Page 85 of Monster Among the Roses (Fairy Tale Quartet 1)

“Of course she will. She has something very precious to fight for.”

When I realized she was referring to me, I sent her an exhausted glance, not in the mood to deal with any kind of advance from her.

But she merely sighed. “Oh, Shaw.” She squeezed my arm. “You look awful. How long have you been here with her?”

I shook my head, not answering, but I was sure I looked bad. My muscles were sore from sleeping and sitting all day in the hard chair at Mom’s bedside, and my stomach hurt from eating nothing but vending machine food.

“Go home,” Gloria urged gently. “Take a shower, steal a nap, get some real food into your system. I’ll sit here with her for a couple hours.”

I started to shake my head no, but of course Mom chose that moment to wake from her nap. Gloria I could have easily denied, but when my mother urged me to go home for a while as well, I couldn’t tell her no. So I left, reluctantly.

I was only gone a few hours. I cleaned up and fixed myself some food but no way could I sleep. Not while my mother was still in the hospital, fighting an infection.

When I returned, Gloria was actually in a rush to leave.

“She slept most of the time,” she said, rising to her feet and grabbing her purse as soon as I entered the room.

I paused, blinking at her. Mom was coughing in her sleep, but there didn’t seem to be any other reason why she’d chase someone away the way Gloria seemed so eager to leave. But she hurried by me, not even making eye contact as she mumbled a harried farewell, saying she had somewhere to be, and disappeared out the door. She hadn’t even given me a chance to thank her for sitting with my mom.

I stared after her, not upset about her being gone but pondering why she’d been so eager to go.

Curious. Very curious.

Then, with a sigh, I turned back to Mom and settled into my chair beside her.

Another two days passed. Gloria never returned, and Isobel didn’t appear. I thought about her though. More than once, I was tempted to call to see how she was doing, to tell her how I was doing. But after the way we’d left off on Saturday, I was uncertain how to proceed from there. I missed her, though. I missed her with an ache that struck at the oddest moments. Whenever I felt my lowest, I wanted her there to help me through. Whenever Mom had a good moment, I wanted her there to celebrate with me. Whenever Mom was asleep and I was bored, I wanted her there to talk about books or her flower shop plans, or anything. I just…I wanted her there.

Thursday evening arrived before anyone else non-medical appeared in the doorway of Mom’s hospital room. My oldest sister, Alice, peered into the room before she took in Mom’s sleeping form and gasped.

“Lord,” she breathed, coming closer to gaze down at our mother with wide, surprised eyes. “She really is bad off, isn’t she?”

“She’s better than she was,” I said, not sure why I

was trying to comfort Alice. I wanted to be mad at her for staying away for five days. Where the hell had she been? Why had it taken her so long to check in? Did our mother mean that little to her?

But she looked genuinely concerned as she sat next to me, and besides, she was the only sibling to show at all. So I decided I was glad to share some of the worry with her. I filled her in on all the progress Mom had made. She nodded and asked questions, then offered to help.

I nodded, grateful for the support. “I’ve been away from work for four days.” Plus, I needed to see Isobel. “Do you think you could sit with Mom tomorrow?”

Alice nodded mutely, and everything felt better.

It felt better until Friday morning, anyway, when I stopped at the gate to Porter Hall and pressed the button, requesting entrance.

They opened for me immediately, and I drove up the lane between the pear trees, eager to see Isobel, anxious to hold her in my arms and bury my face in her hair.

When Henry opened the side door and folded his arms across his chest, waiting for me as I parked, I blinked, confused. He didn’t typically stay home on Fridays. What was even more concerning was the stony expression on his face.

Something was wrong.

“What’s going on?” I asked, popping out of the truck and hurrying to meet him.

“Mr. Hollander,” he greeted, his voice hard and unyielding, his eyes the same. “Your services here are no longer required. Please vacate the premises and never come back. If you do, we’ll treat it as trespassing and have you arrested.”

chapter

TWENTY-SIX

My mouth fell open.

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