I knew what that meant. Dad had dementia. Advanced stage. He couldn’t remember my name half the time. Some days he thought my mother was still alive, even though she’d been gone for six years.
The police said not to panic. Most dementia patients turn up within a few hours.
We searched all morning. Nothing.
By afternoon I was terrified. It was hot. Dad hadn’t eaten. Hadn’t had his medications.
That’s when a number I didn’t recognize called.
« Is this Jennifer? Robert Patterson’s daughter? »
« Yes. Who is this? »
« Name’s Hank. Your dad’s safe. He’s with me at a diner about 200 miles east of you. Found him walking on Route 40 this morning. I gave him a ride. »
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