“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
