by Gun Brooke
I stared at her, as she was clearly wearing only a towel wrapped around her. “All right,” I murmured, and cleared my throat. “I’ll remember that.”
“Good.” She turned to leave and then turned back, looking stricken. “I forgot to knock. I’m sorry.”
“Yes, you did, but it’s all right. I forgive you. I’ll try to remember to lock the bathroom door so we’re not totally embarrassed some other time.”
“I’m not embarrassed, but I know others can be.” Hayden tiptoed forward and ran her fingertips along my cheek—much like I’d done with her several times. “Bye.” Pivoting, she was out the door just as fast as before.
I stood there for a good ten seconds, my mind whirling. Hayden in a towel, Hayden instigating kisses, and Hayden wanting me to meet the woman she loved most in the world. I felt as if I were treading water but still sinking. Nearly forgetting to undress first, I fled into the shower, turning it to scalding hot and then as cold as I could tolerate. It always perked me up and sharpened my senses. I was going to need it.
*
The rehabilitation clinic was more like a fancy hotel. Clearly, this was how the wealthiest could afford to recuperate, even if illness struck relentlessly, no matter their social status.
Hayden walked close to any of the walls whenever possible, and as this was a busy day for visitors, several people were in every new corridor we entered. I kept even steps with her, hoping it would help, but judging by the way she clutched at the brushes in her pocket, I wasn’t sure it did.
Isabella Calthorpe Rowe resided in a double suite consisting of a bedroom, a living room, and a large bathroom. The only things betraying that this wasn’t a hotel were the railings in the ceiling, to which the lift was attached, and the bed, which was a faintly disguised hospital bed.
“Nana.” Hayden walked over to the small, fragile-looking woman sitting in a recliner by the window in the living room. “You’re up.”
“Of course I’m up. It’s past eleven.” The woman’s speech was slurry and slow, but she wasn’t as hard to understand as I’d feared. I remembered Hayden telling me the staff often found it difficult to comprehend what she said. How much time did they take to listen to the old woman?
“I meant you were more tired last time I was here.” Hayden seemed unfazed by Isabella’s brusque tone. Perhaps it was because the old woman took Hayden’s hand and held it in an unsteady grip.
“I’m better today.” Isabella turned her head and looked curiously at me, where I remained in the doorway. “And who’s this?”
“Greer. Remember I told you she likes my paintings? I live with her now.”
Groaning inwardly, I realized I had to introduce myself. “Hello, Mrs. Rowe. I’m Greer Landon, a friend of Hayden’s. I offered one of my guest rooms to her, and also I happen to have an unused studio where she can paint.”
“And you did this because?” Isabella scrutinized me unabashedly.
“I think I happened upon Hayden at the right time.” I wasn’t sure how much Hayden had told Isabella of what had taken place lately. Perhaps Isabella was too frail to take the worst details.
“From her angle or yours?” Isabella started to cough. She wheezed, a worrisome sound, but Hayden calmly waited for the attack to abate.
“Both.” I had to be honest or Isabella would see right through me. If I started to sound like some wishy-washy philanthropist, I’d never get her approval, and for Hayden’s sake, I needed to do so. If I alienated Isabella, Hayden would get caught in the middle, which was the last thing I wanted.
“Oliver helped me move. He’ll visit you soon, he said. He has a new girlfriend. Again.” Hayden was unusually chatty and seemed oblivious to the undercurrents between Isabella and me.
“When doesn’t he?” Isabella shook her head. “Be a darling and fetch me a new pitcher of juice from the staff, please, Hayden?”
“Okay.” Hayden got up and left the room.
“Sit down.” Isabella flicked her hand at the chair next to her.
I did as told. “You sent her out to learn my true objective.” I thought we better put our cards on the table.
“Astute observation.” Isabella regarded me with sharp, slate-gray eyes. Her hair was short and styled professionally in a modern hairdo. She was dressed in tan slacks and a dark-brown silk shirt. Had it not been for the drooping left corner of her mouth and her unmoving left arm, I wouldn’t have guessed she was anything other than what she seemed, a sharp old woman, born to old money. “So, do tell me. What do you want with my granddaughter?”
“I want to show her paintings and help her launch her career.”
Isabella regarded me closely. “And what’s in it for you?”
“I might make money from selling and buying artwork, but bringing forward new talent is what I live for. It would be a crime if people never saw your granddaughter’s paintings. She’s a true genius. I believe she deserves this chance, and this is my only motive.” Taking a deep breath I spoke with emphasis. “As for the living arrangement…I couldn’t in good conscience leave her in a gym, Mrs. Rowe.”
Isabella’s facial muscles twitched a few times, and then a lopsided grin spread over her face. “You’re very direct. Something I…appreciate. I suppose I’m used to Hayden’s way of expressing herself after all these years. I find I’m not patient if someone goes on and on.” She closed her eyes briefly. “I’m too tired, to be honest.”
“Understandable.” I knew better than to pat her hand or do anything else common to “comforting” the sick and elderly. No doubt, this woman would slap my fingers if I tried. “I’ve grown very fond of Hayden, and for what it’s worth, I only have what she wants in mind.”
“So, not ‘what’s best for her’?” Isabella scrutinized my face.
“She knows what’s best for her. I had to try and she accepted the offer.” Images of Hayden in that gym, of the cot she slept on, and of the expression of elation and sense of freedom on her face at my suggestion made it hard to breathe and swallow. I had to make Isabella understand that I understood Hayden and her former circumstances. Not only that, but also how I firmly believed in Hayden’s intelligence and abilities. I spoke with a firm voice. “Hayden’s her own person and very capable of doing her own bidding.”
“What am I bidding for, Greer?” Hayden asked, entering with a crystal pitcher filled with orange juice.
“Just another saying,” I said, and moved to another chair so she could sit closest to her grandmother. “It means, make your own decisions.”
“It seems Greer has come into your life when you needed her the most, my girl.” Isabella took Hayden’s hand. Hayden in turn raised the wrinkly, blue-veined hand to her lips and kissed it tenderly. “As I understand it, you’re going to need Dominic’s help with some contracts. You have his information in your phone, right?”
“I do.”
“Good.” Closing her eyes, Isabella drew a deep, unsteady breath. “I miss my roses. Can you swing by the house one day and check on the garden? I know old Mr. Larson is still taking care of everything, but I always tended to my roses myself.”
“Until you fell off the ladder when tying some of them up.” Hayden shook her head. “And I wasn’t there. I feel responsible.”
“You keep saying that, and it’s not true.” Slurring worse now, Isabella trembled. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“Wait a minute,” I said, my heart aching for both of them. “Why don’t we come back tomorrow, and, if you’re feeling well enough, we’ll all drive out to your house so you can check on the garden?”
Two faces, so alike even if at least sixty years separated them, turned to stare at me. Hayden’s eyes glowed and she smiled broadly. Isabella looked more shocked.
“I’m too much to handle. The wheelchair—”
“It folds up. And Greer has an SUV. A Mercedes. I’ve driven it.” Hayden clung to her grandmother’s hand with both of hers now. “Say yes, Nana. You haven’t been home since this happened.”
Isabella’s eyes softened, and she freed her hand and ran it through Hayden’s hair. “All right, my girl. I’ll be ready after my nap tomorrow. Two p.m.?” She directed that question to me.
“Sounds good to me. We’ll be here. Now, please excuse me. I’m going to find the guest restroom.” This would give them some time alone, I thought.
When I returned ten minutes later, Hayden had helped her grandmother to the dining table, as it was nearing lunchtime. Isabella insisted we leave, as we were getting together the next day and she’d need her rest to have the energy.
I suspected Isabella wasn’t comfortable eating in front of me, still a stranger, since I knew Hayden usually stayed much longer. I feared Hayden would be disappointed at the early dismissal, but she was so excited about the idea of taking Isabella home, even for an hour or so, she didn’t seem to notice.
She kissed her grandmother good-bye. There was something special about this old woman, a strong, quite-demanding presence that really spoke to me. I felt I’d known her much longer than the hour we’d visited.
“What a great idea, Greer.” Hayden sat down in the driver’s seat of the Lincoln and started the car. I buckled up and then cupped her neck gently under her hair.
“I’m glad I thought of it. You would’ve had a hard time doing it on your own.”
“I’ve been here with Oliver.” Hayden frowned as she pulled out of the parking lot. “Yet we never thought of it.”
“Then I’m glad I did.” I let go of her neck and instead took her hand. She glanced quickly at me but then squeezed my hand and held on to it. I used my thumb to caress her lightly as she drove us home.
At the house, Hayden walked up to the studio without a word, and I thought I could guess why. So many emotions—about her grandmother, about tomorrow, and, I thought without conceit, about what was going on between us. If I had no words yet for how I felt, for what Hayden’s presence did to me, how could I expect her to be able to?
Like everyone else, she experienced the full spectrum of emotions but had very few words for them. I’d heard her say “I like” and similar phrases, but never anything more specific. When she talked about her fear of living in a bungalow-style house, all she said was “I can’t.” She never spoke of fear per se. When she told Penelope and me about her problems with crowds, she put it in terms of not functioning well. The paintings held all of Hayden’s feelings. Looking at them with her history in mind, I could see the joys, fears, and trauma as clearly as if I’d read her diary.
I decided to leave her up there to do what she needed to, while I took care of some more never-ending paperwork. Walking upstairs, I stopped just as I reached the second level and heard the drumming of Hayden’s flat pumps as she hurried toward me from above.
“Hayden?” I frowned.
“I forgot again.” Hayden flung her arms around me. “I forgot to say thank you.”
“Oh, darling,” I said, nearly biting my tongue at the term of endearment. “You don’t have to. The happiness on your face was enough for me.” I hugged her close.
Hayden pulled back enough to scan my face. “Yes?”
“Yes.”
And then she kissed me. Not a soft brushing of the lips or a quick, hard smooch, but a long, slow movement of her lips against mine. It was still rather chaste, no tongues involved, but so sweet and with a definite tinge of passion that was anything but chaste.
Breaking the kiss, she smiled widely at me and then was gone again, rushing up to her studio. And for the very first time, I heard Hayden humming. Paperwork forgotten for a long while, I followed her just so I could keep listening.
Chapter Sixteen
I stood in the well-maintained garden belonging to Isabella Rowe and had to admit it nearly beat my roof. Birds chirped like someone paid them to, and the faint sound of a lawn mower could be heard to the south of us. It was a sure sign spring was heading toward summer. Cherry trees blossomed and some had even lost a few of their petals, which looked like tiny feathers on the ground.
Flagstone paths wound themselves around the backyard. The person in charge of designing it had made it into several “rooms” with four different areas for socializing or relaxing.
The roses were budding as Isabella had predicted, and behind me, I heard Hayden rolling her grandmother’s wheelchair through the patio doors. I turned and smiled. “It’s wonderful out here.” The look on Isabella’s face made me choke up. Her eyes were bright, if a bit teary, and she turned her head back and forth as if trying to take in the whole garden at once.
“Drive me around the paths, my girl. I want to see everything.”
“Okay.” Hayden pushed the wheelchair slowly along the trails, stopping every time Isabella raised her good hand. The frail, slender hand caressed new leaves, fingered buds, and nipped at a withered stalk every now and then. It was clear she knew this garden intimately. This was Isabella’s domain, her favorite place, and she’d lost it. My heart clenched at the idea of having something happen to you that took away everything you loved.
I glanced at Hayden, who bent over her grandmother’s shoulder and responded to something inaudible. Isabella hadn’t lost everything. Hayden’s devotion to her nana was unmistakable, and apparently, Oliver came to visit her, if not as often. How did it feel for this proud, strong old woman not to have the same connection with her son? Did she hate Leyla passionately, or had she resigned herself to the fact they never would see eye to eye? Perhaps winning the custody battle all those years ago was enough.
I sat down on one of the white wrought-iron chairs and just enjoyed the warm sun. Taking off my sunglasses, I closed my eyes and tipped my head back. I never sunbathed, normally, but I couldn’t resist letting the rays hit my face. Multicolored fractals erupted on the inside of my eyelids. Smiling to myself, I crossed my legs and let my mind drift.
“Are you asleep, Greer?” Hayden spoke so close to my ear, I jumped and uncrossed my legs too fast. Reaching for armrests where there weren’t any, I would’ve fallen off the chair if Hayden hadn’t steadied me.
“Try not to kill the poor woman,” Isabella said and gave a husky chuckle. Her eyes shone, and it was as if being home rejuvenated her. “I can’t help you hide the body.”
“I’m not trying to kill Greer!” Looking shocked at such a thought, Hayden gaped. “And it’s illegal to hide bodies. You know that.”
“Sorry, my girl. I couldn’t resist teasing you. I know I shouldn’t.”
“You were joking.” Relieved, Hayden smiled too and didn’t seem to notice she was still holding me by the shoulders.
“I think I’m okay now,” I said, and patted one of her hands.
“Good. I’ll go get our basket.” Hayden hurried in through the patio doors.
“What basket?” Isabella asked.
“We brought some pastries and something to drink, as the weather’s so lovely. We thought we could enjoy them here, if you’re not too cold.” I rose and stopped short of placing my hands on the wheelchair handles. “Mind if I put you against the table, Mrs. Rowe?”
“For heaven’s sake, call me Isabella. And no, I don’t mind.”
I carefully adjusted the wheelchair, mindful of Isabella’s feet. I’d once been in a wheelchair for two weeks as a teenager after spraining both ankles in a skiing accident. I remembered vividly when my friends had taken turns pushing me around high school, constantly misjudging how much my feet protruded at the front.
Hayden came out carrying the basket and three blankets. She placed one around Isabella’s back and the others on the seats of the chairs. I unpacked the basket, placing Danishes, croissants, and a thermos of coffee on the table. We also brought small cartons of orange juice and coffee creamer.
Isabella smiled. “Marvelous. Are those from Café Vanille?” She eyed the bags closely.
“Hayden said they’re your favorites, so, yes.” I placed the plate with pastries well within reach of Isabella. “Coffee? Juice?”
“Both, please.” Reac
hing for a Danish, Isabella nodded her thanks. “This is such a surprise. I should’ve thought of it myself.”
We ate in silence for a while, and I felt more content and relaxed than I’d been in years. It gave me a lot of pleasure doing this for Isabella and Hayden. Even if it was temporary, they could sit in their garden and enjoy it like they used to.
Once we were full, Hayden packed the basket back up. I made sure she put the leftover pastries in a bag for Isabella to take back to the clinic. I knew very well Isabella could afford to order in whatever she wanted, but it still felt like the right thing to do.
“Why don’t you show Greer your room, Hayden?” Isabella asked. “If you turn me more toward the sun, I can just enjoy it a bit longer in the meantime.” Her words were casual, but something told me Isabella really wanted me to see Hayden’s room for some reason.
“Okay.” Hayden stood and turned the wheelchair, then showed me through the house.
The furniture was antique, some dating back two hundred years, I estimated. European figurines and glass cabinets with Dresden china spoke once again of old money. The rugs were Persian and the floors hardwood of the old kind. Chandeliers hung in every room we passed, and someone had to be tending to the house regularly, as I didn’t see dust anywhere and no furniture was covered.
“Here. This is my room.” Hayden opened a door at the far end of a long hallway.
I stepped inside, not knowing what to expect. My jaw dropped as I regarded it. I slowly spun a full rotation, and the more I looked, the more I wanted to see.
“Oh, my dear God. Hayden…” I had to hold on to her. Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, I took in the walls in the approximately 170-square-foot room. Every single wall space was covered with paintings. Oils, acrylics, watercolors, pencil and charcoal sketches, even crayon drawings were pinned or nailed to the wall.
Shaking my head, I knew I had to start somewhere. The sheer number of pieces overwhelmed me. “Where do I start?” I asked Hayden, slipping my arm down to hold her hand.