Lane was dazed when she woke the next morning, aware of a vague sense that something was wrong, but unable to put her finger on what. Then she saw the hoodie tossed on the chair, smeared with a combination of mud and blood.
Mary—no, Hannah—was in the hospital.
And Michael was leaving.
She hadn’t expected him to be happy about the news, but she hadn’t expected rage, either. There had been a moment, as he opened the sketchbook, when his face had softened and some of the anger had drained away, a moment when she thought there might be reason to hope, but it hadn’t lasted. Instead, he had turned on her, lashing out like a wounded animal, accusing, blaming, and ultimately shutting her out. How could something she believed so right have turned out so wrong?
She showered and dressed for the hospital, frowning at the pale face and darkly smudged eyes staring back at her from the mirror. She scraped her damp hair into a ponytail, thought about dabbing on some concealer, a little lip gloss, anything to make her look less undead, then decided coffee would have to do.
With Hannah’s sketchbook in hand, she ventured down to the kitchen, trying to ignore the hitch in the pit of her stomach when she found it empty, the coffee machine conspicuously untouched. It shouldn’t come as a surprise. He’d made his intentions clear last night, and she couldn’t help noticing as she came down that the door to his room had been left open, the drawers of the bureau not quite closed, all the signs of a guest preparing to check out.
She found him in the den, packing the last of his books. He didn’t look up when she entered, though the subtle tensing of his shoulders told her he knew she was there. She took a deep breath, opened her mouth, then closed it again, wanting to find the words that would make him rethink his decision to shut Starry Point and his mother out of his life. In the end, she said nothing, just laid the sketchbook on the smooth mahogany table.
Michael glanced at it, then looked away. “I don’t want it.”
“You did—enough to come back and look for it. You should take it so you’ll at least have something of hers. I think she’d like to know you had it.”
His eyes, cold and steely, locked with hers as he leaned across the table and pushed the book back at her. “I need you to promise me—to swear to me—that you will never bring up my name to her. Never. Do you understand?”
Lane stiffened. “I have absolutely no intention of bringing up your name, not after everything she’s been through. Her doctor was adamant about not exposing her to any emotional upheaval. And if learning your last living son is within your reach but wants nothing to do with you doesn’t qualify as emotional upheaval, I don’t know what does.”
“Everything she’s been through?”
Lane fought to rein in her emotions. He needed clarity, not a lecture. “Michael, I know this is hard for you, that it brings up a lot of painful memories, but Hannah’s life hasn’t exactly been a picnic, either. She lost her husband, and then Peter, both in such awful ways. Then to be locked up for years, put through God knows what. It’s a miracle she survived at all. That’s all I’m saying. I’m not asking you to forget everything, but a little compassion would be a good thing for her right now. And for you.”
Michael wasn’t having it. He thrust his chin out, eyes flashing. “Whatever she survived, she created. Do you know why my father left that day? Why he headed out on the Windseeker when he knew full well there was a storm coming? It was because he couldn’t take anymore. He wanted a little peace and it killed him. She killed him.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Maybe, but it’s true. It’s what she does. She hurts the people in her life—my father, my brother, me. And now she’s dragged you in. I’m telling you, you need to stay as far away from that woman as you can get, which is exactly what I plan to do.”
Lane fought the tightening of her throat. He was staring at her, waiting for her to say something—good-bye probably. She let her eyes slide to the box of notebooks and legal pads near the door, the only proof that, for a time at least, he’d been a part of her life. Soon even that would be gone. She squared her shoulders.
“You do what you have to, Michael. I wish you’d stay, but I understand why you think you can’t. I won’t turn my back on her, though. Maybe because I didn’t go through what you did. Anyway, I have to leave for the hospital now. They’re weaning her off the sedation today, and I want to be there when she comes to. You can leave your key under the mat when you finish packing up. I’ll settle your bill to your card and mail you a copy of your receipt.”
Michael shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at his feet. “I’ll be happy to pay for the whole winter.”
So this was what it was now. Innkeeper and guest. Polite. Businesslike. “No,” she said with an evenness that surprised her. “Just for the time you were here.”
He cleared his throat, shuffled from foot to foot. “Lane, I know you think I’m some kind of monster for running out, but I just can’t stay. I thought maybe I could, that I could learn to deal with the memories, maybe even put them behind me. But I can’t now, not with her here. This is what I have to do.”
“I get that you think it is. But you told me once that I only had one mother, that I’d be sorry if anything ever happened to her. Do you remember that?”
“This is different.”
“No, I don’t think it is,” she said evenly. Getting self-righteous wouldn’t solve anything, and it certainly wouldn’t change his mind. “Hannah’s your mother, the woman who brought you into this world, and loved you in the only way she knew how. And I’m afraid that one day you’re going to regret this, and that you’ll have to live with it for a very long time.”
He shocked her by smiling, a slow, hard, bitter curl of his lips. “You think that’s the worst thing I’ll have to live with?”
“That’s a question only you can answer, Michael.” She turned away then, before he could see the tears pooling in her eyes, realizing too late that they’d never gotten around to saying good-bye.