, she thought, but it wasn’t as if she had much of a choice. She didn’t want to make a big deal out of anything Brent asked.

“Sure,” she said, and led him to the foyer. He stood at the door, hands in his pockets, a faraway look on his face.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, hoping he wouldn’t try to continue the conversation they’d had at the store earlier.

“Not really. I’m just worried about your dad. He’s stuck in a time warp, and I . . . well, it’s not a good thing.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “I know. He’s so stuck in the past that it’s starting to worry me, more than I let on.”

“Do you think this has anything to do with his illness?” Brent asked.

She gave a wan smile. “No, and if that were the reason, I think I’d be better equipped to deal with this fantasy world he lives in. You know how old-fashioned he is.”

“He is that, for sure. Have you discussed this with anyone, besides your mom?”

Was this Brent’s way of saying her father needed to speak with a professional? She didn’t totally disagree with that assumption, but she felt guilty for even having such thoughts.

“Just you and Madison.”

“He’s in denial, and it concerns me.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’m not sure, just that he worries me, his lack of belief in what’s going on in the real world. Has he ever been checked for Alzheimer’s? Damn, I hate saying that word, but it’s crossed my mind more than once.”

Lauren truly hadn’t even given that a thought, but now that Brent had raised the possibility, she knew she would have to convince her mother to consider asking their rheumatologist about this, and maybe for a referral to a neurologist.

“I’ll mention it to Mom. He doesn’t seem abnormal—I mean, his memory is excellent,” she said, but he did live in the past, and she knew that was a characteristic of Alzheimer’s disease.

“Good. I’ve wanted to tell you this for a while, but the timing was always bad. I hope you’re not ticked at me for bringing this up.”

“Actually, I’m glad you did. I’ll talk to Mother, see what her thoughts are. She spends more time with him and would know, I assume, if Dad wasn’t . . . right,” she said.

“Okay, I’ll check in with you later in the week,” he said, and gave her a peck on the cheek.

“Thanks, Brent,” Lauren said, and closed the door the second he stepped out. The frigid air had gone straight through her, and she couldn’t wait to snuggle beneath the down comforter in her room.