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His mother’s room was on the third floor. She had a private suite with a view that looked out over the gardens in the back.
The door was ajar. Ian knocked quietly and entered.
Often he found his mother in bed dozing. Sometimes her attention would be fixed raptly on the TV set mounted high on the wall. Today, she sat in a comfy armchair by the window. Though her hearing was perfectly normal, she gave no sign that she recognized his approach.
He studied her in that moment, trying to remember a day when he had been part of a happy family of three. The image wouldn’t come into focus. All he could claim were wispy recollections—the scent of her perfume, the way she laughed, the warmth of the kitchen when she was cooking.
“Mother,” he said. “It’s me. Ian. I’ve stopped by to say hello.”
Still she stared out the window. Sighing inwardly, he sat down in the second chair. Now their knees practically bumped. Surely she knew he was there.
“Mother…” He tried again.
At last her head swiveled in his direction. Her once beautiful auburn hair was white, pulled back by some caretaker into a bun on the back of her head. Though years ago her skin had been soft and pale, betraying her Irish heritage, now her face and hands were wrinkled and sallow.
She gazed at him, her pale blue eyes vacant. “Did ye bring the ice cream, boy? I told them I wanted vanilla.”
He floundered, never accustomed to the random zigs and zags of her conversation. “It will be here soon,” he said, knowing she would soon forget whatever it was that prompted the request. “Do you know who I am?” He’d given up asking that question years ago, yet still he grasped at a connection that wasn’t there.
Her blue-tinged lips trembled. Without responding, she ignored him and returned her attention to the world outside the window. It was her way. Whenever something upset her, she vanished inside her head.
They sat there in silence for an hour. Ian had come looking for something, though he couldn’t have said for what or why. Nothing about his life had ever been normal…whatever the hell normal was. Even so, he’d found a measure of peace in his studies and his work.
Most parents hoped their children would inherit the best of both gene pools. Ian had always been terrified his DNA included the worst. Though he wasn’t a substance abuser, some would say he was addicted to his research and his own company. As for the Y chromosome, Ian had a small circle of friends, but was he really anymore sociable than his taciturn, close-mouthed dad?
He kept vigil with his mother for an hour. The mix of emotions in his gut was the same as always. Guilt. Pity. Distress.
It hurt to see this frail, frightened woman a prisoner in her own fragile, damaged brain.
Finally, he forced himself mentally to let her go. It was the same every time… almost like a death. He stood up slowly, so as not to startle her. Picking up his cell phone from the bed where he had laid it, he glanced down to see if he had any messages. There were none.
Stepping away from the window, he tried to end the visit on a positive note. “Your flowers are beautiful.” The small crystal vase sat on the table beside her bed.
At last, she looked at him again. The querulous frown was the most expression he had seen on her face today. “Your father brought them. I told him I hate carnations, but he never listens to me….”
One moment of lucidity, and then it was gone. Ian wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. For a split second his poor addled mother connected the dots correctly, but only to criticize her disappointing spouse.
He bent and kissed the top of her head. “I have to go now, Mama. It’s a long way back to London.” Six hours. Not so far at all. But he’d had all he could bear of this soul-crushing family reunion.
Her hands twisted in her lap, picking at a fold in her flowered cotton dress. “Have you seen the puppy?” she asked. “I don’t want him making a mess on the stairs like he did last night.”
“I’ll find him and take him out,” Ian said, his heart flinching inwardly. “Good-bye, Mama.”
* * *
Four months later…
* * *
Bella hurried up three flights of steps in the echoing stairwell and unlocked the oak door to her tiny, old-fashioned office. She’d been back on campus for an entire semester, and it was as if she had never left. Her time in Scotland seemed like a dream. Mostly. There were nights when she still cried herself to sleep, but that was understandable. Right?
After accepting the job offer from the university and doing her best to enjoy her last ten days in Scotland, she had flown home right on schedule. Diving into work helped take her mind off her broken heart. She was in love with Ian, but he didn’t love her back. She was neither the first nor the last woman to find herself in such a situation.
Though she checked the tabloids for news of him, as she had predicted, other stories now dominated the news cycle. It was impossible to keep up with her Scottish bachelor, even secondhand.
Moving on with her life was the hardest thing she had ever done. For the first month, she had checked her e-mail obsessively, convinced Ian would write a note and say he wanted her to return to Scotland. Gradually, the truth became inescapable.
Ian didn’t want her. The one saving grace was that she never had a chance to tell him she loved him. He had left Finley’s house so abruptly the words she had finally decided to say were left unsaid. It was for the best.
