by Lynn Shannon
But it wasn’t in the bag yet. Sara needed to keep her eye on the ball and make sure the Celebration of Reading went off without a hitch.
The phone on the counter rang, and Sara absently picked up the receiver. “Hidden Hollows Library. How may I help you?”
“Oh, um, could I please speak to Grant Edwards?”
Sara frowned. The woman’s voice was familiar, but it sounded rough, as if it was rarely used. “Mrs. Edwards? Is that you? This is Sara Wilson.”
“Hello, Sara.” She cleared her throat. “Yes, this is Grant’s mom. Could I speak to him, please?”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Edwards, but he’s not here. Have you tried his cell?”
“I did, but he’s not answering. And Suzie isn’t home…” She sniffed. “Grant mentioned the other day he works at the library sometimes. I was hoping to find him.”
“He’s assisting with the after-school program, but that’s later in the week.” Sara twirled the phone cord around her finger. Where could Grant be? Maybe he’d gone into the city for some car parts. He’d spent a large part of the weekend working on the classic truck. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“No.”
Her voice was edged with panic. Then April sniffed again. Was the woman crying?
Sara’s concern ratcheted up another notch. “Mrs. Edwards, truly, I don’t mind. What’s the matter?”
“It’s nothing. I fell, but I’m fine. I’ll try Grant again. Forget I called, and I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
April hung up before Sara could say anything more. She immediately dialed Grant’s number. It went straight to voice mail.
Sara chewed on the inside of her cheek as she used the town directory to locate Suzie Grayson’s number. Grant’s aunt lived across the street from his mother. Sara dialed her number, but it only rang and rang. April had mentioned Suzie wasn’t home. The directory didn’t provide a cell number.
Sara set the phone receiver down, concern mingling with indecision. April had said she’d fallen. What if she was seriously hurt? But then, why wouldn’t she call 911 or ask Sara to come over?
Embarrassment, maybe? Sara didn’t know April well, but she’d been careful about her appearance. Her hair was always styled, her clothes arranged just right. It mattered to her.
Grant had flipped his lid when Sara showed up at the house unexpectedly. Marie Jenkins mentioned she hadn’t seen April in a month. Perhaps the home repairs and redecorating were more extensive than anyone knew.
But if April had fallen and was hurt, she might need help. Sara couldn’t sit at the library and simply hope the woman was all right. She had to make sure.
Decision made, she rose from the chair and quickly grabbed her purse before ensuring Jennie would cover the front desk. Sara climbed into her Honda and tried Grant one more time using her cell. Still no answer.
She turned the ignition, and the engine rumbled to life and then purred like a kitten. Grant had worked magic on it. Sara ignored the speed limits as she raced to the Edwards’ home. Luckily, Sheriff St. Clair wasn’t out and about. Having Millie in his life had made him less grumpy, but it hadn’t made a difference when it came to his love for handing out speeding tickets.
Minutes later, she pulled into the driveway. The garage was shut tight. Grant’s SUV wasn’t parked at his aunt’s. In fact, it didn’t appear anyone was home over there.
Sara climbed out of her car. The crisp breeze fluttered the sides of her jacket, and she belted it at the waist. Her heel caught on a crack in the porch. She pulled her shoe free and rang the doorbell.
Nothing. It didn’t work. Yep, ten to one, the home repairs were more extensive than Grant had let on. His mom was probably embarrassed. Sara didn’t want to upset the woman, but she didn’t feel comfortable ignoring the situation either.
She knocked on the door. Two minutes went by and nothing. Sara knocked on the door a second time and then leaned in, straining to hear any sound. Was April unable to answer the door? Had she fallen and was unable to get up?
“Mrs. Edwards?” Sara reached for the door handle. To her surprise, it was unlocked. She opened it a crack. “Mrs. Edwards? It’s Sara Wilson. I’m coming in to check on you.”
She waited to see if April would answer. A rank smell wafted through the crack and smacked Sara in the face. She gagged. Good night, what was that? If it was some kind of paint or paint thinner, she needed to know the brand and then never use it.
“Mrs. Edwards?” Sara pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold. Her heart stopped and then dropped to her feet.
A mix of items were piled in the living room covering the couch completely and spilling onto the carpet. Old televisions, computers, floppy discs, and enough ribbon for the entire county were combined with books, broken furniture, and picture frames.
The blinds were drawn, casting the entire house in shadows. Magazines were stacked in neat piles along the far wall. Newspapers too. Sara turned, her gaze flickering over the items in the dining room. China of every imaginable pattern covered all surfaces. It was stacked on the floor, arranged by a system she didn’t understand. The smell of garbage mingled with the scent of mold, twisting her stomach.
“Oh, Grant.” Sara’s mind whirled. His mother was a hoarder. No wonder Grant had flipped out when she showed up unexpectedly on the porch a few days ago. He was going to be upset to find out she’d uncovered his secret, but there was nothing to do about that right now. She needed to make sure his mom was okay.
Sara squared her shoulders and kept moving farther into the house. It was much more likely April had fallen and was unable to help herself.
“Mrs. Edwards, it’s Sara. I’m here to help you.” She moved into the kitchen. Dirty dishes were piled in the sink, and the trash was overflowing. She breathed through her mouth, but it was useless. “Mrs. Edwards, please answer me.”
A noise came from the rear of the house. The bedrooms. Sara picked her way down the hall, stepping over boxes and piles of items. The master bedroom looked like the rest of the house, but a touch cleaner. Sara circled into the bathroom.
April lay on the floor clutching her arm. Blood stained her clothes. Sara crouched next to her. “Mrs. Edwards, you’re hurt.”
“I cut myself.” She blinked at Sara, and then her eyes widened with fear. “Oh, you can’t be here. You can’t tell anyone—”
“I’m not going to tell a soul, Mrs. Edwards. I promise you.” She gently laid a hand on the other woman’s leg. “I only want to make sure you’re okay. But you’re not. Can I see the cut, please?”
Grant’s mom nodded and extended her arm. The cut was along her forearm, and it looked deep enough to need stitches. Sara winced. “This must be very painful. I’m glad you called me. It’s bleeding a lot.”
She grabbed a towel from a nearby rack and sniffed it. Smelled clean. She wrapped it around April’s arm. Without asking, she knew paramedics were out of the question. April wouldn’t want them anywhere near the house. As impossible as it seemed, the Edwards family had managed to keep the hoarding a secret. Sara wasn’t about to out them if she could prevent it.
“Ma’am, I need to take you to the hospital because your arm needs stitches.”
Tears ran down April’s face. “No, no. I can’t go with you. No one is supposed to come inside the house.”
Sara’s heart broke. Shame was a powerful thing, and while she didn’t understand everything that was going on, Sara did know Grant’s mom needed compassion and kindness.
She adjusted the towel tighter around April’s arm, applying pressure on the wound. “Mrs. Edwards, no one else is coming inside the house. I promise. What I want is for us to go outside, and I’ll drive you to the hospital. Did you know Grant fixed my car? It was making a huge racket before. Now it runs like new.”
She blinked. “He’s like his daddy. My Michael could fix anything.”
“I remember.” Sara helped April into a standing position. “Not only did Grant fix my car, but he’s bee
n helping me at the library. Have you seen the photographs of him in the cape? It’s the funniest thing.”
She kept up a steady stream of conversation while carefully leading April out of the house. Nothing elicited a laugh, but Grant’s mom did smile from time to time.
At the front door, Sara paused. April was dressed in a thin house dress. Sara removed her coat and draped it over the other woman’s narrow shoulders. Grant’s mom began to protest, but Sara shushed her.
“It’s a bit chilly outside, Mrs. Edwards. I have another jacket in my car. Along with a first aid kit. We can apply a better bandage to your arm before heading for the hospital.”
She gripped Sara’s hand. “You’re very kind.”
“Nonsense. Townsfolk help one another.” She shut the front door and escorted April down the porch steps. “We’ll get you all fixed up and taken care of.”
They were going down the walkway when Grant’s SUV raced up. He didn’t bother to kill the engine. Merely parked sideways on the street and hopped out of the vehicle, leaving his door hanging open. A mixture of panic and shame was etched across his handsome features.
“What happened?” He crossed to them in long strides. “Mom, are you okay?”
April’s face reddened. She bit her lip but didn’t answer.
“She fell and cut herself,” Sara said. “She called the library looking for you but got me instead. I was concerned for her safety, so I came over. The cut is pretty deep and might need stitches. I was taking her to the hospital.”
Grant blew out a breath, his gaze shooting to the house, before settling on his mom. “I’ll do it.”
“I can come—”
“No. It’s fine. I’ve got it now.” Grant gently wrapped an arm around April’s waist and helped her across the yard to the SUV. He loaded her into the passenger seat with tender care and then shut the door. “Thank you, Sara. Please don’t tell—”
“I won’t breathe a word to anyone.”
He didn’t even look at her. Hadn’t since the time he’d driven up. Sara wanted to find the right words, wanted to hug him, and say everything was okay. But Grant didn’t seem capable of receiving it. His shoulders were stiff, his neck and cheeks red. He marched to the driver’s side door.
Sara watched them drive away, her heart aching.
12
Grant
Grant trudged down the hallway of Aunt Suzie’s house, pausing outside the spare bedroom door. He knocked, and waited, but there was no answer. He sighed.
“Mom. I’m coming in.”
He twisted the handle on the door and entered the room. It was painted a soothing yellow. A sewing machine sat in the corner, along with a bunch of bits and pieces Grant couldn’t identify neatly organized alongside.
His mother sat in the rocking chair, staring out across the backyard, in the same position she’d been in that morning. And yesterday. Her shoulders were stiff, and her mouth was hard. Her arm was bandaged and rested on the arm of the rocking chair. It had needed six stitches, and since she’d cut it on a piece of rusted metal from a pile of broken something-or-other in the living room, she’d gotten a tetanus shot as well.
Grant stepped farther into the room. “Aunt Suzie said you didn’t eat any lunch. Would you like a snack?”
“I want to go home.”
“That’s not possible.” They’d already had this argument several times today, as well as yesterday on the way home from the hospital. “It’s not safe, Mom.”
“It’s my house. I should decide what is safe and what isn’t.” She glared at him. “I cannot believe my own son used threats. Suzie has turned you against me.”
Guilt stabbed him, but then Grant glanced at the bandage on her arm. “I didn’t threaten you, Mom. I explained that if you go back home before we clean it out, I’ll have to get a medical power of attorney.”
“Then you’ll force me into treatment. That’s a threat.”
“What would you have me do, Mom? The house isn’t safe. This accident proved that.” Grant took a deep breath to counteract the swirling emotions raging inside him. This was exhausting. He was tired of fighting with her. “I know it’s hard for you to understand, but I’m trying to do what’s best. If you don’t want to go to Helping Hands, we can find someplace else—”
“Forget it,” she snapped. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Then we can find a therapist in the city.” It wasn’t ideal. His mother needed intensive help, but it was better than nothing. “Let me get my laptop, and we can—”
“No. I’m not crazy, and I don’t need therapy. I also don’t need you here to take care of me. You haven’t been here for the last ten years. Don’t start caring now.”
Grant stiffened. Her words cut him, slicing into wounds that had never healed. He hadn’t been here for her, and that rested squarely on his shoulders. “Mom—”
“Go away, Grant. Leave me alone.”
He turned on his heel, shutting the door behind him. This wasn’t working, and he was running out of options. His mother was more resistant to treatment than she’d been before the accident.
With a sigh, he trudged down the hall and out of the house. Sunshine warmed his shoulders. Grant crossed the street heading for the garage. Working on the truck had been a good outlet to keep his hands busy and his mind distracted. It was simple. Fixable.
Nothing like his mom or their relationship.
His steps slowed as he approached the garage. Sara was leaning against the workbench, her arms crossed over her midsection. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, a riot of curls, and she wore a soft sweater that hugged her curves.
Grant considered turning around and returning to his aunt’s house, but what was the point? It’d been two days since Sara helped his mom. He couldn’t avoid this conversation forever. It also wasn’t fair.
She spotted him approaching and straightened. “Hey. How’s your mom?”
“Fine. Like I said in my text message, the cut needed stitches, and she’s staying with Aunt Suzie. There was no need for you to come over.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. Shame heated the back of his neck, and he didn’t meet her gaze. Grant didn’t want to see the disgust or the pity in her eyes. It would kill him. “Listen, Sara, thanks for what you did the other day. It wasn’t a small thing. But that’s it. There’s nothing else to say.”
“Is that why you’ve been avoiding my phone calls for the last two days? Grant, if you think that’s all there is to say, you’re mistaken.”
“Leave it alone, Sara.”
“I can’t.”
Why was she making this so hard? A burst of anger rushed through him. Grant went around her and grabbed a wrench, holding it so tight the edges dug into his palm. “What do you want, Sara? The whole sordid story?”
She touched his back. The heat of it went straight through him.
“I want to know if you’re okay.”
He trembled, the anger and shame morphing into something sharp and more difficult to control. Grant still couldn’t look at her, but he wasn’t immune to the caring in her voice. “No. No, I’m not okay.”
She wrapped her arms around his middle, resting her head on his back. “I didn’t think so.”
The gentleness of her touch undid him. Grant shifted, sitting on a nearby stool and pulling her onto his lap. He hugged her, nestling his face in the curve of her neck. She smelled fresh and clean. The scent calmed his runaway emotions. Here, with Sara, Grant took the first deep breath he’d had in days.
Sara ran her hands through his short hair. Her mouth brushed across his forehead. It was comfort, and peace, and everything Grant hadn’t realized he needed.
How long they stayed that way he wasn’t sure. Maybe minutes. Maybe an hour. Then he pulled back and smiled. “Are these hugs something you do for all the men you’re flirting friends with? Or am I special?”
She smacked his bicep and got off his lap. “You’re the only man I’ve ever been flirting friends with.”
He hooked an arm around her waist to keep her from going too far. “Guess that makes me special.”
“Yeah.” Her gaze met his. “Guess it does.”
Oh, he wanted to drown in her eyes. There wasn’t a shred of pity there. Only kindness and understanding. It reached inside him and squeezed his heart. She cupped his cheek with her hand. “What can I do?”
“I think you just did it, sweetheart.” He sighed and got up from the stool. Retrieving his wrench, Grant went over to the classic truck. “Mom says you were kind to her. Thank you. I know the house is gross and…”
“She’s unwell, Grant. I wouldn’t judge her if it was cancer.” She paused. “How many people know?”
“You, me, Aunt Suzie, and my mom. That’s it.” He let out a long breath. “She wasn’t always this bad. Mom suffered from depression all my life. She’d have bouts for days when she couldn’t get out of bed. It was hard sometimes, but she always made an effort to make it to my baseball games. The school plays. We’d cuddle up on her bed and watch TV together during the bad days. It wasn’t perfect, but it was workable.”
Sara didn’t say anything, just nodded.
“Pop told me from the time I was very young to keep her depression a secret. Mom cares about what people think of her, and Pop knew if townsfolk found out, they’d treat her differently. It was fine as long as it was manageable, but lately things have gotten out of control. The hoarding…that’s recent.”
“How recent?”
“Since Pop died.” He wiped a smudge mark off the shiny surface of the grill. “It started off small. Magazines and newspapers. Then dishes piled around the house, followed by laundry. I tried to manage it as best I could, but she became enraged if I moved something or threw it away. We were at each other’s throats every day. Screaming, fighting. I didn’t handle it well.”
Sara placed her hands on the curve of the truck’s side. “You were dealing with your own grief.”
He tightened the lug nut, then removed the wrench. “Yeah, but my mom…she needed me to be stronger. To help her. Instead, I bailed the moment I turned eighteen. It was too difficult. Fighting with her all the time. I wanted out of town and away from everything, so I joined the navy and left Mom to deal with it on her own.”