Row’s blunt assessment hit her hard, but Isleen much preferred the pain of bitter honesty over the caress of sweet lies.
“Come on now.” Row wrapped her arm around Isleen’s shoulders and guided her through the house to a door underneath the loft. She stopped a few feet away. “I need to warn you about Alex before you go in.”
“Warn me? Why?” Isleen managed to close her lips before asking if Alex was going to try to hurt her. In her mind, underneath the soil in the middle of the labyrinth, she felt something writhing and roiling—a memory that wanted out, whose entire purpose would be to make her afraid. Nope. Not going to happen. She’d been a victim long enough and refused to be one ever again. If Alex wanted to hurt her, intimidate her away from seeing Gran, what Isleen lacked in physical strength she’d make up for with attitude.
She sucked the inside of her cheek into her mouth and bit down on it, not hard enough to draw blood, just hard enough to razor her focus to the doorway in front of her.
“Alex is…” Row trailed off as if looking for the exact right thing to say. “Hell, he’s checked out of life—doesn’t bother with living. Only his work matters. He and Xander haven’t spoken in over twenty-five years. At least not until four days ago, when Xan called his father to tell him that he found you and Gale.
“I just wanted to let you know that Alex doesn’t speak to anyone about anything except the Institute. He’s brilliant and social and energetic when it comes to the Institute and its associates. Probably because he and Gale founded the place together and it’s the only way he knows how to feel close to her. But he probably will ignore you and won’t speak to you at all.”
“So you’re telling me he won’t talk to me. And it’s not just me. He doesn’t talk to anyone unless it’s business related.”
Row let out a huff of relieved breath. “Precisely.”
“Why? Why doesn’t he talk?”
“The short answer: He lost his heart along with his voice when Gale left him.”
…when Gale left him. Why would Gran leave him? Row opened the door, and the question vanished out of existence.
A pink, frilly gown swallowed Gran’s tiny, gnarled body. The dips and valleys of her skull were painfully apparent through the sparse white hair corkscrewing out of her skull. Her skin was gray-tinged and sagged from her face like the jowls of a mastiff. She lay in the hospital bed, a quaint quilt of pastel colors folded at her waist. Bags of various fluids hung from poles, their tubes tethered to Gran at locations along her arms and hands. She looked so much better. And yet, she still looked horrible.
Isleen’s heart tightened like it was trying to shrink down a size.
She had wanted—oh, gosh, had she wanted—the old Gran back. The one she’d grown up with who was healthy in mind and body. The one who always seemed so wise and promised her better days. But this woman lying in the bed didn’t look like she was in her early sixties; she looked as if she were a hundred and twenty.
Gran stared, completely transfixed by Alex, an aged version of Xander. He sat next to the bed, cradling Gran’s hand between both of his and looked upon her with such a look of naked devotion that Isleen’s throat clogged and her nose burned. It didn’t take a love doctor to see he adored Gran, and Gran adored him. Their love filled the room so completely Isleen wasn’t certain she’d fit into the space.
She forced herself to walk to the bed. “Gran.” She bent over the only person who’d ever loved her and gave her a gentle hug. Hugging Gran was like hugging a mannequin—no response. When she pulled back, Gran’s attention remained locked on Alex. It was as if Isleen didn’t matter to her anymore.
Row stepped up next to Isleen and whispered in her ear, “They’ve been like this since we got Gale set up. It’s kinda sweet how devoted they are. Like you and Xander in the hospital.”
Isleen was going to have to follow up on that one later, because she sure didn’t have any memory of staring into Xander’s eyes with that kind of bald affection.
“Gran? I’m here. It’s me, Isleen.” She carefully clasped Gran’s free hand. It was like holding bones. She willed Gran to look at her, to acknowledge her in some way, but Gran didn’t and neither did Alex. Minutes passed and all Isleen could do was hope that Gran would turn her head and see her, even if only for a second.
“Sweetie, let’s leave them alone. It’s been a long day for everyone. You’re probably tired. Come on.” Row’s voice was soft, as if she were speaking to an injured child.
Isleen settled Gran’s hand back on the mattress and trailed Row from the room.
“Let’s get you settled upstairs. While you take a shower and get dressed in your night things, I’ll make us a late supper. Tomorrow, I’ll show you the Institute and…”
Row chattered away, but Isleen wasn’t listening. Maybe she was being selfish, but she couldn’t help yearning for Gran to at least acknowledge her. Her cheeks stung, and she knew the reason—disappointment and rejection.