Page 43 of Not a Word

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Holden already knew,” she said accusingly. “I went to his house to break the news to him, because you can never know how he’s going to react to these things, and it was really the kind of thing he should have heard from me and not his brother.”

“Mom, I—”

“Never mind. What’s done is done.” A pause, and then, “Do you know where he is?”

“Home, I guess,” I said.

“Well, he’s not home,” she said, like it was my fault.

“Then I have no idea. Has something happened?”

“I was making arrangements to admit him to Sharnwood and he got very upset and took off. He needs to be reassessed and go back into treatment.”

“He probably needs us more than a bunch of guys in white coats right now.”

“Sharnwood is not a psychiatric facility,” Mom said defensively. “They don’t wear white coats.”

“I’m just saying.” She was getting under my skin, but considering the circumstances, I didn’t want to be short-tempered with her.

“If he shows up at your house let me know immediately.”

“Okay, I will. Is there anything else we can do for you? Why don’t you come here, we’ll have dinner, we can start figuring out—”

“Thank you, Reece,” she said icily. “I need to be alone right now. I’m going back to the house, going to gather together what things I can without having to go into . . . you know.”

I didn’t know how she’d manage that. Anything she might need would be in the bedroom or adjoining bathroom. As if reading my mind, she said, “Or I may just have to buy what I need for now. I’ll get a room at the Marriott.” And suddenly, she thought of something. “I have to let people know.”

“Can I do some of that for you?”

“I’ll get in touch with Amelia and Geraldine.” Her older sisters. As far as I knew, Mom wasn’t all that close to them, but still, she’d have to tell them. “Oh god, and Frank.”

My father’s older brother, in Vancouver. “You want me to handle that?” I offered.

“Would you?” she asked. She’d never been close with her brother-in-law. My uncle Frank and Dad weren’t all that chummy either.

“I’ll do it,” I said. “If there’s anything else you need, call me.”

And a few hours later, she did.

I’d just finished breaking the news to my uncle over the phone. Frank had listened quietly while I told him what I knew. He was shocked, saddened, and said that whatever service there was, he wouldn’t be able to attend. He was recovering from cancer surgery and undergoing regular chemo treatments. I asked if my father had known he’d been sick. “No,” Frank had said. He hadn’t told him.

“We haven’t really talked in years,” he’d said.

The moment I ended the call, standing in our upstairs hallway after ten o’clock, the phone in my hand rang.

“Did Holden show up?” Mom asked before I’d even said hello.

“I’d have called you if he had.”

Diana had poked her head out the bedroom door, and I sensed Gage, in his room with the door open, was listening too.

“He won’t take my calls, and I took a taxi by the house again and he wasn’t there.” The worry in her voice was palpable. I was starting to worry too.

“If he’s upset with you,” I said, “maybe he’ll answer if he sees it’s me calling.”

“Yes, yes, he might,” Mom said forlornly, as though admitting some kind of personal failing.