She crossed her arms and turned her attention out the window again, watching as two sparrows hopped and splashed about in the garden birdbath. A ray of noontime sun pierced the treetops to cast dappled shadows across the thin layer of snow blanketing the lawn. The maple tree in the corner by the fence blazed reds and golds. Autumn, glorious with its dazzling, ever-changing display.
Abruptly, my mom uncrossed her arms and slapped her knees with open palms. “Where in the hell is my daughter? Where’s Sally?” Lifting her brows, she glared at me. “Well? Speak up, Lady.”
My name’s Stephanie, Mom.
Not Sally. There is no Sally; never has been.
Dear God, I’m tired.
Before I could form some kind of response, the doorbell chimed. I’d always liked it because it was soft and melodious, like wind chimes. I hadn’t anticipated my mother’s reaction to its notes.
Her brow furrowed. “What was that? A harp? Have the angels come to take me away?” Her thin fingers wrapped around my forearm in a tight grip. “Don’t let the angels take me, Lady. Please, please—”
“Mom, Mom, shh, it’s okay, it’s okay.” My reassurances seemed to calm her a little. “That was just the front door. I’m going to answer it. Will you be okay for a minute?”
The vacant look in her eyes told me she was lost at sea, adrift on an ocean of uncertainty and fear. I patted her hand, then slowly loosened myself from her stranglehold. “I’ll be right back.”
Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them away as I hurried to the door, opening it to two men clad in blue jeans and purple tie-dyed T-shirts. The taller of the two was very skinny. His completely bald head and shaven face appeared somewhat chaffed from the cold weather. His light blue eyes bulged a little as though someone were choking him by the neck.
The other man was quite hairy, so much so, I wasn’t sure whether he was human or a test tube poodle gone terribly wrong. Since he stood upright and wore a wristwatch, I’d have to assume him to be a man, but I’m sure I couldn’t swear to it under oath. Masses of dark hair sprang from his head as though he stood before a wind machine. His beard grew to his shoulders and was so thick, all but his long nose and brown eyes were obscured.
Figuring I was facing Igor and Wolf, I offered a friendly smile. “Hi.”
The skinny one nodded with enthusiasm. “You Mrs. Scott, yeah?”
“I am.”
His response was a wide grin. “Dr. Van Graf, like, sent us? You know, to like, move your stuff?”
“Yes. He told me he was going to have—”
“He’s Wolf,” he said, indicating his partner. “And I am Igor.”
“Nice to meet you, Wolf and Ig—”
“Igor to get started,” he burst, breaking into high-pitched guffaws. I couldn’t help but notice he had pointy teeth. A lot of pointy teeth.
As Igor chortled and snorted at his own joke, Wolf spoke up.
“Not to mind him, missus.” He rolled his eyes. “An idiot, is Igor. Speaking before he is thinking, always.” He punctuated his critique with a small shrug.
Cordial and polite, Wolf possessed an accent I couldn’t quite place. The situation being what it was, however, I decided I didn’t want to pursue an examination of either man’s origins.
So, “Very nice to meet you both,” was all I said. Standing back, I opened the door wider and gestured them to come in. “The furniture pieces have been sold, so it’s just the boxes. They’re in the living room. Ready to go. There’s, uh, there’s…”
There’s not much.
I cleared my throat and forced a smile. Gesturing toward the archway that led from the foyer to the living room, I simply said, “In there.”
My life had been reduced to the contents of twenty cardboard boxes. A series of yard sales over the last few months had emptied my house of most of the furnishings, small appliances, dishes, books. I’d kept our clothing and other necessities. A smaller box, taped up and labeled, contained my mother’s mementoes. Ironic, since she didn’t remember any of them.
Three of the cartons held my own past. Me, young. Me, married. Me, pregnant. My babies in my arms. At one. At two. Toddling, walking, running, gone now to their dad’s. Hurried text messages replaced conversations; text messages I wished were hugs.
As Igor and Wolf began loading my life into the van, I returned to my mom’s bedroom to finish packing for her.
She sat quietly, her empty eyes looking at, but not seeing, me. She’d checked out for a while; it was anybody’s guess when she’d come back…if she’d come back.
“Missus?” Wolf stood in the bedroom doorway. “Big snow is to be starting soon. Best we go now. You are needing anything else?”
I swallowed. “Um, yes. Sort of. I just have a question, if I may?”
“Yes, missus?”
“How long have you worked for Dr. Van Graf?”
“Many years.” His jaw clamped shut making it obvious he would not elaborate.
“Do you find him a good employer?”
We stood facing each other while he seemed to mull this over. Behind me, my mother coughed, but when I turned to make sure she was okay, she’d already slipped back into her waking coma.
“Yes,” Wolf said as I faced him again. “Is good man. Good to work for.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
His eyes locked with mine, he crossed his arms over his chest, took in a big breath, let it out. Then, “Know this. It will be best for you to hurry nowhere. Big house. Easy to getting lost. Ending up, maybe, in a place you should not want to be.”
“I see.” I didn’t, but at least I had something to go on, vague warning though it was.
“Also…” He dropped his arms to his sides. “Best being in your room at the mid-of-night. Is locking your door. Stay, and not to wander before the sun is rising.” He turned on his heel and started down the hallway. Over his shoulder, he said, “This you do every night, and you are being okay.”
After he’d gone, I struggled to understand what he’d meant.
Behind me, my mother sighed. When I looked at her, she was folding and unfolding her hands, her eyes fixed on the spot where Wolf had been standing. Blinking a few times, she slowly shook her head.
“Lady?” she whispered. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
So do I, Mom. God help me, so do I.
Chapter 5
By the time I’d gotten my mom ready to go, the October sun had tumbled toward the horizon, smearing the clouds in brilliant pastels like a child’s erratic finger painting.
Regardless of how long or short the trip, travel anywhere with my mother always required patience and planning, but on the Stephanie-Stress-O-Meter-Scale-of-One-to-Ten, preparing her to move to a new home had accelerated the level from Mildly Frustrating to Terminally Exasperating.
After buckling Mom securely into the passenger seat of my silver Forester, I double-checked to make sure she had her not-too-hot-chocolate-filled travel mug. Folding her wheelchair, I stowed it in the back of the SUV, then tossed in the suitcase containing her meds, all the while assuring her the angels weren’t going to come for her today.
Before climbing behind the wheel, I stopped, hooked my fingers over the top of my open door, and prepared myself to say farewell to my house. After months of trying to refinance with no income, I gave up the fight and let the place fall into foreclosure. I’d known for weeks this day was coming, but now that the moment of parting had arrived, I felt as though I were losing a cherished friend.
The house was the only one I’d ever owned. It was mine, all mine, bought with my own money after Vince decided he needed tastier arm candy to display at his executive dinners. The house was my first, my only. And now I’d lost it.
I could have blamed Vince for my predicament. I wanted to blame him, but the truth was, it was my fault.
After all, it was my career that had failed.
My career.
My failure.
My problem.
Not being able t
o afford to provide better for my mom would have been an added burden, except for the fact that even when I’d had the funds, I’d cared for her myself. I owed it to her—it was my fault she’d developed early onset Alzheimer’s in the first place.
There was this accident. I was sixteen. I was driving. The car skidded in the rain and I hit a barrier. And my mom hit her head. She was in the hospital for a week.
My mother.
My driving.
My fault.
Smiling at the house, I put my fingertips to my mouth and blew it a gentle kiss. “Bye,” I whispered. “I’ll never forget you.”
Once inside the SUV, I gave a quick look over at my mom to make sure she hadn’t unbuckled her seatbelt then thrust the stick into gear and drove away and away and away, never once glancing in my rearview mirror.
Looking back would do me no good. The time had come to look forward.
Snowflakes splattered my windshield as I rolled through the iron gate for the second time that day and by the time I reached Moonrise Manor, the snowfall was so heavy, my wipers could barely keep up. Already, the pine and fir trees were groaning under the weight of wet snow, and the wind howled through the treetops like an angry banshee.
Perfect. Just perfect for my first night in what was most surely a haunted house. But hell, as long as it had central heating, my mom and I would at least have a roof over our heads. Things had happened so quickly, I hadn’t had time to let Kimmie and Jace know we were moving. As soon as I got settled in, I’d give them a call.
Mom had remained silent during the drive, staring out the frosty passenger-side window. I wondered where she thought she was. On arriving at the mansion, she made no remark. Was she adrift on an empty sea, resting in her bedroom, or simply gone deep inside her memories? I only knew that wherever she was, I was not there. I had disappeared from her life moment-by-moment, inch-by-inch as completely as though I had never been.
An odd dichotomy, this thing called dementia. Usually, it is the victim who must cope with the consequences of illness or injury, but with Alzheimer’s, it is not the victim, but those who love her, who suffer the wounds.
I parked in the same spot as I had that morning. Setting the brake, I said, “This is it, Mom. Our new home. For a while anyway.”
She tilted her head. “Are we going in the van yet?”
Forcing myself not to sigh, I reached over and patted her hand. “No van. Not today.”
Her brow furrowed. She tugged her hand from beneath mine and examined it as though it were a foreign thing she had never seen before.
I would have dwelled on that for a bit, if not for the sight of my new employer emerging from the house to make his way down the path to my car.
He’d changed clothes and was wearing an Irish cable-knit sweater and blue jeans. His stride was long and graceful, and even as the snowfall swirled around him, he seemed to glide through it effortlessly. I’d’ve been slipping and jerking and fallen on my ass three times already, but Dr. Van Graf moved as through a dream. As he drew nearer, my mother seemed to snap into some kind of awareness.
“Woof,” she barked, making me jump. “Woof, woof, woof!”
“Mom?” I reached over and touched her shoulder. “Are you okay?”
She glowered at me. “I may be old, Lady,” she snapped, “but I’m not blind. Man. Hunk. Of. Man. Bow-wow and wow and wow. How old am I?”
“Um…I…” Taken off guard, I paused before answering.
I was sort of used to these abrupt shifts in my mother’s conversations. Yet, since I hadn’t a clue why her brain juked from one thought to a totally unrelated topic, I would probably never get used to it.
Once more, my heart tightened.
I wanted my mom back. My real mom. The smart, feisty, independent woman who’d been nurturing friend and stubborn adversary, stalwart champion and harsh critic, protector, teacher, parent—but now, child. The woman who remembered me, loved me.
I missed that.
I missed her.
Until I had children of my own, the abiding love a mother feels for her child was unknown to me. I’d had no idea how much my mother loved me until I held my own babies in my arms. And I had no idea how much I loved my mother until I lost her.
“You’re fifty-nine, Mom.”
She smiled her old smile, and for a moment, one brief moment, she was there.
“That being the case,” she said, “I’d have to say if I were twenty years younger, I’d give you a run for your money, Lady.” Then she winked, and her eyes sparkled happily. Hope began blossoming in my chest until, just like that, her smile faded and her eyes grew dull once more as she resumed staring without purpose through her window.
“No run for my money, Mom,” I said softly. “Dr. Van Graf is my…I’m just his…”
Hell, I was defending myself against a charge that was too ludicrous to consider, with a woman whose sense of reason no longer existed.
“He’s my new boss, Mom. Not my new man.”
When Van Graf reached the SUV, I rolled my window down enough to talk but not so far as to let in a lot of snow.
He bent toward my open window. “Need any help?” Before I could answer, he gestured past me to the folded up wheelchair. “If you’ll pop the back, I’ll get that out for you.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
The stone stairs I’d climbed that morning were out of the question, given my mom’s wheelchair, so I followed behind as Dr. Van Graf pushed my mom in her wheelchair up an icy pathway that led from the garden to a side entrance.
Watching Van Graf’s denim-clad butt set my long-neglected hormones all atwitter.
Not my new man. Pity, that.
I sure could use one right about now.
But he’s a vampire; you’re in danger.
No, he’s a Vampire; you’re safe.
But he’s really sexy; you’re at risk.
No, he’s your boss; not an option.
I shook my head and focused on taking one step at a time. The pathway was slushy, making walking difficult. The fact it was literally a slippery slope was not lost on my conflicting thoughts and emotions.
An hour later, I was ensconced in my bedroom while my mother was right next door in hers. The rooms were spacious and beautifully appointed, and visually appealing with cherry furnishings and rose-and-mint floral wallpaper. We shared a spacious connecting bathroom, which would serve as a pathway between our two rooms, making it convenient for me to check on her during the night without having to venture into the exterior hallway in my jammies.
And I could lock both doors myself. From the inside.
The drive to the estate had tired Mom, so she was napping. A good thing since it would give me some time to unpack the boxes Igor and Wolf had set in the corner. But before I even put a hand on the first carton, I heard a soft knock on my door.
I opened it to a pretty young woman in a blue cotton dress and white apron. Her short, fire red hair exploded from her head like living flames.
“Hello, missus,” she said. “I’m Lucy.” She grinned, revealing an unexpected absence of her two front teeth. The empty space served to make her canines appear disturbingly pointy, like a Disney wolf princess after a particularly violent game of rugby.
“Hi.” I tried not to stare, but it was a challenge. “Lucy, did you say?”
She nodded.
“What can I do for you, Lucy?”
“It’s what I can do fer you, missus.” Her golden brown eyes sparkled with cheer. “Dr. Van Graf asked me to send you to the study right quicklike. I’m to stay here and keep an eye on yer mum fer ya. Okay?”
“He wants to see me now?” As I stepped back and opened the door wider to allow Lucy entrance, I laughed at my own silliness and shook my head. “Of course he wants to see me now. I need to get started.”
Closing the door behind Lucy, I said, “My mother is sleeping. Her name’s Jeanne Wilder. She usually responds to Jeanne or Mrs. Wilder.”
Lucy smiled. “Jeanne
. Mrs. Wilder. Got it.”
“She shouldn’t wake for a while, but if she does, will you please call for me? She’ll feel disoriented in an unfamiliar place with new people. She might get frightened.” I looked into Lucy’s eyes. “Do you have any experience with Alzheimer’s patients?”
The young maid gave me her semitoothless grin once more. “No. But you can count on me, missus. I’ll take real good care of her.”
I felt a little nervous leaving my mom with someone I didn’t know, especially someone with very pointy teeth. But this was the bargain I had made, and now I had to trust that things would be all right.
Lucy clasped her hands in front of her waist. “You can use t’elevator at the end of t’hall, like as you come up in, but it’s quicker if you take the stairs at t’other end. Leads right down to the first floor and the study is just there, second door on t’left.”
I quickly checked my reflection in the dressing table mirror, patted my hair into place, and pinched my cheeks.
Let me just say right now that I’m not bad looking. I mean, when I squint at myself in the bathroom mirror in the early morning, I don’t cringe. Most days, anyway.
I’m of medium height, have shoulder-length blonde hair, and expressive hazel eyes. I’ve been told such, anyway, usually by men in bars who have an agenda apart from mere social intercourse. Eh-hem. I have to say that when I get buzzed enough, even I admit my eyes are pretty damned expressive.
But I digress. It’s because of nerves, I’m sure. I’m unsettled on too many levels to name. All the loose ends in my life are twisting around inside my head, tightening around each other, confusing me, exhausting me, worrying me.
But I was here now, in this new place, new life, new expectations, and I was at my new employer’s disposal. I’d been promised this was simply a job and not the first step across the threshold to the dark side of everlasting bloodlust, so I had no choice but to trust my mom to Lucy’s care and head for the study to see what Dr. Van Graf needed me to do.
Arriving at the study door, I knocked and it immediately opened. But instead of Dr. Van Graf’s gorgeous face, I was met by a very short, very round, gray-haired woman wearing a pink floral apron, sensible shoes, and a scowl.
Dead is the New Black Page 4
