A Sinclair Homecoming

CHAPTER THREE

THE TENSION BETWEEN Wade and his brother, Trace, was like a living, breathing thing, wedging itself in the open space as they traversed the sanitized halls of South Peninsula Hospital to their mother’s recovery room.

“Whatever you do, don’t go making promises that she can move back home,” Trace said. “Until Adult Protective Services says the house is fit for human habitation, she can’t move back, and trust me, it’s going to take a whole lot of cleaning to put that house back together again.”

“Fine. What’s this about Dad refusing bail?”

“He doesn’t want to come home, I guess,” Trace answered with a shrug. “But he’s not my concern. He can sit in that jail all he wants. Better for him, anyway. We have bigger problems and Dad’s booming drug business isn’t one of them.”

Wade exhaled in irritation. Trace wasn’t one to exaggerate but surely it couldn’t be as bad as everyone was making it out to be. Seemed everyone was running around being Chicken Little. So the house was a mess. They’d clean it and set things to right. Shouldn’t be a case for so much hand-wringing. He checked his watch. “After we see Mom, drop me off at the house and I’ll pick up Mom’s car to use while I’m here. No sense renting a car when there’s one sitting in the driveway.”

“Fine. But don’t try to go into the house at night.”

“And why is that?” he asked, irritated. “Is the boogeyman going to jump out from underneath the sofa?”

“No, smart-ass, you might trip and cause an avalanche and then we’ll have two family members in the hospital. I know you don’t believe me but you will when you see the house.”

Trace was right; Wade didn’t believe him. The house couldn’t be that bad. He grew up in that house. There was no way his mother had turned into the kind of person who hoarded to a dangerous level. The idea—well, the idea was too much for him to imagine or accept.

“Just so I know...am I going to get the cold shoulder the entire time I’m here?” he asked Trace.

“Depends. Are you going to start being part of the solution or part of the problem?”

“What are you talking about? I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Because our mother had a heart attack. Tell me if she hadn’t, that you would be here like we asked you to be.”

He couldn’t rightly say that and Trace knew it. “Some of us have lives that we can’t just drop because something is going on at home.”

“Don’t start acting like your job is superior to everyone else’s. We all have personal lives that are being disrupted by the current situation. You haven’t cornered the market on being inconvenienced.”

“That’s a pretty big glass house you’re standing in, don’t you think?” Wade said. “Seems to me you’re being a bit of a hypocrite.”

“I’ve already made amends and apologies for my actions. How about you? Besides, me and Miranda are square. I can’t say the same for you. I was a dick for leaving her holding the bag with our parents and I own that. It’s time for you to pony up, too.”

“Don’t lecture me, little brother. I’m in no mood.”

“Well, step up and I won’t have to. Did it occur to you that I need my big brother? Yeah...well, I was counting on your support. Imagine my surprise when I was flatly denied. Didn’t feel good.”

“Are you finished crying? Jeez, Trace, when did you turn into such a girl?”

“Screw you, Wade. When did you turn into such a prick?”

A nurse shushed them with a warning look when their voices threatened to get louder. Trace buttoned up but looked filled with the need to say a whole lot more. Thank God for small favors. Wade’s head was splitting from a long flight seated next to a crying kid and he was ready for a beer and bed. “Can we just get this over with? It’s been a long day.”

Trace nodded and they walked into their mother’s room. Wade stared. Wires and tubes flowed in and out of his mother, while electronics monitored her every function. A bubble of fear rose in his throat at the realization that his mother could’ve truly died. Intellectually, he knew that as he grew older, so did his parents but in his mind, his parents were the same as they ever were. He was wrong.

“Mama.” The word slipped from his mouth in a worried whisper, echoing the shock of seeing her so diminished and frail.

Her eyelids fluttered open and she focused on her sons. It took a moment for her to realize it was her oldest son before a wan but happy smile followed. “W-Wade?” She lifted her hand and motioned for him to come closer.

Wade forced a smile past his frozen lips and approached her bedside to hold her hand gingerly. “Hey there, Mama...what kind of trouble are you up to that I had to come all the way home?” he teased as he bent to kiss her cheek.

“My beautiful boy is home,” Jennelle murmured, tears leaking from her eyes. “It’s been too long, son.”

The mild admonishment landed like a pair of cement boots and he had to force himself not to get defensive. “Not from choice, Mama,” he lied. “But I’m here now so let’s focus on that, okay?”

She smiled and weakly squeezed his hand. “Absolutely. My boy is home. That’s all that matters.”

In spite of being irritated as hell at Trace, he winced at their mother’s exclusion of her other son. She must be pissed because she wouldn’t even glance Trace’s way. And if there was any confusion as to just how she felt, Jennelle clarified by saying to Trace, “You can go, now. I’d like to speak with the one child who hasn’t betrayed me.”

“Ahhh, c’mon, Mom,” Trace groaned, slapping his hand on his thigh. “Don’t start that crap again.”

She closed her eyes. “Make him go away, Wade.”

Wade sighed, caught in a bad spot. He looked to Trace, beseeching him to give them a few minutes, and Trace muttered something unflattering under his breath but ducked out.

Once they were alone, Wade said, “Mama, aren’t you being a bit harsh? You know Trace and Miranda are worried about you.”

“Judases, the both of them,” Jennelle said. “Kicked me out of my own home. Never thought I’d see the day when my own flesh and blood turned on me like that.” A tear appeared at the corner of her eye, and Wade wiped it away gently. She smiled gratefully. “I know you’d never do something like that. You and Simone were always the ones who were on my side. No matter what.”

He bit his tongue. He loved his mother dearly but she had a habit of being manipulative when it served her. Apparently, that hadn’t changed. “Mama, tell me about what Adult Protective Services said. I don’t understand how they could kick you from your home if there wasn’t cause.”

She withdrew her hand and shook her head, bewildered. “I don’t know. It had to be Miranda’s influence. She’s so tight with those government types. She’s been on a crusade to oust me from my home for months and she finally accomplished it!” Jennelle gasped, wincing with pain, and Wade knew he’d have to see for himself what was going on.

“It’s okay, Mama...we’ll get this figured out. I promise.”

“Bless you, son,” she said, her eyes watering. “I feel so much better knowing you’re home. I’ve been so alone. Being attacked by your own children will do that to you.”

Wade didn’t believe that Trace and Miranda had deliberately ousted their mother, which meant there had to be more to the story than Jennelle was sharing. However, as weak as she was, now was not the time to drag it out of her.

He smiled and patted Jennelle’s hand gently. “I want you to rest. Trace is going to take me to the house and I’m going to pick up your car to drive while I’m in town. Is that okay with you?”

“Of course, honey. No sense in spending good money if you don’t have to. That’s my frugal boy.” Her voice hardened. “But don’t you let either of those turncoats into my house. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Mama. I hear you. Now you rest. You hear me?”

Her eyelids closed on a relieved sigh, and Wade left the room to find Trace. He found Trace and Miranda talking with another woman in the lobby.

Miranda saw him first and motioned for him to join them. “Wade, perfect timing. This is Morgan O’Hare. She’s been assigned Mom’s case through Adult Protective Services.”

He frowned, his gaze snagging on the attractive woman. She stopped talking to Miranda to smile at Wade, and he was struck by how blue her eyes were from behind elegant, dark-framed glasses. She came forward with her hand outstretched. “Hello. I’m Dr. O’Hare but you can call me Morgan if you like. I can appreciate the sensitive nature of the situation and I can assure you I will do my best to see that your mother gets the care she needs.”

Wade accepted the perfunctory handshake but wasn’t quite clear what was happening. “I don’t understand...why is my mother being evaluated?” He looked to his siblings for answers but it was Dr. O’Hare who answered.

“Wade, because of the unique situation surrounding your mother’s heart attack and the state of your mother’s house, APS feels it’s prudent to assess your mother’s mental state to find if she’s competent to assume responsibility for her care.”

“Whoa, whoa...wait a minute...are you saying that my mother’s mental health is being questioned simply because she’s fallen down on her housekeeping?” he asked, horrified at this turn of events. It was one thing to deal with their family’s problems internally and quite another to have complete strangers poking around. His family had suffered plenty of that when Simone had died. Seemed everyone had had a reason to poke, stare or flap their gums about business that was none of theirs. “I think we all just need to take a step back and stop overreacting.”

Miranda glared. “You know it’s not that. As if we’d be so petty as to go through all of this over a little clutter? Honestly, Wade, pull your head out of your butt for just a minute and hear what Dr. O’Hare is saying.”

The pretty doctor smiled in spite of the tension and said, “A situation like this is rife with tension within the family. I can suggest a good family therapist if you’d like.”

“I don’t need a therapist. My mother doesn’t need a therapist,” he growled at the doctor and jerked his thumb at his siblings. “You two...may I have a moment, please?”

Miranda sent a quick look of apology to the doctor as they followed Wade a few feet away. “Don’t make this harder than it already is,” she said to Wade. “You haven’t seen the house so you don’t know what we’ve been dealing with. What I’ve been dealing with! I knew something like this was going to happen and I hate to say that it sucks to be right. That house is not the house you remember—because it’s buried under a half ton of mess!”

“Settle down. I think we’re jumping the gun a bit,” Wade said, trying to rein his own temper. “Let’s just stop a minute and assess before we run off half-cocked, making decisions that have long-reaching consequences.”

“How much more of a consequence needs to happen before you realize what’s going on? Our mother is a hoarder. She nearly died in her own house because the paramedics couldn’t get to her,” Trace added in a harsh whisper. “Remember how I asked if you were going to be part of the problem or the solution? Well, now’s the time to decide.”

“And I told you I’m here,” Wade reminded him, trying hard not to clench his teeth. The Sinclairs had never been accused of suffering a shortage of stubbornness and that stubbornness was in full swing among all three. “But I’m not about to be reprimanded by the two of you for my supposed shortcomings. We have a situation that needs to be taken care of, so I suggest we do it without causing further embarrassment to our family.”

Miranda flushed and nodded but she looked as if razors were stuck in her throat. “Fine. But you have to accept that Mom needs help and has needed that help for some time now.”

“Perhaps. I am reserving judgment until I have seen for myself this supposed condemned situation at our parents’ home.”

Trace chuckled with a shake of his head. “Fine. You stubborn jackass. See for yourself. I’m done with this conversation and done with your holier-than-thou attitude. Miranda, he’s all yours.” And then Trace stalked off, leaving Wade and Miranda to deal with the doctor.

“That was real mature,” he muttered, bracing his hands on his hips as Miranda shook her head as if ticked off with both her brothers. “Let’s get this settled,” he said and returned to the awaiting doctor.

“I apologize for the flared tempers. We don’t always see eye to eye,” Wade said. “Thank you for coming down but I don’t think we’ll be needing your services. My family prefers to handle the situation privately.”

Dr. O’Hare blinked as if she didn’t quite understand and then shook her head, puzzled. “Mr. Sinclair, I’m sorry if I didn’t make myself clear but due to the circumstances, I am required to give your mother a full mental-health evaluation.”

“She doesn’t need a mental-health evaluation,” he said, looking to Miranda for help, but she remained silent, and he knew he was on his own. “Listen, my mother has been under some strain but I think with the help of her family, we can mitigate whatever concerns Adult Protective Services has.”

Morgan pushed her glasses farther on her nose with a small, precise movement and said, “I can appreciate the terrible strain your mother has been under as well as your entire family, given your circumstances, but the evaluation is mandatory.”

Wade was losing ground quickly. He crossed his arms. “This is borderline ridiculous.”

“I agree.” She smiled but he got the distinct impression she was referring to him and not Adult Protective Services. Opening her file, she selected one of the glossy eight-by-ten photos taken by APS when the house was condemned. “Mr. Sinclair, I find a picture to be worth a thousand words in these types of situations.” She handed him the photo with a brisk but apologetic smile. “It can be a shock to see a family member living like this, and denial is common. But as you can see...your mother was living in very dangerous conditions.”

What the... Wade stared at the photo, unable to comprehend what he was staring at. Nothing looked remotely familiar from his childhood. He wasn’t even sure what room he was staring at because everything was obliterated by floor-to-ceiling junk. “What the hell...?” he breathed, shooting a shocked look at his sister. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Miranda was neither shocked nor surprised and proceeded to explain. “That’s the living room. Or at least, it used to be. See that tiny, clogged walkway? That’s the hallway toward what used to be our bedrooms. Simone’s bedroom is off to the left. And the kitchen...well, you ought to be lucky that picture isn’t a scratch-and-sniff. She’s been sleeping in the bathtub for months.”

Wade stared at his sister. His mother had been sleeping in a bathtub? “How do you know this?”

“Talen told me. She tried to deny it but it’s true.”

Wade returned the photo, sick to his stomach. The pounding behind his eyeball had turned into a battering ram against his skull. He’d wanted to believe that his siblings had exaggerated, that somehow this was all some big misunderstanding but there was no misinterpreting that picture. Mounds of unrecognizable garbage and clutter filled every nook and cranny that he could see. And if the entire house was like that? “How’d this happen?” he asked, talking out loud mostly to himself. He didn’t expect an answer.

“It’s too early to tell until I’ve done a full evaluation but I do know a little bit about your family’s personal history, and I’d say this may stem from grief that never found an appropriate outlet.”

Simone. Everything always spiraled back to Simone. Of course it did. “My sister.”

“Yes.”

Miranda piped in, saying, “Mom won’t let anyone into Simone’s room anymore. It’s weird, almost as if she’s trying to forget that Simone is gone. She spends a lot of time in that room.”

“Have you been in there?”

Miranda shook her head. “She guards it like a watchdog. I don’t know what’s going through that head of hers.”

So much for a quick three-day trip to sort out details. “What do you need from us?” he asked, resigned.

“Just your cooperation. She’ll need your support but she also needs to know that you’re not going to enable her to hurt herself again. It’s a delicate balance of support and tough love. I won’t sugarcoat things...these types of situations are hard on everyone involved but I have seen positive outcomes with proper therapy.”

“My mom will never agree to therapy,” he said grimly. “I can tell you that right now.”

“Well, you’d be surprised what motivates people. That’s where the support comes in. I’ll wait to introduce myself until tomorrow, seeing as I’ve already made contact with you. Likely, what I have to say is going to be upsetting.”

Upsetting? That was too mild of a word. He nodded. “What time?”

“How’s 10:00 a.m.?”

He looked to Miranda. “That works for me. How about you?”

She nodded. “I’ll check with Trace.”

“Thanks.” He had no wish to talk to his brother at the moment. He returned to the doctor. “We’ll be here.”

Dr. O’Hare smiled. “Excellent. It was a pleasure to meet you. I wish it were under different circumstances.”

It was probably a standard comment meant to relax people but Wade caught a flash of genuine emotion in her eyes. Or at least, he thought he did. Hell, maybe he was seeing things. Everything in his world had just been tipped on its ass. He ducked his head to the doctor in goodbye and he and Miranda left the hospital to go pick up his mom’s car.

His last thought as Dr. O’Hare walked away—inappropriate and flustering—was how pretty she was and how he wished she’d been a wizened old man with a bald head and knobby knuckles.

If that were the case he surely wouldn’t be spending undue time thinking of those deep blue eyes behind those designer frames.

And what the hell was he doing thinking of any woman in that capacity? He’d told himself he was going to take a breather in the romance department after suffering through a particularly uncomfortable breakup with Elizabeth, his mostly casual bed partner. Well, he’d thought what they were doing was casual. When he realized Elizabeth had different ideas, he’d decided to cut ties. Better that way than dragging out something that was never going to go where she’d hoped it would.

So that left the question: Why was he noticing how deep and blue Dr. O’Hare’s eyes were? Had to be the strain of the moment because if he were thinking straight... Hell, no. It just wouldn’t happen.

Besides, he had a feeling things were going to get worse before they got better—and that pretty doc was going to be in the center of it all.

And not in a good way.

CHAPTER FOUR

MORGAN LEFT THE HOSPITAL, thinking of the Sinclair family and everything they’d been through over the years. She remembered when the youngest Sinclair went missing and then was found the following day by Trace Sinclair, frozen to death on the mountain. The poor girl had been brutalized and left to die. So pretty, so young. It’d been a senseless tragedy that’d scared the entire town. For weeks everyone had been on hyperalert, terrified that the killer was among them. Her father had been paranoid, insisting on a strict curfew for his kids, particularly his daughters. Her younger sister, Mona, had actually known Simone. They hadn’t been friends, per se, but Simone had been a tidal wave of charisma and it’d been difficult to prevent getting swept up in her energy. Mona had told her how pretty and sweet Simone had been.

Cheerleader, dance team, pep club, French club—the girl had been into everything.

And then, just like that, she was gone. Her life snuffed out at the whim of a psychopath. Add in the fact that her killer had never been caught and well, it created a perfect cocktail for paranoia in a small town.

Morgan vaguely recalled Wade from school—he’d been older than she was in school—and of course everyone had had a crush on Trace, even though he’d been over the moon gaga for Delainey Clarke. But she remembered that Wade had been the quiet one. She also remembered that he drove a burgundy Chevy Blazer. Why she remembered that, she didn’t know. Well, time had been kind to the Sinclairs in ways that fate had not. They were a good-looking bunch. No quirks of DNA in that chain.

She also remembered that David hadn’t liked the Sinclairs, particularly Trace. More than likely because the Sinclair brothers were athletic, ruggedly handsome and smart and the girls were beautiful, both in different ways. Ahh, David and his opinions. He’d had so many of them. And of course, if she didn’t share his opinions, he’d had ways of impressing upon her his wisdom. Morgan suppressed a shudder and couldn’t help the glance over her shoulder, even though she knew her dead husband wasn’t going to be behind her, watching.