“While we do not see any permanent damage to the brain, it seems to have affected her ongoing condition of dementia. According to when I last evaluated her two months ago, she was in late mid-stage of the illness. Today, she’s exhibiting two signs I’d not seen prior. She displays a decline in verbal communication, using one-word replies to our questions. Also, there is marked trembling, extreme difficulty with motor skills, exacerbated upon continued attempt with a task. That, too, is new. I did a thorough analysis and feel she has progressed into late stage.”
“What does that mean?” Larena uttered what she dreaded to ask, her world caving in. “What is her outlook?”
Dr. Thompson shook his head. “That depends on how you look at it. I treat many patients with dementia and Alzheimer’s who linger, suffering for a decade or more. It’s not fair to them or their families. Irene will not suffer like that.”
Larena’s throat clamped and her mind spun. She wasn’t ready. “How long?”
“It varies widely from patient to patient. If she has another episode like today with small strokes, it could be a few months. If not, up to two years or more.”
“How will I know? What do I watch for?”
“Her voluntary motor skills will diminish further. She will not be able to feed herself.”
Larena’s eyes widened, allowing withheld streams of tears to trickle down her cheeks. “She already can’t. We feed her.”
The doctor’s jaw tensed. “She won’t be able to swallow.”
“Can an IV be used, then?”
He shook his head. “Feeding through an IV is unethical and inhumane. The state will not allow keeping a person alive unless there is chance of improvement. Her condition is incurable; she will never regain the ability to swallow and take in her own nutrition. Irene also has a living will on file that denies life-prolonging procedures that would only extend her dying process.” He sucked in a deep breath, as if the words had weighed upon his chest.
“Can I see her?” She didn’t have time to waste. Each day, hour, and minute was precious now.
“Absolutely,” the ER physician said. “If you’ll come with me.”
She gestured for Betty and Reid to follow.
After passing through a labyrinth of newly renovated corridors and nurses’ stations, Dr. Sanborn stopped at a pale blue-green curtain. The color matched the haint-blue used by some local mortals on their porches to ward off evil witches’ spirits. The hue made her feel especially unwelcome, and she recalled the dark spell she’d knit into the hat for Ben Peterson. The doctor held the offensive partition aside for her and the others to enter.
Supported by the slightly raised bed, Mom sipped from a straw in a cup held by a nurse. Mom looked remarkably calm and accepting of the strange surroundings.
The corners of her bright blue eyes crinkled, and Larena swept to her side. “Mom, I’m here. How do you feel?” She held her mother’s hand with extra gentleness, as if she were now more fragile. Larena’s heart rested between the press of their hands. Her own skin pulsed with heat and fear. Her mother’s was cool and slack, containing a trace of the life it once held. Long ago, Larena accepted that Mom didn’t know her by name, yet the gleam in those blue eyes revealed more than enough acceptance. Wishing with every shred of her being to transfer some of her own good health, Larena enveloped her mother’s thin shoulders.
Larena could have remained in that embrace much longer, but Mom squirmed away. She extended a shaking hand in the direction of the cup just out of reach on a bedside tray table. No matter how strong Larena’s love, the illness remained. Her tears welling, she helped with the cup and positioned the straw between Mom’s lips.
Her lips quivered but attempted to lift into a grateful smile. Gratitude for something so simple as a few swallows of water. She seemed to accept what was happening to her. Why couldn’t Larena? Would she ever come to accept what this wretched disease stole from her?
While she signed release paperwork, Betty stayed near Mom. Reid hung at the foot of the bed, shifting his weight. He looked uncomfortable, but why shouldn’t he, looking at the failing life that stood in the way of his successful deal?
An hour later, they drove toward home with Mom carefully arranged beside Betty in the fold-down backseat of Larena’s van. Hospital orderlies had made the transfer into her van smooth and easy. Larena dreaded the awkward struggle getting Mom into the house. Reid’s truck vanished before they reached Bentbone. Exhausted, Larena didn’t care.
She pulled into their driveway to see the evening sky worn out from the hard storm and hanging heavy in the surrounding woods. Glow from house lights indicated that power had been restored. The welcoming light told much more. It beckoned. The home would accept and soothe their ailments and concerns, as the house and its enchanted furnishings always had. How could Larena let such a magical place be destroyed or neglected by other owners?
While Betty stayed put with Mom, Larena brought the wheelchair to the front porch.
To her surprise, Reid stood at the bottom of the wheelchair ramp. “Leave it up there. It’s too icy. I’ll carry her inside.”
“Thanks. That would be safer.”
At the van, Reid opened the door on Mom’s side. “Irene, I’m Reid and I’m going to carry you into your home.”
Mom trembled a bit more but didn’t fight or seem upset as he gathered her into his arms and lifted.
Larena followed close behind to support him if he slid, and Betty, loaded with blankets, bags, and purses, lumbered after them.
He walked sure-footed over the thick ice. “If you’ll open the door and show me the way, I’ll take her to her bed. Make it easier for you.”
She skirted around through the grass and led him in.
Reid couldn’t have been gentler the way he laid Mom on her bed. When his eyes met Larena’s, they shared a smile.
But when he passed her, brushed a hand against her arm, something snapped in her mind. She flinched away. She couldn’t be falling for a man who was trying to ruin her life.
Today, she’d needed his help. It would have been an impossible task without him. But being inside the house, surrounded by lovingly enchanted furniture, she didn’t need his support. Or didn’t want his support. Resentment scorched her cheeks. He associated with them for the sole reason of robbing their lives of this special place.
Not knowing how to stop him or her attraction, heat rose in her neck. No matter what gifts or false tokens of kindness, she wouldn’t let Reid Peterson’s manipulations soften her heart. She’d caused Mom’s rapid descent by not following Grandpa’s directions. The nemeton’s magic failed to aid Larena due to her anger with Reid and his agenda. He ruined my chances to use good will and a pure heart. His presence only guaranteed she’d lose Mom sooner.
“Thank you. You need to leave, now,” she said, venom seeping into her voice.
He brushed thick red hair from his eyes and rubbed his forehead, his expression blank, as if dumbfounded. “Um, okay.” He headed to the room’s doorway, then looked back. His golden eyes took on a different semblance—fiery and hot like glinting amber gemstones. He fumed sharp words. “You’re too busy fighting the world to know when someone’s trying to help you.” Without another word, the front door clicked behind him.
“Why’d you go and do that?” Betty asked, brows knit. “He was just trying to be nice.”
“I told you before, he’s one of the men who want to buy this property. What I didn’t tell you was that if he can’t, he’ll take it by eminent domain,” Larena ground out the words through gritted teeth, while trying to clamp down the confused thoughts zipping through her mind.
“Whoa. And all along, I thought you were sweet on him.” Betty set her load down on the buffet and slumped into a dining chair.
To escape having to reply, Larena grabbed the bag of now-cold lunch food and stomped to the kitchen to reheat it. That’s the problem. It’s infuriating to like a man who I hate.
Chapter Fifteen: Secrets
> With twilight bringing Saturday to a close, Reid’s temples throbbed as he left Larena’s house. Who was she to act that way? I spent all afternoon helping her when Irene went to the hospital. He sped around a county road curve too fast, forgetting the ice on the roads. The sheriff had declared a weather emergency. Reid should’ve been home like everyone else, not helping that obstinate woman.
His truck slid sideways toward a ravine. His brakes locked. Only a low metal guard rail stood between him and rolling the Silverado. Luckily, no traffic approached.
With jaw clenched, he gripped the wheel. Every muscle in his body tensed. He reminded himself of the rule: steer toward the direction the trunk is sliding. The counterintuitive idea had spared him from a few previous accidents. But not all. The trick was to turn just the correct amount. Too little and he’d not regain control. Too much would put him into a fateful spin.
Breath arrested, he made the correction, then cautiously pressed the accelerator. The front wheels intermittently spun and grabbed. As the rear fender swung within a foot of the railing, he pressed harder on the gas. The truck eased to the road’s center. Back in the driving lane, Reid let go of a lungful of pent up air. Damnit! Get your head on. That girl isn’t worth this shit.
He needed to work out to burn off his anger and get Larena out of his head. Reid turned back toward Bentbone. After creeping three miles out of his way, he found the hole-in-the-wall strip mall gym closed. His move to Manhattan couldn’t come soon enough. Gyms there would be open round the clock, seven days a week, regardless of weather.
Considering what to do, he pushed back in his seat and leaned into the headrest. He could drive to Peterson Corp. and use the workout room there, such as it was. At least a decent set of weights and two benches still functioned. With this weather, the trip would take a while. But what did he have to do on a Saturday night? Stare at the wall in his apartment and dream about his position at Goldman Sachs? That move was only a few weeks away. He could start packing, although he didn’t plan to take much. Those belongings would fit into the Silverado’s backseat. Focused on his career goals, he’d done well not to lay down roots here. It would be an easy move. Nothing stood in his way.
Reid white-knuckled the wheel, maneuvering across the hilly, windy roads. He kept to highways rather than using his usual shortcuts.
Thirty minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot at Peterson Corp. An inch-thick glare of ice shone in the light thrown by security lamps. The unsalted front walk looked treacherous. He drove to the rear, and parked under an overhang at one of the three loading bays. With keys in hand, he exited the truck and let himself into the back hall.
At his locker in the break room, he dug through a jumbled array of extra clothes he kept there. His work sometimes involved walking into surprises, like helping a client hold a sick cow that needed shots or corral a headstrong ram into the shearing pen. However, manure odor and dirt stains didn’t please Petersons’ bankers or advertisers.
Reid rummaged for anything that would serve as workout clothes. An old t-shirt, sweats, and a pair of rather pungent sneakers met the need. He wasn’t planning on seeing anyone. He changed and went to the adjoining small weight room, barely more than a walk-in closet. Like everything in the building, no one had bothered to alter its original Seventies appearance. A wall clock with a yellow smiley face and Farrah Fawcett posters hung on a harvest gold cement block wall. Rips and tears peppered the vinyl covering the two benches.
Not having patience to warm-up, Reid yanked a set of hand weights from the rack. Oblivious to manure odor drifting from his shoes and sharp-edged vinyl digging into his palms, he tore into sets of one-armed side dead lifts, alternating sides until the burn started. Two sets later, Larena’s cold dismissal still echoed in his ears. What would it take to free his mind of her? It was just a business relationship. Or was it?
He cast out the thought and switched to a barbell loaded with twice his usual starting weight and did a full series of squats. Finally, sweat poured down the back of his neck, and the sting of Larena’s rejection oozed out of him.
Enjoying the freedom of a clear head, Reid pummeled his pecs, triceps, and lats with uncounted sets. With sweat streaming into his eyes, he paused for a gulp from a water bottle.
A clattering sound reached him. He poked his head into the hallway and followed a woman’s voice coming from the main entry. Reid hung in the shadows of the doorway.
Ben and a sleazy-looking woman, who appeared to be in her early twenties, stood close in the room lit only by diffuse light from outside. Back turned, his usual tidy button-down hung rumpled and untucked from his dress pants. Mashed gel hairdressing gave evidence that he’d been lying down. Ben handed a wad of cash to the girl.
She accepted with a giggle and fluttered fake lashes so heavy they hid her eyes. Her tight yoga pants and hot-pink fur-trimmed jacket multiplied her trashiness. Was his brother paying for sex? From that tramp when he had a prize of a wife at home?
Reid stepped into the room, and the woman’s darkly made-up glare crawled over him as he asked, “Ben, what’s going on here?”
His brother spun, and his scowl punctured Reid’s heart. “Could ask the same of you, bro. Shouldn’t you be trying to bang Larena to get her to sign?”
Reid’s jaw went slack. “That’s none of your business.”
Before his brother could offer a comeback, a strange man, wearing greasy, dark, collar-length hair and dirty jeans, entered through the main double doors. He scrutinized Reid with obvious suspicion, then asked Ben, “You bring a new client?”
“Nah. That’s my brother. Not to worry, though.” Ben shot Reid a measuring glance, then spread his arms wide and ushered the other two toward the door. “Let’s finish this up in my car.”
Reid strode after them. “Finish what up? I’m sure Lloyd will want to know what you’re doing in his building.”
“None of your damned business,” Ben snapped. “And fuck Lloyd.”
Numb with disbelief, Reid stared after his brother while he and the others exited. As the younger brother, Ben had always taken the role of the underdog. Animosity and disrespect were new and surprising behaviors from his younger brother. Reid ran a hand through sweat-matted hair, pushing it free of his forehead. With the building’s heater turned off, the cool air evaporated the moisture but did nothing to alleviate his confusion.
He returned to the weight room and sank onto a bench. The odor of his workout had permeated the air with the anger he’d expunged. That emotion, which had burned like a propane torch, now echoed from a distant place.
Instead, his skin crawled with Ben’s words and whatever shady deal he negotiated. Reid’s muscles twitched, but not with desire for exercise as before. Anger lingering in the room threatened to sour the frustration now pitted in his stomach. He had to get out of there.
He scooped up his street clothes and headed to his truck. The connecting lane up the hill to his parents’ house, which his father always kept immaculate, lay melted to bare concrete with a recent application of salt. Soft yellow light emanating from the limestone ranch house welcomed him, gave him courage to do what was right and find a way to help his brother.
With the higher elevation, a sharp breeze clawed at the moisture on his skin, still steaming from both the workout and the unsettling event he witnessed—a reminder that doing what was right often took a lot of grit. He pressed the bell and dug hands into his pockets, searching for that grit.
His mother opened the door with a surprised smile. “Reid, come on in. We were just sittin’ down to dinner and have plenty. Would you like to join us?” Her hair neatly done in short curls and showing no gray at the roots of her brunette dye indicated she planned to attend church in the morning. Dad didn’t always accompany her. Reid hoped he would this time. Lessons of compassion might be needed to keep Lloyd from skinning Ben after Reid told what he knew.
“Um, yeah,” Reid said absently, not wanting to worry her about Ben in case it all turned out to
be nothing.
“It’s meatloaf, the way you like it. And I made gingerbread cake for dessert.”
His empty stomach lurched and swayed his mind. “Sounds great.” He followed her into the dining room, where the honey-colored oak table was set with homey, quilted Christmas placemats.
“Have a seat and I’ll get you a plate.” She excused herself.
Lloyd’s silver mustache twitched, and he leaned back in his seat. “You turn us down for dinner on countless nice days, then show up during an ice storm. You look as miserable as a chicken in the rain. What’s up, boy?”
Either from exertion or nerves or both, Reid’s legs gave way as he lowered onto a chair next to where his father sat at the head of the table. “I just came from the office, working out since my gym was closed.”
“Looks like you overdid your workout a bit, the way you’re shakin’ and sweatin’.” Lloyd’s guffaw belied his narrowed eyes zeroing in on Reid. “Not to worry. Jeanie won’t mind none so long as you clean your plate. So, what brings you here?”
“While I was at the office, Ben came in to meet with a man and woman. They weren’t our clients, and didn’t look like they might become clients—trashy and not like plain working folk.”
“Sounds like what Rose saw earlier.” With a deep slurp, Lloyd drowned his mustache in coffee. When Jeanie returned, his father’s gaze darted between them as she set a placemat and heaping plate before Reid, then took her own seat across from him.
“I think Ben’s up to something bad.” Reid swallowed hard to dislodge words stuck in his throat. “The lights weren’t on in the lobby, and Ben passed a stack of bills to the woman. The two of them stiffened when they saw me, like I’d interrupted something. When I asked Ben what he was doing, he had an attitude. The man who arrived asked if I was a new client, then Ben hustled them out to finish up their business in his car. I didn’t see any exchange of a receipt or goods.”
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