Ben turned the volume up, cruising down the lonely highway, letting the promise of peace sink all the way into his weary bones.

Yes, he thought, carry on.

Chapter
Eleven

I EVENTUALLY FELL ASLEEP, ONLY TO BE WOKEN BY my mother a couple of hours later. She told me to clean and dress quickly. I was to speak with Harrison and Rose at their house posthaste. No time to delay.

She was in a foul mood, but I expected nothing less.

I was scheduled to stay with Andrew that evening, so cleaning and grooming took more effort than usual. It was important to be clean, but mostly I was eager to be cleansed of the day before. The least I could do was offer a little penance before standing in front of Rose.

Exhausted from too little sleep, I dressed. Nausea knotted my gut again, likely from all the stress. Properly covered by undergarments—a slip without any colorful flowers that Andrew might see and object to—and my long, white dress, I made my way down to the kitchen, where my mother had fixed breakfast and was busy over the sink. The smell of food made me a bit queasy, but I knew I had to eat.

“Thank you,” I said, taking a seat before toast and eggs.

She didn’t respond, but that didn’t surprise me. Jamie and I had put her through hell. She looked as if she’d been up for hours.

I ate quickly and in silence, knowing that any discussion would bring some form of disapproval. Rose would likely give me all I could handle.

I forced down the eggs and stood to carry my empty plate to the sink. Wasting was prohibited, but the toast would keep.

“How’s Jamie?” I asked, no longer able to keep silent.

My mother turned to look at me. Disappointment and anger flashed behind her eyes.

I dropped my gaze and placed my dish in the empty sink. “Please tell me he’s okay.”

Her response was lifeless. “They’ll be monitoring him closely for the next couple of days, but Dr. Charles says he’ll recover.”

I closed my eyes and swallowed. “Thank God,” I whispered.

“At least someone’s looking out for him.”

Meaning I hadn’t been. His injuries were my fault.

“I talked with him this morning,” my mother said, vigorously wiping down the counter.

“You did?”

“He woke up for a bit, but his mind is still jumbled. He lost a dangerous amount of blood, was extremely dehydrated, suffered a concussion.” She stopped short and closed her eyes.

I knew the scolding was coming before she turned glaring eyes on me.

“He nearly died, Grace.”