Jena wasn’t what Will had expected.
She was more abrasive, more scattered than he’d imagined from the information he’d gathered. But then, it was always a little awkward getting to know someone you’d researched, and in this case, someone you’d looked into intensively.
He’d lived a few towns over when the fire had happened. Had heard rumours. Knew she’d been sent away and always wondered why. It just seemed strange, sending a kid off into the world right after her whole family had died. It was one of the things that had always niggled at him about the events here on this farm.
Will was determined to get to the bottom of it.
He watched as Jena and Cade headed to the blue Toyota with the surfboard strapped to the top and drove down the driveway, the battered vehicle kicking up dust in its wake. He felt a little bad for lying to Jena; he could see how much she needed to speak with Rose, but Rose was his boss. They might get along well, but he had to toe the line on this.
He closed the front door and walked back down the hallway to the second lounge that was now Rose’s room. He fished the key out of his pocket and unlocked the door to step inside.
‘I heard the car start. Told you she’d leave, didn’t I?’ Rose coughed as she tried to struggle into a seated position.
Will walked across the room to help, plumping her pillows as she leaned forward, hooking the spare one off the chair next to the bed to put behind her head. When she was comfortable, he took his customary seat.
‘I actually thought she’d try to come in here, which is why I locked the door.’ He looked at Rose differently now, seeking some change in her face, her demeanour. But it was the same as it had been every day of these past few weeks.
Rose was giving him nothing.
‘It was a possibility, but my little bird, she runs. She always has, even before ….’ Rose shook her head, sorrow making the many fine lines around her eyes crinkle together.
Will ran his tongue over the back of his teeth, weighing his words. ‘Why didn’t you want to see her today?’
Rose let out a long sigh, sinking into the pillows as she did. ‘I’m not ready.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘I know you don’t understand, but there’s a lot of time and distance between me and the girl. She’s like a bull in a china shop sometimes, and I wasn’t ready for her to come in here and charge around.’
‘Yeah, I bet she’s got a lot to say to you.’ He tried to temper the words with kindness, but it was hard.
Rose caught the tip of his accusation and turned her glare on him. ‘You need to treat your elders with respect, Will. You’re only here by my good grace. Remember that.’
‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ he said, scooting forward on the chair so that they were closer. ‘I can tell there’s a lot of history there, and pain. In my line of work, I see it a lot.’
She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Why are you in this line of work, Will? You’re good at your job, but it’s not the norm for men. Not that I’m complaining.’ Rose smiled to herself and let her eyes drift shut.
Will swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to push down the memories of his own tragedy; the one that had prompted him to get into caring for those close to death. He needed to see their eyes, to know if what he’d seen at his own mother’s passing held true for others. ‘I just want to help out, to make the hard times easier for those in their last days.’
‘Far from my last days, boy.’ Rose coughed and he grabbed the cup of water by her bed, offering it to her. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the straw, her tongue sliding out to capture it. He held the cup steady, knowing she wasn’t up to doing it herself. She let the straw go with a sigh. ‘I’m not done for yet, but I appreciate the help all the same.’
Will pressed his lips together. People often thought they had longer than they really did, but it wasn’t his place to say that. They realised soon enough. He reached for another pillow, grabbing an end in each hand and considering the weight of it as he fluffed it up and then tucked it behind her head.
Maybe she’d make it to the rest home, maybe not. From what he knew of Rose, he had a feeling that what she really wanted was to die in this house. Her daughter, Pat, wasn’t having a bar of that, though, and as much as Jena said she wanted to be here for Rose, the rift between grandmother and granddaughter was too big right now.
It didn’t really matter to him whether they healed that wound; what mattered was that the truth would come out in the process no matter the result. It wasn’t a lie that he found comfort in helping those in their final stage of life, but what he really yearned for were the secrets that came out when people were dying. Secrets that might explain the mysteries he’d found no reasons for. Yet.
And the Benedict Farm mystery was in his top five.