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Definitely not, but I don’t bother to tell her that would be the case whether Nell informed her, or not. Instead, I pull back the covers and steady her arm, while she scoots herself up onto the bed.

“Will you read to me, Isa?” Laura tucks the blanket around her and lies back on the pile of plush pillows behind her.

“Of course. Any requests?”

“That one.” She points toward a murder mystery in the stack beside her.

I open the book, and something flutters out from the pages of it. Bending forward to grab what looks to be a photograph, I reach out and turn it over. On the other side is an image of two young boys, no more than ten, I’m guessing, standing side by side. By the color of his hair and eyes, it’s clear the one on the left is Lucian. Arm wrapped around the back of Lucian’s neck, the other boy wears a wily smirk on his face that makes me smile. Wet hair and sand scattered over their shirtless chests suggest they’re at the beach.

“What is it you have there?” Laura asks.

I hand off the picture to her, and her eyes crinkle with the smile she gives. “Oh, look at this. My Lucian and his best friend, Jude. Ten years old in this picture, if I recall.” The smile on her face withers to a frown. “Such a shame, what happened to that boy.”

“What happened?”

“Ah, it was all over the news, his father being so well known. The two were playing down in a cave. Must’ve been about four years after this photo was taken.”

“How old is Lucian now?”

“Oh, let’s see.” Tapping her cheek, she looks away, seems contemplative for a moment, and I wonder if she’ll remember, at all. “He’s going to be thirty-three in December.”

Thirty-three. Strange to think that I wasn’t even born when that picture was taken. “I’m sorry, go on.”

“So, anyway, they liked to explore. Boys, you know. One of their favorite games was chicken. Seeing how long they could wait out the tide. Well, the tide came in fast, and they tried to swim out. It was believed Jude lost his footing on one of the rocks.” The groove in her forehead deepens, and she shakes her head. “Wasn’t until Lucian was safely out that he watched his friend get swept out to sea. It took a number of years to get over the death of Jude. Even as he got older, he had vivid hallucinations of him. Rand would catch him down in the cave, sometimes, talking to himself.”

“Lucian had bad hallucinations?”

“The doctors called it trauma. But then I had him admitted, and they just … stopped.” Gaze cast to the side, it’s like she’s trying to avoid looking at me. “I don’t know what they did. But it worked.” The more she talks, the more troubled her expression turns. “Until it stopped working.”

She shifts on the bed and tugs the blankets up higher. “On second thought, I’d rather you didn’t read. I’m just going to sleep.”

Chapter 21

Lucian

Fifteen years ago …

“Lucian.” At the sound of my mother’s voice, I turn to find her standing alongside me. “This is Dr. Voigt. He’s going to help you.”

“Help?” Whatever was given to me has rendered me weak and listless, where I lie flat on my back with bright fluorescent lights blinding me. “Wh … where am I?”

“We’re in a hospital.” The unfamiliar voice belonging to a man answers this time. “We treat young men and women with your afflictions.”

“Affliction?”

“Sexual deviances.” At the side of the bed, a tall, slim man with dark hair and spectacles stands with his hands crossed over a clipboard in front of him, and on his finger, I notice the ring. The same one my father wears.

Ice curls through my veins, and eyes wide, I shake my head.

“I don’t … belong here.” Tugging at the straps on my arms is futile, as they don’t seem to give, the leather biting into my skin.

“For God’s sake, Lucian, you drowned.” My mother opens her purse, rifling around until she pulls out a Kleenex that she lifts to her nose, and it’s then I notice tears in her eyes. “You had to be revived. Don’t pretend like it didn’t happen. Do you have any idea what we’ve been through, the last couple of weeks? How this looks?”

“I wasn’t trying to kill myself.”

“I wish you were! Do you honestly think the alternative sounds better?”

Through the haze of drugs, I vaguely remember the bath. Holding my breath. Getting off. Consumed by my loss of Solange. “Mother, I was just playing around. I don’t need to be admitted for this.”