Enamor (Hearts of Stone #3) (13 page)

She's smiling. "I can't take you seriously right now. You look…ridiculous."

I get to my feet and enjoy a new vantage point. Her sitting there, peering up at me, lips as tempting as ever, and my mind floods with images of what they'd look like taking me in between them.

"You look like you're enjoying this," I say.
 

"I can't lie, I am. But you'd better hurry." She nods, indicating the baking soda in my hand. "The longer you wait, the harder it will be."

The harder it will be, indeed.
 

I hold up the box as I walk backward out of the room. "Don't expect mercy from me."

Her lashes flutter with an eye roll.
 

"Bring it."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Giles

I'
VE
BEEN
AVOIDING
THIS
trip for some time now, but I've officially run out of excuses. On a good traffic day like today, the drive to Bellefonte Assisted Living facility is forty minutes from campus. I park in the visitors lot and approach the immaculate front lawn, admiring the architecture overhead. The warm-toned brick building has white pillars framing its arched entryway. On either side of the large double doors runs a patio, lined by a short, wrought iron fence. I expected the facility to resemble a hospital, but this place looks more like a mansion.
 

Several gray-haired residents fill the patio chairs, some talking amongst themselves, others clutching their canes in silence and staring out over the lawn, contemplating. All eyes move to me as I approach. I return several nods of greeting and small smiles. My gaze sweeps the length of the porch, but I don't see my aunt out here. Ava did mention to me that the part of the building she lives in has its own outdoor space, contained and safe, not open to the road like this.

Once inside, I hesitate by the doors, not having expected to walk into what resembles a vast living room, adorned in an antique style that lends the perception of both comfort and opulence to its furniture, curtains, and carpeting. I wonder how much Ava has to pay for her mother's care here.
 

It takes me a few seconds to spot the front desk, which is straight ahead but set off to the side, most likely to avoid immediately disrupting the sensation that this building is someone's home. It's home to many, many people.
 

The fresh-faced receptionist eyes me with interest as I sign in to receive a visitor's badge. "You're a new face. First time here?" she asks.

Her innocent question trips my guilt valve. "Yes, it is."

When I tell her my aunt's name, she smiles warmly and says, "Oh, she's a sweetheart," then directs me down the hall to the right.
 

I'm surprised she used the word sweetheart in such a genuine way. I'd expect my aunt to be difficult in general, but especially in her condition. Then again, I've yet to really see her since it got bad, I only have Ava's anecdotes to go on and those have painted my aunt in a disturbing light. That's one of the reasons it took me months to come out to visit her. I've been afraid of what it will be like.

Past a heavy set of double doors, which require me to ring a bell and wait to be buzzed in, I reach a section of the building with its own sitting area and yet another desk. Once there, I am directed to my aunt's room.
 

From the outside, it looks like a hotel room. But when I step inside, the decorative style of the facility falls away to my aunt's own, personal style of decor. The room is reminiscent of what I remember her room to look like in her own home. Frilly bed covers, pictures hanging all over the walls, an assortment of products on her dresser.
 

My aunt sits in an armchair, facing a wide window, which looks out onto back gardens. She's reading a book and when I tap my knuckles on the doorframe to catch her attention, her gaze swings to me. At first, her brows furrow in confusion, but a slow smile builds on her face and she sets her book down.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, blinking a few times. "I haven't seen you in forever."

 
I just stare at her. First, I'm struck with the realization my aunt could likely be the youngest resident here. In my trip to her room, I didn't pass a single person, aside from employees, who looked under the age of seventy. My aunt, on the other hand, is in her early fifties, and takes really good care of her appearance. Her face is smoothed out with makeup and her hair is a vibrant strawberry blonde that doesn't show any signs of graying.
 

Seeing how healthy she looks surprises me. I didn't expect her to appear so put together. Something loosens over my chest, a pressure I didn't realize was there until this very moment. She waves me over and I sit on the edge of her bed, facing her.
 

"I only have a few minutes," she says, "but I'm so glad you came by. How are you?"

The beginning of her statement strikes me as strange, but I assume there's some scheduled activity for the residents coming up soon.

"I've been really busy with school," I say. "But I wanted to come and check in on you."
 

Her eyes remain glued to my face as I speak, taking in the details of it in a curious way. The longer I look at her the more I wonder if she even knows who I am.
 

"I'm glad you did. Tell me, what's new?" she asks, sitting up with interest.

"Well, I'm about to start summer session soon and I've landed an internship at the university, starting in the fall."
 

I leave out what a miracle that was, considering I still had a thin layer of blue tint on my teeth during the interview. No one at the chancellor's office asked about it or even so much as stared. I wondered if maybe I had acted so casually that they didn't even notice.
 

"But that's enough about me. Are you happy here? This place is really nice."

My aunt's eyes light up. "I love it here, the staff is great. Really, the most competent people I've ever dealt with."

"I'm glad. I'm sure it's a relief for Ava that you're happy."

"Ava?" she asks, with a dismissive laugh. "Ava's just a baby, do you really think she'd care?"

"Do you…?" I hesitate, not wanting to upset her. "Do you know who I am?"

She tilts her head at me as if I've just said the most ridiculous thing in the world. "What sort of question is that, Finn?"

Finn.
Finnegan Caldwell.
 

She thinks I'm her brother. My
father
.
 

Whatever was squeezing my chest before wraps its cold grip around my heart and tugs, and I'm on my feet before I even know why.
 

She looks at me, alarmed, then gets to her feet as well and takes a step toward me. "Are you all right? Finn, you look strange."

"I'm not…" I trail off again, remembering what Ava's told me. She's had to pretend to be someone else, because trying to convince my aunt that she was her daughter only upset my aunt and made everything much worse. I swallow, before fixing a smile on my lips and continuing, "I can't stay long, either. I just came to say hi."

"Oh good, my shift starts in fifteen minutes," she says, relieved.

Her shift? My aunt used to be a nurse. When she first started showing symptoms, Ava thought she could handle my aunt's care from home, but quickly realized she was in over her head when my aunt disappeared for twelve full hours. Someone found her wandering the streets at night, looking for a clinic that hasn't existed in twenty years.
 

In this facility, my aunt has round the clock care and a schedule full of activities to help keep her entertained and comfortable. It seems, though, her primary source of comfort might come from the delusion she works here.

She takes my hand and says, "For a minute there, I was worried you came to tell me you were deploying again."

"No," I say, "I'm not deploying."

"Good." She pats my hand then gives it a squeeze. "I worry about you, Finn. I know we don't always get along, but I do worry about you so much. God, every time you come back it's like another part of you has died back there. But you look good, today. Healthier."

A thick and uncomfortable sensation crawls into my stomach, seething there. There's a part of me that knows I owe her the truth of what happened to her brother and how he died. But what good would the truth do? It would just cause her pain and turmoil and confusion. She'd ask questions I couldn't answer because I don't have answers, either.
 

So, I nod, not knowing what else to do. "Don't worry. Don't worry about anything, okay?"

As I leave the room, it hits me for the first time that Ava's lost her mother. Not in the same way I lost my father, but in a way that leaves no room to mourn, or seek comfort from others. Because how do you mourn the living? How do you mourn the mother who doesn't even recognize you as her daughter, but is still alive and happy in her own way?
 

If there's something I've learned, it's that no thing or person can ever be a permanent fixture in your life. It's impossible when the only true constant in life is change. And the most powerful agent of change is death.

My father showed me how easily a person can disappear from your life, leaving behind nothing but the increasingly hazy memory that they were ever there in the first place. My mother showed me the same, in her own way. And the date representing both events looms closer and closer, like time is rolling down a hill and picking up traction with every day that passes.

From the deep corners of my mind rises a familiar itch. The overpowering urge to set my mind on anything but its current thoughts. The craving for a distraction.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Julia

O
VER
THE
PAST
TWO
weeks, both Giles and I have grown more observant and suspicious, which has made pranking a little more difficult. There have been many close calls and near misses, where one or both of us have narrowly avoided what the other laid out. But we've only grown more creative, often having to resort to more subtle forms of pranking.