The Forest of Sleepers (Nowhere Book 2)

s i x : c h e c k - u p

Rose silently closed the door to Evelyn's room and turned to Wyatt with heavy eyes.

"Let's get something to drink," she murmured.

They went downstairs and Wyatt watched as Rose poured a glass of lemonade from the pitcher she'd brought over along with the sandwiches and cobbler.

She handed one glass to Wyatt and they made their way out to the porch.

It was only eight o'clock, which meant it was nearing the twenty-fifth hour Wyatt hadn't slept. But now that his mother was settled and in bed, he actually felt a little more awake.

"You said your aunt had been the one to take care of her after your father's death," Rose said. "Did you know her very well?"

Wyatt shook his head. "I think I met her once, but I can't even remember why. All I knew was that she was poor and that Mother gave her a small check every month, which was why my aunt felt obligated to take her in."

"Hm." Rose took a long sip of lemonade. Wyatt couldn't help but marvel at how she looked exactly like each one of the Penny girls, even though they all looked completely different on their own.

She had Ophelia's button nose, Marigold's large eyes, and Birdie's straight, serious brow.

Her eyes were filled with sympathy as she said, "Your mama's sick, Wyatt."

She reached over and patted Wyatt's hand, a gesture that would usually make him flinch, but when it came from Rose, it just made him sad.

"I suspect some type of dementia that's been furthered by the neglect she's endured for the past six months. I'd tell you to make sure she sees the doctor, but I don't reckon he'd be able to do anything other than tell you what you already know."

Wyatt deflated. "She should've come here with me in the first place. I should've checked in sooner..."

"Honey, it's not your fault at all."

Wyatt studied his hands. His memories began trailing back to a place that he'd worked so hard to forget, but could never seem to get rid of completely.

"She hasn't always been like this," he said quietly. "It started in, um, in Holland."

"During the war?" Rose asked.

Wyatt nodded once. He hated, hated talking about it. He hadn't talked about his life before coming to America in ten years and he wasn't about to start now.

"Mother had an accident during an evacuation," he said. Even the vague answer brought dormant memories back to life. He cleared his throat. "A, ah, a piece of shrapnel in the skull. She lived with it for years until we struck it rich and she was able to get surgery in California. But ever since then..."

He heaved a sigh.

"That explains it, then," Rose said. "Thank you for telling me, honey."

Wyatt watched the ice cubes bob up and down in his glass. "Is there anything we can do for her?"

"I'm afraid not," Rose replied. "But now that she's here and she'll be taken care of, she might improve."

But the damage has already been done, was what she didn't say.

What she did say was, "If it gets to be too much..."

"I can handle it," Wyatt said. "But thank you."

Rose stood up and placed her glass on the table beside the rocking chair. "You're part of our family now. Don't be afraid to make us part of yours. You understand?"