Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 137176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
“Mostly. She did seem quieter in the beginning. And when she thought I was my father and then my grandfather and she was trying to hide me… none of that made sense. I mean, it could make sense because she has dementia; I think seeing people or situations that aren’t real is part of the disease.”
Cass lifted his eyes for the first time and held my gaze. “That stuff just comes with the territory, doesn’t it?”
I knew what Cass wanted, needed my answer to be. It was written into his expression.
Despair.
Disbelief.
Denial.
I wanted so badly to tell him the words he needed to hear but I couldn’t lie to him. As badly as I wanted to protect him, I couldn’t risk letting him live a lie. I knew firsthand what happened when a person tried to do that.
So instead of answering him, I forced myself to continue with my line of questioning.
“Did you come out as gay to your family at any point?” I asked.
Cass shook his head. “There was no point. I knew how they felt about gay people. There’d been a few men and women, distant relatives, who’d been cut off because they didn’t hide their sexuality. They got cut off financially and no one in the family would speak to them, even their parents.”
“What about your grandmother?” I asked. “How would she have reacted?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure. I think she would have been okay with it because it was my father and grandfather who were homophobic. All she ever did was try to protect me. I think she even donated money and sat on the boards of some foundations supporting the LGBTQ community.”
I pulled in a deep breath. “Cass, we agreed that when I walked into that place with you, it would be as a cop and not your lover.”
Cass nodded.
“I saw things that I’m not sure you did. Things I wouldn’t have wanted to see if I’d been in your position.”
“Like what?” he asked tentatively. I could already tell he wasn’t going to believe me. Not at first, anyway.
“Your grandmother stiffened whenever we touched. Even when she had her back turned to us, she could see everything that was happening in the reflection of the glass. When we talked about how we were working through stuff so we could be together… she heard that. Really heard it.”
Cass shook his head. “No, you saw her. She wasn’t in her right mind. The way she thought I was still in school, that shit about me being my father, then my grandfather or whatever the fuck all that was about. How could she be aware of some things, but not others?”
I could practically feel Sully tensing the louder Cass’s voice got as he stuck up for his grandmother.
“There were some other things that didn’t make sense. When we got there, her nightgown was dirty and her hair was messy, right?”
Cass nodded. “Renly said she spent a lot of her time in the garden.”
“Did she wear gloves?” I asked.
“What?”
“Gloves. Gardening gloves?”
“What the fuck does that matter?” Cass shouted. He jumped to his feet, knocking the open bottle of water to the floor in the process.
“Hey, you watch how you—” Sully began as he too stood.
“Sully, shut up!” I snapped before directing my attention back to Cass. I didn’t give a shit about what my brother was feeling at the moment.
“Cass, I need you to take some deep breaths and just listen, okay? Please.”
He had moved to the wall closest to the door where Boone was still standing. I suspected being near the open door made Cass feel less trapped. I hated that I was the one making the walls close in on him. His eyes were glued to the floor, and he was sucking in breath after breath, but he nodded.
“Do you remember the widow who lived across the street from me and Sully and Dad? Sully mowed her lawn to make extra money. She spent a lot of time in her garden. People who work in gardens on a regular basis get dirt under their nails. They don’t wear gloves because they like to feel the dirt in their hands. That means the dirt gets into the divots and cracks of the skin around the fingertips. It’s almost impossible to get off in one sitting. Their nails get chipped and cracked. Your grandmother’s nails were spotless. Yes, there were spots of dirt on the backs of her hands, but it doesn’t make sense how they would have gotten there. If her fingers were perfectly clean, wouldn’t her entire hands have been the same? Her hands smelled like soap and lotion. Her nails were perfectly shaped, not cracked and broken. Her hair was a mess, but I could smell the shampoo or hair products. That stuff had to have been applied in the last twenty-four hours—”