Page 110 of Capturing You

“In the lunchroom. My legs were a little shaky. I reached for a chair to steady myself, but I missed. It was nothing serious.”

“If it wasn’t serious, then why did they take you to the emergency room?”

“Oh, you know this place.” She waved off his words with a flick of her hand. “Always worried about getting sued.”

“Or,” he said, “they were worried you’d seriously hurt yourself. Obviously, you hit your head.”

She touched her cheek gently, then dropped her hand as if she could hide the brace. “It’s nothing. A little bruise, a little sprain.” Her gaze flicked to Brooklynn, telling him silently that she wouldn’t discuss it further in front of a stranger.

“Brooklynn, would you mind?—?”

A knock cut him off, followed by a call through the door. “It’s Eileen.” She was one of the nurses.

Grandmother started to stand, but he got to his feet first. “I’ll get it.”

She sighed. “Go ahead and ask all your questions, even though I told you I’m fine.” He heard the slight reprimand in her voice, along with a hint of affection.

She hated growing old, but she loved him, and she loved that he cared.

After he found out how Grandmother really was, he’d ask Brooklynn to give them some privacy, then talk to Grandmother about telling Brooklynn his true identity, a request he’d never made before.

He opened the door to Eileen. “Where’s Dr. Shelley?”

“In her office. She asked me to send you in.”

“Can she not come here?”

The young nurse shrugged. “She just said?—”

“Fine.”

He didn’t like leaving Grandmother and Brooklynn alone, but it seemed the doctor was giving him little choice.

After telling the women where he was going, he headed back down the long hallway, praying Grandmother really was all right. And that she’d agree he could tell Brooklynn the truth.

Today.

CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE

Marie Ballentine had impeccable manners. Unlike her great-nephew, she chatted easily and put Brooklynn at ease, or tried to, anyway.

She was an elderly woman who’d been released from the hospital less than twenty-four hours before. Even so, she’d gotten up this morning, done her hair, put on her jewelry, and even added a dab of makeup. The woman was dressed in a cute leisure outfit Brooklynn guessed had come from Chico’s or Neiman-Marcus.

Meanwhile, Brooklynn felt like a slug in her ugly, baggy clothes and the hat that hid her hair. She hadn’t cared before, but now, meeting this woman who meant so much to Ford, she wished for one of her cute, brightly colored dresses, or even a pair of slacks and a silky blouse. She wished her hair were down. She wished she had makeup.

She wished she looked like herself. “How long have you lived here, Mrs. Ballentine?”

The woman set down her teacup with a shaky hand. “Not long. When Ford came to Maine, he wanted me to come too. Not that I have to do what he says, mind you.” She gave her a pointed look, as if to say,I have a mind of my own. “But he’s the only family I have left, and I didn’t want to be too far from him. Of course, he asked me to move into that house with him, but….” She looked at a photograph on an end table, and Brooklynn followed her gaze.

It depicted a tall man in his sixties beside a regal-looking woman—Marie in her younger days—along with Charles, Grace, and baby Rosalie.

Brooklynn brushed the woman’s arm. “I’m sorry about your family. I imagine the grief never goes away.”

She turned back to Brooklynn, her head tilting to the side. “He told you about that?”

“A little.”

“You two are an item, then?”