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“Dexter.” Laura knew instantly.
The man's mother shrugged nonchalantly. “It was difficult after his father died.”
“What happened? I mean, how did he die?”
“There was a terrible accident. His car went over a bridge.” She took a gulp of her warm drink before continuing. “Dexter witnessed it all.”
Laura gasped, horrified. “That explains why he's—” she broke off quickly, realizing what she was about to say and who she was speaking with.
However, Adell nodded. “Yes, it's made him a very bitter and hateful young man. I couldn't help him, because he didn't want my help or anyone else's for that matter.”
“Why not? Seeing something so horrendous as the death of your own parent is very traumatizing.”
“He believes himself responsible.” She reached over and placed her cup on a saucer of bone china.
“But why?”
“He was in the car as well, but managed to escape before it went over.”
Sorrow filled Laura. “That doesn't make it his fault.”
“We all understand that, but for some reason he refuses to be allowed forgiveness.”
Two finely shaped brows drew together above Laura's eyes. “He must be in a lot of pain.”
His mother nodded. “That was why when I met you, I thought perhaps you might be able to help him.”
“Me? Because of my psychology background?”
“Yes, but mostly because I could tell you generally liked him. He doesn't leave that impression on much of anyone anymore.”
Laura was struck dumbfounded, then quickly flapped her tongue. “Yes, it's true I like your son. But, why shouldn't I? He's done a lot to help me, with my shelter and financial accounts.”
Adell shook her head again. “Before that, at the Christmas party. I saw the way you looked at him. The same way I looked at Norton ten years ago.”
She blushed hotly. “I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about.”
The older woman smiled. “You're just like him. I suppose that's why he likes you as well.” And at the girl's startled expression added, “I saw the same look on his face that night.”
Laura was quick to differ. “Now I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about.”
Adell sighed. “I suppose when the time is right . . .”
She allowed the words to drift away, unsaid. “Meanwhile, let's do change the subject. My son's somber disposition is beginning to depress me, and I do so want to enjoy your stay while I can.”
She smiled, responding, “Yes, let's do, by telling me where in heavens did you get all these seashells?”
Diverting their attention, and conversion, toward the glass-topped curio-style coffee table displaying many seashells exhibited on a black velvet case beneath it.
“I've collected them on our travels across the world.” She sat forward, excitement filling her voice.
Laura was pleased to be off the subject of their earlier topic. As it was, it left her with a lot of disturbing thoughts. “You've traveled the world?”
“Not all of it. Just a good portion.” She leaned over and pulled a drawer, bringing the shells out for closer examination. “This one I found in a little shop in Vienna, and this one at a flea market along the coast of a small village in Peru. Now this beauty is especially valuable to me. It was one of my firsts I found when Norton and I went to England together for the first time. It was a wonderfully romantic spot. We stayed at a quaint bed and breakfast near Bristol overlooking the sea. Many of nights we would stroll arm in arm along the seashore. One night I looked down and there it was, glistening up at me in the moonlight.”
Laura looked at the tiny opal colored shell and smiled. Somehow she understood it was not the shell itself but the memory of that stay which held its value.
“Listen.” She handed the shell over to Laura.
