Close to Home. Deborah Raney

a cloud of white dust behind him, thanks to the new load of gravel they’d just had spread on the driveway. He was going a little faster than usual, it seemed, and she squinted, trying—unsuccessfully—to read his expression through the windshield.

      She paused from her trimming, a sense of unease nudging her as he came closer, until she finally laid aside the sheers. When the truck skidded to a halt and Grant jumped out, she ran to meet him, heart in her throat. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

      “It’s Mother.” His jaw taut, Grant’s eyes held unaccustomed fear. “When I went to mow her yard, she wasn’t there. Her car was in the garage, but I couldn’t find her anywhere.”

      Audrey laid a hand to his arm, a hundred scenarios racing through her mind. None of which she wanted to give voice to.

      “When she wasn’t back by the time I finished mowing, I got worried. So”—Grant wiped at the sweat on his forehead—“I waited around a while and finally went by Landyn’s to see if she’d seen Mother.”

      “Had she?”

      He shook his head. “So we left the girls with Chase and drove all over town searching.”

      “Could she be playing bridge today?” The worst of Audrey’s imaginings took jarring shape, and she dreaded where this was going. “Maybe she just ran to the—”

      “Would you let me finish?”

      “I’m sorry. What happened?” It wasn’t like him to be so short with her. Unless something was very wrong.

      He patted her hand, a tacit apology. “I was this close to calling the police when we spotted her down by the river behind her house.”

      Audrey waited, scarcely breathing.

      “She was wearing her house slippers, and she was right down by the water like she was going in for a swim or something. I yelled at her, and she started back up the bank, but she slipped and was still struggling to get to her feet by the time Landyn and I got down there. I hate to think what might have happened if we hadn’t found her when we did.”

      “Oh Grant . . .” Audrey sighed. She glanced past him, half expecting to see Cecelia in the passenger seat of the truck. But it was empty. “So where is she now?”

      “Landyn’s with her. I told her to just stay long enough for Mother to get her bearings and make sure she’s okay. But I don’t trust her not to wander again.”

      “I don’t know what choice we have but to trust her, Grant. Your mother is not going to budge from that house until she absolutely has to.”

      He released a ragged breath. “Well, maybe we’ve come to the time when she absolutely has to. And even then, you know how determined she can be.”

      “So, what are you thinking we need to do?”

      “I don’t know.” He looked past her, turmoil etched on his features. “I’ll call her later this evening. See how she sounds. But I’m not going to sleep a wink with her there by herself. Not after this.”

      Audrey knew better. Nothing short of a tornado had kept Grant Whitman from sleeping eight solid hours every night of his life that she’d known him. “Tell you what . . . Why don’t we go check on her tonight, try and reason with her. I’ve got some chili on the stove. I’ll throw that into a pot, and we’ll take her dinner. Then we can—”

      “Not tonight.” He closed the door to the truck. “She seemed lucid enough when we left. Landyn said she’d call me in a bit. Let’s sleep on it.” The tiniest smile worked its way through the worry. “You know good and well that reason and my mother are mutually exclusive. If you think otherwise, it’s you I’m worried about.”

      “Don’t be so cynical. She just might surprise you. She’s an amazing woman. Stubbornness and all.”

      “Surprise me?” He fished his keys from his pocket and clicked the lock mechanism, waiting for the flash of headlights and the short blast of the pickup’s horn. “Not on this topic. Mother has made herself quite clear. She will move to a nursing home over my dead body.” He put an arm around Audrey and steered her toward the house.

      She clucked her tongue and patted his back. “Now, now . . . Let’s not borrow trouble before we know what we’re dealing with.”

      But she found no comfort in her own words. Cecelia Whitman was a force to be reckoned with, and Grant was right about one thing: CeeCee had made it quite clear to the entire family that she had no intention of going into a nursing home any way that didn’t involve kicking and screaming on her part. So if their suspicions about her were right, they had a dilemma on their hands for sure.

      Grant opened the front door. “We’ll talk to her. Tomorrow night.”

      “You want to get the kids involved?”

      The door shut behind them.

      “I think she’ll be more likely to cooperate if they’re in on it. Especially since Landyn’s already involved.”

      Audrey knew that was true. “Don’t forget Dallas invited his brother to come Tuesday.” Drew Brooks had been to family gatherings before and was always welcome, but if they were going to turn this into an intervention of sorts, they didn’t need any outsiders witnessing an evening that could turn ugly.

      Grant winced. “Would you mind calling Danae? Let her know this wouldn’t be the best time for a guest.”

      She sighed. “That’ll be a little awkward for them to uninvite him. But okay. I’ll call. I’m sure they’ll understand.”

      Chapter 7

      7

      The following Tuesday evening, Bree made a point to arrive at CeeCee’s ten minutes ahead of her usual time. She felt like a jerk for forgetting her last week. Grant had even called to be sure she planned to pick CeeCee up, which made her feel even worse.

      She’d apologized to CeeCee numerous times, until CeeCee finally told her to “just shut up about it.” Still, she didn’t want Tim’s grandmother to worry one minute that she’d been forgotten again, so Bree was determined to leave work early for the next few weeks if she had to in order to regain CeeCee’s trust—everyone’s trust.

      Grant had warned her they were going to be discussing some “difficult things” with CeeCee. Whatever that meant. She suspected it had something to do with Grant and Audrey’s concerns about CeeCee’s mental state. She’d noticed CeeCee was slipping a little. Nothing as bad as last week when she’d been late to pick CeeCee up and found her disoriented and in bed before seven o’clock. But then Bree wasn’t around Grant’s mother as often as the rest of the family was.

      She felt honored that Grant had wanted to be sure she was included in the conversation. But at the same time, it made her feel like a traitor because she had another date with Aaron for Saturday night. And she still hadn’t mentioned anything about Aaron to any of Tim’s family.

      On the drive out to the inn, CeeCee seemed completely herself, chattering on about her latest bridge game and what she’d made “the girls” for dessert. Bree wasn’t sure if Grant had told CeeCee about the conversation that was planned for tonight. Likely not, or CeeCee wouldn’t be going so willingly. Either way, she wasn’t going to be the one to spill those beans.

      But when they got to the inn and Bree had helped CeeCee up the stairs, she saw that everyone else was already gathered in a knot near the table making obviously forced small talk. The two babies snoozed on the floor in the corner of the great room, but the older kids had been sequestered in the basement with sandwiches and a movie. If that wasn’t a dead giveaway that something was up, Bree didn’t know what was.

      And CeeCee wasn’t fooled for a minute. Hands on hips, she panned the room with a scowl. “What exactly is it you’re all twittering about behind my back?”

      Grant turned to Audrey. “Can we go ahead and get started eating? Mother,