Page 195 of Saving Sparrow
I pulled the brim of my ball cap low, sliding my sunglasses on, hoping not to draw the attention of security. They all knew my face by now. I let Elliott walk in front of me, and I kept my head down.
We made it inside, but Octavia happened to be standing near the front desk when we turned the corner. She was the nursing manager here.
“Mr. Ramirez,” she sighed. She was a sweet older woman, only doing her job. Unfortunately for her, I wouldn’t let anything keep me from my husband.
I removed my disguise. “This is Elliott.” Her eyes widened. I’d told her about Elliott—about what happened to us—on the numerous occasions I’d tried to play on her sympathy to gain access to Quentin. “Please, let us see him.”
“There’s nothing I can do. He—”
“Has he gotten any better?”
“You know I can’t discuss—”
“I’m his power of attorney.”
“And as I’ve explained before, Mr. Ramirez, that holds no bearing when the principal is cognizant.” She was right, but I could see she didn’t want to be.
“Please. You know he’ll never get better in this place. He’s here because he wants to suffer.” And Quentin had enough money to make sure he suffered here alone forever.
She looked at the two women watching from behind the front desk. One cleared her throat as they both turned away. Octavia led us off to the side. “He doesn’t even try,” she whispered. “He’s accepted his prognosis.”
“Is he eating?”
“Barely.”
“Bathing?”
“Only when we threaten to hose him down.” She gave a sad smile.
“Is he speaking?”
“Only to demand we stay away from him.”
Elliott flinched with every answer she gave, so I stopped there.
“Please,”I begged again while holding Elliott close to me. “Let us see him. We can help.” Quentin needed love to heal. He needed to be home with us.
“He could take legal action against the facility.”
“Well, then, I’ll pay for your attorneys. Please, Octavia. I know you want to see him get better.”
She glanced at the two women again, then tilted her head to the left, whispering, “He was just taken from his suite to the conservatory. Ran everyone else out of there with his bad mood.” She squeezed my shoulder. “Good luck.”
Elliott and I took off, following the signs for the conservatory. We peered through the window of the double doors once we got there, watching Quentin ignore the vibrant plant life around him in preference for staring at the wall. Elliott sucked in a breath as he pressed a palm to the glass. I kept my emotions in check, wanting to be strong for him.
“Ready?” I asked him. He nodded, reaching for the handle.
“If you’re not here to put me out of my misery, then fuck off,” Quentin bit out, but we steadily approached the wall his wheelchair faced. “Did you hear me?!” He tried to turn, but the wheels seemed jammed. “Dammit.”
“It’s us,” Elliott said shakily. Quentin’s jerky movements stopped at the sound of his voice. We continued past the row of citrus trees,rounding his chair. His hair had grown past his shoulders, his beard now stretched to his chest, and his eyes no longer held their mischievous spark. Quentin’s spirit had been broken, and so had ours.
Quentin’s eyes welled up. “P-pretty… G-girl?” He sounded pained, as if the ache came from his soul. He glanced over at me, the moisture filling his eyes no match for the guilt and shame already swimming in them. “You… f-found him.” His devastation caused him to stammer.
“I told you I would, Q. I promised I’d find both of you.” Because knowing where to physically find Quentin didn’t mean he wasn’t lost to me. My search for Elliott was a rescue mission for Quentin, too.
Quentin closed his eyes, a tear rolling into his beard. “Leave…”
“Never,” Elliott said, kneeling in front of him. “Look at me. I’m begging you.”
