“Then why me?”
“Because nurses keep quitting.”
Mara looked at him skeptically.
Chapter 1
PART 1 — The House That Had Forgotten How to Live
884 words
Samuel continued.
“The woman I work for has experienced severe grief and cognitive decline. Some days she remembers perfectly. Other days she barely recognizes her surroundings. She refuses meals. She distrusts strangers. She has thrown three professional caregivers out of her room.”
“And you think a housekeeper with no medical degree will do better?”
“No.”
Mara raised an eyebrow.
“I think a woman who once spent her own grocery money buying food for an elderly neighbor might do better.”
Her face changed.
“How do you know about Mrs. Hanley?”
“I asked questions.”
“That’s unsettling.”
“Occupational habit.”
Mara crossed her arms.
“You investigated me.”
“Yes.”
“And you know what Mrs. Prescott said?”
“I know what she said.”
“Yet you’re offering me a job.”
“I also know the bracelet she accused you of stealing was photographed on her wrist at a charity luncheon two days after she claimed it had disappeared.”
Mara
went very still.
Samuel’s expression softened.
“Mrs. Prescott did not fire you because you stole from her.”
“Then why?”
“That is a question I have not answered yet.”
Mara stared at him.
Samuel opened the rear door of the sedan.
“The salary is considerably higher than what you were making.”
He named the amount.
Mara thought of June.
“When do I start?”
Samuel’s mouth lifted faintly.
“Apparently, now.”
Vane House stood on several acres above Lake Michigan, hidden behind iron gates and bare November trees.
It was beautiful in the way museums were beautiful.
Expensive.
Perfect.
And almost completely without warmth.
Samuel led Mara through marble halls where footsteps seemed too loud and laughter seemed impossible.
Men in dark suits moved through side corridors. Doors opened for them and closed immediately behind them. Conversations died whenever Mara approached.
She understood within fifteen minutes that Vane Holdings was not the whole
story.
Samuel stopped outside an upstairs bedroom.
“There are rules.”
“Of course there are.”
“You do not enter Mr. Vane’s study without permission. You do not repeat anything you overhear in this house. You do not ask employees about business that does not concern you.”
Mara nodded.
Samuel paused.
“And if you meet Caleb, don’t stare at his wheelchair.”
Mara frowned.
“Why would I?”
“People do.”
“Then people are rude.”
Samuel studied her for a moment.
“Mrs. Vane is inside.”
Edith Vane sat near a wide window facing the lake.
Her white hair had been brushed neatly. A cashmere blanket covered her knees. On a nearby tray sat soup that appeared untouched.
She did not turn when Mara entered.
Samuel introduced them.
Nothing.
He tried again.
Still nothing.
Finally, Mara walked to the window.
Gray waves rolled across Lake Michigan.
“Terrible weather,” she said.
Samuel glanced at her.
Edith did
not move.
Mara sat in a chair several feet away.
“My grandmother loved weather like this.”
A pause.
“She said sunny days were lazy because they never had to prove anything.”
Edith’s fingers moved slightly.
Mara continued.
“She also said storms had manners because at least they announced themselves.”
The old woman’s mouth twitched.
Not quite a smile.
But close.
Samuel quietly left.
Mara did not try to make Edith speak.
She simply remained.
An hour later, when she stood to go, Edith’s hand moved toward the untouched soup.
That was enough to make Mara return the next morning.
And the morning after that.
On her fifth day, Mara abandoned the expensive pureed lunch prepared downstairs and made chicken soup from Ruth’s notebook.
Edith ate six spoonfuls.
On the seventh day, she ate half a bowl.
On the ninth, she looked at Mara and asked, “Are you married?”
Mara nearly dropped the spoon.
“No.”
“Good.”
Mara laughed.
Edith seemed surprised by the sound.
Then, unexpectedly, she laughed too.
That was the first time Caleb Vane noticed Mara Holloway.
He was in the hallway outside his mother’s room.
Mara came out holding an empty bowl and almost walked directly into his wheelchair.
“Oh.”
Caleb looked up.
Even seated, he was intimidating.
Dark hair. Strong shoulders. A face made harder by sleepless years. A thin scar ran near his right temple, disappearing into his hairline.
His eyes were gray and unreadable.
Mara remembered Samuel’s warning and kept her gaze on his face.
“You’re the new caregiver.”
“Mara Holloway.”
“I know your name.”
“Then I suppose introductions were inefficient.”
Caleb stared at her.
Most people would have apologized.
Mara merely shifted the empty bowl to her other hand.
Something almost resembling amusement appeared in his eyes and vanished.
“My mother ate that?”
“Most of it.”
“She hasn’t finished half a bowl in months.”
“She dislikes the kitchen’s soup.”
“The chef trained in Paris.”
“Congratulations to Paris.”
Caleb’s eyebrows moved.
Mara added, “Your mother still doesn’t like the soup.”
He looked toward Edith’s room.
“What did you make?”
“My grandmother’s chicken soup.”
“You think a handwritten recipe accomplished what specialists couldn’t?”
“No.”
“Then what did?”
“I sat with her.”
That silenced him.
Mara lowered her voice.
“People talk around someone who is losing memories as if the person has already disappeared. Your mother hasn’t disappeared.”
Caleb’s jaw tightened.
“That will be all.”
Mara nodded.
She walked away.
Caleb watched her until she turned the corner.
That evening he called Samuel into his study.
“Investigate her again.”
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