Page 12 of The Unforgiven
“Could I possibly meet her?”
“Sure, if you’d like. We can go tomorrow, and I’ll ask her about the fan. She’d want you to have it.”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly keep it, but I would very much like to see it.”
“I’ll have it for you tomorrow.”
“I can’t wait,” Quinn replied and meant it.
FIVE
Quinn was a little nervous when Seth picked her up next morning for a visit to the nursing home. He seemed fine at first but grew agitated as they drew closer to the place. Palm Place Nursing Home was in an upscale part of town and looked like it cost a bomb. The front lawns were exquisitely tended, and the building looked more like a resort than a home for the elderly. Seth asked if they might stop at a bakery first and came out with a small box tied with a red ribbon, clearly a gift for his mother.
“Is everything all right?” Quinn asked. “Would you prefer that I remain in the car?”
“No, no, of course not,” Seth sputtered. He gave Quinn a faltering smile. “If today is a bad day, none of this will matter, but it it’s a good day…” He trailed off, his expression contrite like a little boy who was about to be caught with his hand in the biscuit tin. “My mother will be disappointed in me. She always taught me to do the right thing, the honorable thing. I know it’s an old-fashioned concept, but she is an old-fashioned Southern lady. Some things still mean the world to her. But I’m a big boy. I can handle it.”
Seth and Quinn walked into the lobby, which was cool and decorated in shades of gray and blue, with pictures of sailboats and scenic beaches on the walls. Potted palms and other plants gave the place a homey atmosphere, unlike some of the cold, utilitarian nursing homes Quinn had seen in England.
“Mr. Besson,” a nurse called out from the nurses’ station. “Mrs. Besson is on the veranda. It’s too nice a day to be indoors. She’ll be so happy to see you. Just sign in for me, please. Both of you.”
The nurse handed them visitor passes and they made their way toward the door to the veranda, which hugged the entire back wall of the building. It was shady and cool, and faced lush manicured gardens bursting with color. Several elderly people satin rocking chairs, either alone or with visitors, and nurses hovered discreetly nearby.
A woman of about eighty sat by herself, her gnarled hands folded demurely in her lap. She had short iron-gray curls that looked to have been styled just that morning, and wore a cream sheath dress with a pale yellow cardigan thrown over her shoulders. A string of pearls at her throat completed the outfit. She seemed to be staring at nothing in particular but had a faraway look in her dark eyes, and a gentle smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Quinn felt Seth tense beside her.
“Mama,” he called softly. “Good morning, Mama.”
The woman turned to face them and a wide smile lit up her face. Seth breathed a sigh of relief that she recognized him.
“Seth,” she called, her pleasure at seeing him obvious. “What a lovely surprise. You haven’t been to see me in weeks.”
“I was here last week, Mama,” Seth reminded her gently.
“Were you really? I seem to have forgotten. Is that for me?” she asked, eyeing the box greedily.
“I brought you some chocolate-covered strawberries.”
“I don’t want strawberries. I want marzipan. You know it’s my favorite,” she said with a pout.
“I know, but you must watch your sugar intake. The strawberries in dark chocolate have much less than marzipan,” Seth explained patiently.
“Oh, what difference does it make?” Mrs. Besson snapped. “I’d rather have marzipan than prolong this miserable existence you call life.”
“Come now, Mama, you’re hardly miserable.”
“Oh? Would you like to come live here while I go home?”
Seth ignored the remark and turned to Quinn. “Mama, I brought someone to meet you.”
“Have you finally gotten yourself a lady friend?” she asked, a wicked twinkle in her eye. “About time, I say.”
“Mama, this is Quinn Allenby, and she’s not my girlfriend.” Seth looked like he was about to gag on his tongue, and Quinn stifled a smile. It was endearing to see a grown man so afraid of displeasing his mother. “She’s my daughter,” Seth choked out.
“What’s that?” Mrs. Besson asked, staring at Quinn.
“Quinn is my daughter. She’s just found me after all these years. I didn’t know she existed,” he added apologetically.
“Hello, Mrs. Besson,” Quinn said, hoping the old woman wouldn’t ask her to leave. It was still hard to believe this lady was actually her grandmother. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”
