“I can’t understand it either, sis.” But I’ve got some ideas on who’s responsible, he thought.

“How’re Monica and the kids?”

“They’re at home. I decided I won’t be bringing the kids here. They don’t need to see their nana like this. As for Monica—she’s sick.”

“What?” Nicole’s eyes widened. “Sick? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to get the details right now, but you’ll need to stay in a hotel while you’re in town.” The last thing he needed was Grace interacting with another of his kin. Grace was the equivalent of flesh-eating bacteria in his household, and it would be nothing short of reckless for him to expose anyone else to her needlessly.

“All right,” she said. “I’m sure I can find a hotel downtown near the hospital. I’m only here for Mom.”

“That would be best.” He glanced toward the doorway. “I’m going back there to see her.”

“They told me only one visitor at a time. Go ahead, I’ll wait here.”

At the visitor’s check-in desk, the receptionist on duty noted his name, and buzzed him through the ICU doors. Troy hurried along the wide hallway.

He had spent many years of his adult life in hospitals, knew that great, life-saving work was done in these places routinely, but when you were there to visit a loved one, all of those years of experience faded and you were as worried as anyone coming there for the very first time. He found himself assessing the cleanliness of the floors, questioning the condition of the equipment, gazing critically at the nurses’ station as he passed by and wondering about the competence of the staff.

The walls of his mother’s room were see-through glass to facilitate constant supervision. He looked inside—and had to double-check the room number before he went in.

Oh, God, he thought.

Emotion constricting his throat, he pushed open the door.

Due to the upper body injuries she’d suffered, Mom was in traction. She was swaddled in so many bandages that looked as if she’d been mummified. Various monitoring pieces of equipment had been attached to her, screen displaying numbers that pulsed rhythmically, and an IV drip fed her vital nutrients.

Troy should have known the details of all of the vital signs being tracked, should have recognized the purpose of every instrument in the room—but all his years of training had vacated his brain when he’d crossed the room’s threshold. He was a little boy again, terrified of losing his mother, his whole world, forever.

He went to her bedside. Her eyes were shut, much of her face wrapped in gauze.

“I love you, Mama.” Tears wove down his cheeks. He leaned over her and kissed her forehead.

When he straightened, he found that Mom’s eyes had opened. She blinked slowly, gaze unfocused. She licked her dry lips.