Monster Among the Roses

My mouth fell open.

Shock and confusion mixed with anger. But seriously, what the fuck? I’d just survived a week from hell, almost lost my mother, and still might lose her if she didn’t recover. Why would he do this to me?

Offering no explanation, he held out his hand. “The keys to the truck, if you please.”

I blinked, not quite able to process what he was saying. After a second of making no sense of his words at all, I shook my head, even as I dug the keys from my pocket. As I dropped them into his waiting palm, I said, “I don’t understand. What happened? Is this because I missed four days?”

“Of course not.” Henry stepped closer, his eyes narrowed. “I thought I made it explicitly clear to you not to hurt her.”

I squinted, even more confused. “You mean Isobel?”

He drew in a sharp, livid breath as if offended I would dare to say her name.

“I didn’t hurt her,” was all I could think to say. “I would never.”

“Oh really?” he challenged, lifting his eyebrows. “Then explain her rose garden to me.”

With no idea what he meant by that, I blew past him, marching into the house and toward her garden.

“Hey,” he boomed, hurrying to catch up. I began to walk faster. He latched a hand around my upper arm just as I shoved open the French doors leading into the conservatory. But I didn’t need to take another step. All the heads of her roses had been chopped off and lay scattered on the ground like dead soldiers who’d lost a war.

I stood there, frozen, gawking. Air rushed from my lungs. “Who…” I gasped for breath and whirled toward Henry. “Who did this?”

I would kill the bastard. I’d grab him—or her—by the neck and smash his head into a wall for touching Isobel’s precious roses. How could anyone be so cruel?

“Who do you think?” Henry said quietly. “Isobel did it herself.”

I blinked, not understanding. But the look in his eyes narrowed until I knew it had to be true. His expression was too bleak, too defeated.

Shaking my head, I turned my attention back to the roses. “No. No way. She wouldn’t.”

“I caught her in the act, scissors in hand.”

“But…” My head wouldn’t stop moving back and forth, denying it. “Why?” I croaked. “Why would she do this?”

“You tell me.” His voice was low and full of venom.

I glared at him. “If you think I caused this, that I did something to make her upset enough to do this? You’re fucking insane. I’d never cause her this much despair.”

Needing to see Isobel, to learn what was wrong, I started toward the library. But Henry caught my arm, his fingers digging deep into my bicep.

I growled at him. “I’m going to find Isobel.” And then I was going to kill whoever had hurt her.

“No. You’re leaving. Right now.”

I barked out a harsh laugh. Yeah right. The woman I loved was suffering. No one was going to keep me from seeing her.

“Get out of my way.” I didn’t want to hurt the old man, but he was beginning to piss me off.

“Constance,” Henry called, “call the police.”

Shocked, I glanced over to find Constance, Lewis, Mrs. Pan and even Kit standing there, gaping at me. Mrs. Pan was crying softly into a tissue, Kit was hiding behind her as if scared of me, and Constance held a phone in one trembling hand. Lewis stepped forward, murmuring my name gently as if to call me off.

I just stared at them, confused. “What the fuck is going on?” I demanded, only to turn back to Henry. “Do you really have no idea why she’s so upset? None at all?”

He finally wavered, looking sad instead of mad. “I wish I did.”

“Then give me ten minutes with her,” I pleaded, “and I’ll find out. I swear. This isn’t about me. It can’t be.”

But he stubbornly shook his head no. “She doesn’t want to see you.”

Shards of my breaking heart stabbed into me from the inside. “She said that?”

“Not in so many words,” Henry allowed as if not certain himself, but then he straightened and said, “But the meaning was clear. So you are no longer welcome at Porter Hall.”

I ground my teeth. “You realize how messed up this is, right? You think I did something wrong, but you don’t know what. You think I hurt Isobel, but you don’t know how. So you’re just…you’re sending me away forever? Just like that? Without any proof or explanation?”

“I made myself very clear the first day you came here, Hollander.”

“And I’m making myself very clear right now!” I shouted right back, spreading my arms wide. “I didn’t hurt her. When could I have? I’ve been stuck at the hospital with my dying mother. For God’s sake, don’t…” My chest heaved as I tried to steady my breathing. The only thing that had been keeping me together these past few days was the thought of seeing Isobel again, of her being there for me. And now…now they were telling me that wasn’t going to happen?

“Don’t do this to me,” I begged. “Just let me see her. I can fix everything. I know I can.”

When he shook his head, Lewis hurried over to help him contain me in case I resisted. I stared at both men, then I glanced at the women, and I wanted to howl at the injustice of it. Why were they keeping me from her?

Shaking my head, I turned away and left the house. I started toward the truck before I remembered it was no longer mine to drive.

Stewing, I walked back to the hospital. None of this made sense, and it was even more maddening that no one felt inclined to seek answers. I alternated between anger and heartbreak.

I could only guess what had happened to Isobel, but none of the reasons I came up with added up to why she’d never want to see me again.

Determined to find out, I snuck back onto the grounds of Porter Hall at 5 a.m. on Saturday morning to catch her on the lake before she began her run. I wasn’t sure if she’d run at five or seven. She’d only adjusted the time to seven after I’d started running with her, so I had a feeling she’d move it back to her normal pre-Shaw time now that I was supposedly gone from her life. But she didn’t show up at either five or seven, and I hated being away from Mom for any longer than that. So I returned to the hospital.

My mother didn’t improve, and yet it was impossible for me to focus all my concern on her. I wanted to hate Isobel for taking that away from me, except I was too worried about her to feel such a nasty emotion.

The next day, I was back at five. It was a Sunday. I didn’t know if she ran on Sunday mornings, but I went anyway.

She never showed up.

Alice grew pissed at me. I’d taken off two days in a row and disappeared from 3:30 a.m. to 8:30 a.m. But I couldn’t help it. I left again on Monday, needing to see Isobel.

Something in my life needed to go right. Sooner or later, I was going to get my answer as to why Henry had fired me.

My heart leapt at seven on Monday when I finally saw Isobel walking up the path toward the lake, wearing her jogging gear. Seven. She’d kept our running time. For some reason, that gave me hope. I stepped from the shadow of a tree I’d been waiting under and murmured her name.

She slowed to a stop, her stance turning weary. “What’re you doing here?”

It broke me to see her on guard. It confused me, and then it pissed me off. I hadn’t done anything wrong enough to deserve this.

“I need to talk to you.”

She turned right back around and started back down the trail toward the house. “Well, I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Why?” I started after her. “I’m so confused, Isobel. I have no idea what happened. Are you okay? Why did your dad kick me off the property and tell me never to come back? Why did you vandalize all your roses? Please, just tell me what’s going on here.”

“Don’t,” she warned. “Stop pretending to care. Your act won’t work on me any longer. It was a good performance; you were very convincing. But it’s over now.”

“Performance? What the hell are you talking about? I don’t understand any of this.”

She spun around to march up to me and glare into my eyes. “If you don’t already know, then you don’t deserve to understand. Now get off my father’s property. No one wants you here.”

I only shook my head. “You don’t mean that,” I said, desperate for it to be true. “You can’t mean that. We love each other. We—”

She slapped me. Hard. Right across the face. Then her finger shook as she pointed at my nose. “Don’t you ever say that to me again.”

Spinning away, she marched off.

I pressed my hand to my stinging face and gaped after her, shocked and growing more upset by the second.

“But why?” I yelled. “You can’t do this to me. You can’t make yourself become my everything and then turn around and shove me out the door. God…dammit, Isobel.”

I charged after her, grabbing her arm, and forced her around to face me.

She immediately began to struggle. “Get your hands off me.”

“Tell me why,” I growled. “Was it because of what those two girls at the restaurant said? You’re worried it was true, that I’m only with you because of your money? Was it because I didn’t talk to you directly over the phone when my mom got hurt? Why? Just fucking tell me.”

“Let me go.” She started to struggle more; her eyes became frantic. I didn’t think she was scared, though. How the hell could she be scared when it was just me holding her? I’d never hurt her. I loved her.

But her struggling became intense; I feared she’d hurt herself if I didn’t release her.

“I said let me go,” she screamed at the top of her lungs.

I didn’t want to. I needed answers. But I let her go, because shit, she looked scared of me.

It made no sense. I was so confused.

What the hell was happening?

“Why?” I whispered, defeated. Tears clogged my lashes. She was wrecking me. And I didn’t even know why. That was the worst part. The not-knowing.

She looked into my eyes, and I swear she felt the same pain I did. But all she did was whirl around and run inside her house.

I stayed outside, just standing there. It was the perfect opportunity for the clouds to open, for rain to pour down on me and drench my soul. I would’ve remained there, soaked and miserable, waiting for her to return, to tell me this was all just a cruel, nasty joke, or at least explain what was going on. But the morning remained uncommonly bright and cheerful. And Isobel didn’t return.

I remained, though, the pieces of my ruined heart scattered around my feet.

Eventually, a police car arrived. That’s when Henry stepped outside. I watched him talk to the officer before pointing my way, but I didn’t move, just stared at them, bleak and broken.

The officer approached me, pulling his handcuffs from his duty belt. I didn’t fight, or argue, or protest as he hooked me up. I just looked to Henry and asked, “Why?”

He actually appeared sad, as if he might feel bad for me. Then he slowly shook his head. “I don’t know.”

The police officer began to lead me to his patrol car. I glanced at Henry over my shoulder. “Would you, though?” I called. “If you ever found out, would you tell me?”

I think he gave a barely discernible nod. That was all the reassurance I needed. I was sure I could still get her back. I just had to find out what I’d done wrong. It couldn’t be that bad. I loved her, worshiped the ground she walked on. How could I have done anything so wrong that it couldn’t be fixed?

I didn’t think about my mother until they began to book me in. She was still in the hospital. Alice couldn’t sit with her forever. Who would stay with her if I ended up not being able to get out of here?

I’d trespassed on private ground. Nothing else. What was the maximum penalty for such a petty crime?

I never found out because they released me while I was being booked in. I never actually saw the inside of a cell. One correctional worker called out to the other who was taking my fingerprints, asking, “Is that Hollander?”

“Yeah,” came the reply as the guy kept most of his attention on rolling my pinky across an ink pad.

“Well, stop booking him in. His charges have already been dropped. He’s free to go.”

I didn’t know if it was Henry or maybe even Isobel who’d had me released, but I guessed it didn’t matter. They’d both made it explicitly clear I wasn’t welcome back.

So…I’d write a letter. That was what I’d do. I’d mail it to her, pour my heart into every word, and beg her to tell me what was going on.

I was already composing it in my head as I returned to the hospital to check on Mom.

When I returned to her room, though, she wasn’t there. Her bed was empty, and only Alice sat in the chair beside it, crying into her hands.

My heart stopped. “Wha…?”

Alice looked up. “Shaw.” She jumped to her feet. “Where the hell have you been?” But before she waited for an answer, she charged toward me and pulled me into a desperate hug.

I hugged her back, even though I couldn’t take my gaze away from the empty hospital bed.

“Where’s Mom? What happened?” I hadn’t been gone that long. Half a day. She’d been fine last night when I’d sat with her. We’d watched Wheel of Fortune together and laughed over some of the words we’d come up with to try to solve the puzzles. She’d been smiling, and her face had some color back in it.

She’d been fine.

“They found a blood clot.” Alice hiccupped and pushed some tears off her cheek. “A bad one. It was getting too close to her heart, so she went back into surgery.”

“Surgery,” I repeated, my skin prickling and then chilling with the strangest sensation. Relief and yet fear flooded me. “So she’s still alive?”

“Hollander?” a man in blue scrubs asked, glancing hesitantly into the room.

“Here.” Alice and I pulled apart to face him. “Is our mom okay?”

He blinked once, then said, “I’m sorry. No. She didn’t make it.” He went on to explain more. But I didn’t hear a thing after she didn’t make it.

It didn’t seem real.

My mother was dead.