The Lost Hours by Karen White Read Free Book Online Page A

condensation dripped on the mahogany surface and he quickly wiped up the spot with a napkin before his grandmother had a chance to say anything. “Piper Mills. The name rings a bell.”
    Lillian took a deep breath, wrinkling the letter in her hands as she balled them into fists in her lap. “About six years ago she was regarded as one of eventing’s sporting elite and an Olympic hopeful. The rumor was her grandfather had already bought plane tickets to Athens.” She smiled ruefully. “Then at Kentucky she fell from her horse and he landed on her. Nobody knows for sure, but they say it was her fault, that she knew something was wrong when there was still time to pull back but she continued into the jump. She broke her back, shattered her leg and a few ribs, and punctured her lung. They had to euthanize her horse. She hasn’t ridden since.”
    Tucker eyed his grandmother. “I remember now. I thought she died.”
    Lillian looked down at her glass. “She probably wished that she had.”
    Tucker turned away and Lillian regretted her words. But it was so hard to avoid pressing on his bruises. Since Susan’s death, talking to him was like walking with two broken legs; anywhere you stepped it was going to hurt.
    Tucker stared outside at the empty lunge ring. “If you were friends with her grandmother, why haven’t our paths ever crossed?”
    Lillian lifted her empty glass for Tucker to refill. “Because her grandmother and I ceased being friends a long, long time ago.”
    He took her glass but set it on the sideboard and she knew better than to argue with him about it.
    “So why now? Why does she want to talk to you now?”
    Lillian closed her eyes and leaned her head back, the warmth of the sun from the windows feeling like poison ivy pricking at her skin. “Because Annabelle—her grandmother—has recently died. I suppose it’s not unusual for those left behind to want answers to questions they never thought to ask when they had the time.”
    AvoidingTucker’s troubled eyes, Lillian pressed on. “Those papers—the ones I gave Susan—they’ve caused us so much grief. I don’t think I could stand to have someone else go through them.”
    Tucker returned his glass to the sideboard, the crystal clunking hard against the wood. “I’ll take care of it today.” He crossed the room to kiss her on her cheek again. “I’ve got to go. We’ve got a truckload of hay and shavings coming in this morning and I want to make sure it’s all good before they unload it.”
    When he straightened, she reached for his hand and squeezed it, hoping he would accept this mute apology for saying Susan’s name aloud. He squeezed back, then left. As Lillian watched him go she thought again of the damaged horse and its unwillingness to trust and realized how very much alike the wounded animal and her grandson really were. She fingered the gold charm around her neck, the one she’d worn since she was ten years old, and as she listened to Tucker’s footsteps fading down the hall, Lillian wondered if she was the only one who could still see his scars because she knew exactly where to look.

    The bells of St. John’s were ringing the hour as I tried to bury my face deeper and deeper into the cool cotton of my pillowcase. I lost track of the number of times they rang, but thought it was more than ten. Alarmed, I kicked off the covers, remembering that the Goodwill truck was scheduled to stop by before noon to collect the bags of my grandfather’s clothing, which I hadn’t yet collected or sorted. I’d donated all of my grandmother’s clothing to the home where she’d lived the last years of her life, not being able to bring myself to go through it all and sort it. Anything of value had been left behind when she’d moved sixteen years ago, and anything she’d obtained since was nothing I wanted to hold on to.
    My feet landed on paper as I slid them over the side of the bed. With a groan, I reached down and picked up the letter