Thorns of Truth by Eileen Goudge Read Free Book Online Page A

whispered hoarsely, “Dear God, no, not again.”
    Sylvie closed her eyes, wanting not to remember … but unable to keep the images from flooding in. Iris, in a hospital bed, her poor bandaged wrists on the white coverlet turned upward, as if surrendering somehow, like in paintings of the crucified Jesus. And when she’d opened her eyes, oh, the smile that lit her face—grateful to be alive yet, at the same time, oddly resigned. As if, for Iris, merely existing on this earth required a courage others couldn’t begin to imagine …
    Nikos crouched down so that his eyes were level with Sylvie’s—the same black eyes that, years ago, had captivated her as the young wife of a much older man. “You must not be afraid. No harm will come to her.” His voice remained calm, but in his face, which was like old timber crosshatched with grain, she saw the doubt. He didn’t have to say what they both knew—that, if Iris went through with it, this time there would be no rescuing her.
    Sylvie felt a pang of guilt— could she have prevented this, if she hadn’t stopped Rose from going after Drew? Maybe if Rose had spoken to the two of them… ?
    Her heart seemed to thud weakly without really catching, like a car engine that wouldn’t start. She thought: I have to DO something.
    She hauled herself to her feet. This time, when Nikos tried to restrain her, she politely but firmly pushed his hand aside.
    “If you stop me,” she said in a quiet voice, “you may end up with two souls on your conscience, Nikos Alexandras. I may be old and sick, but I know my granddaughter. She needs me.”
    Nikos studied her for a moment … then wordlessly offered his arm. Silently, Sylvie blessed him, for the room suddenly felt as vast as an Arctic tundra. She had to stop several times, to catch her breath and lean into Nikos’ shoulder.
    Pushing through the crowd, they stepped onto the terrace. It was deep and surprisingly cool for July, dotted with tubs of greenery and patio chairs gleaming like pale skeletons in the light that spilled through the open doors. Sylvie spotted Iris at once: perched perfectly straight on the four-foot ledge, her back to them, her hands in her lap like those of an obedient child. There was nothing between her and the pavement below but eighteen stories of emptiness.
    Sylvie couldn’t see her face, only her long hair stirring in the faint breeze. It was the absolute correctness of her granddaughter’s posture, like the first brave daffodil spears in spring, that wrested a low cry from Sylvie, and caused her to tighten her grip on Nikos’ arm.
    She caught sight of one of Iris’ slingback pumps on the tiles by the low glass table that had been pushed up against the ledge, and it cut her to the quick: the sight of that child-sized shoe stranded there like a discarded toy.
    Oh, Iris.
    Sylvie fought to control her panic. She could see from the frantic expression on Rachel’s face—she stood poised several yards away—that a steady hand was needed on the tiller right now. God, give me the strength.…
    She drew away from Nikos to slip an arm about her daughter. Rachel was shivering violently. A deep shadow, like a gash, angled across the lower half of her face, leaving her blue eyes starkly exposed. Sylvie longed to be able to calm her daughter’s fear the way she had when Rachel was a child. How long since this brisk, competent daughter of hers had even let Sylvie hold her?
    In a low voice that was almost hysterical, Rachel pleaded, “Brian’s calling the fire department, but that won’t help. Mama, she won’t listen to me … or anyone. You’ve got to do something. Please. She trusts you.”
    Sylvie felt the pull of responsibility like an ocean current, dragging her down. “I’ll do what I can,” she whispered.
    She walked slowly past Drew, who stood with head bowed, his cheeks polished with tears. Sylvie wanted to console him, too … but Iris needed all her time and attention right now.
    Cautiously, she