Free Dove's Way by Linda Francis Lee

your mother regarding your, er, schedule conflicts,” he finished with a stubborn look at Grayson.
    Matthew’s face went hard at the thought that his father hadn’t replied. It had been no secret that he had been the favorite of his father’s sons. But the accident had changed all that.
    “Matthew, don’t do this to yourself,” Grayson said. “Regardless of how Father feels, the rest of us love you.”
    Matthew’s throat tightened. “I think you should go.”
    The hard lines of Grayson’s face eased, shifting into lines of concern. “I think you should see a doctor.”
    A pulse drummed in Matthew’s temple, and he focused on the clock across the room, steadying himself with the regular tick of the second hand. “I have already seen a doctor, Grayson, several in fact. The best in Boston.”
    “I want you to see someone else, a doctor Mother has learned of who might have more answers.”
    Matthew looked at him, a flicker of hope sparking to life. “Who?”
    For the first time since arriving, Grayson looked uncomfortable. “A man at Southwood Hospital.”
    Matthew’s breath came out through his teeth in a hiss.
    Southwood Hospital was an institution for the mentally unstable.
    “It’s not what you think,” Grayson added.
    “Isn’t it?” Matthew asked coldly.
    “There are doctors there who are experts in head trauma.” He shifted his weight. “I took the liberty of talking to a Dr. Samuels last week.”
    Matthew’s throat tightened as if a vise circled his neck, but he didn’t speak. Couldn’t.
    “And the fact is,” Grayson went on in a reasonable tone, unaware of the turmoil he was causing, “as Dr. Samuels and I discussed, if your head wound was severe, it is possible that you’ve sustained a trauma to the brain.” He hesitated. “Which would account for this erratic behavior of yours.”
    “I am not insane!” Matthew snarled, hating the shake he could hear in his voice. “And despite what little children think, I am not a monster. I might look like one, but I’m not.”
    “This has nothing to do with your face. Look at you!” Grayson exploded, gesturing to Matthew’s appearance. “You’re a mess. This place is a mess. You lock yourself away, won’t let your own mother know what is going on with you when she inquires. What would you call it? Normal behavior?”
    Matthew counted silently, concentrating. “I did not sustain a severe head injury. I have been to plenty of doctors, and they all say the same thing. I just need time to heal,” he lied, unwilling to believe anything else but that he would, given time—just as all the doctors had said in the beginning. And until then he needed to keep to himself.
    Grayson sighed. “I am just trying to help.”
    The thick haze of Matthew’s fury began to fade. He knew that his family was only thinking about what was best for him. But he couldn’t allow their best intentions to land him in a place like Southwood Hospital.
    He had heard about the haunting screams and wild shouting or, perhaps worse yet, the vacant stares. Matthew’s good hand curled into a fist at his side. He would not end up in a place like that.
    “I don’t need your help,” Matthew said, forcing a calm he didn’t feel into his voice. “I ‘m fine. Beyond which, you mistake an aversion to parading out in society and having people stare at me like I’m some sort of curiosity, such as me being a lunatic.”
    “I never said you were a lunatic!”
    “Of course you did, just not in so many words. And isn’t that what you think?”
    Grayson looked directly at Matthew. “In truth, I don’t know what to think.”
    The regret and sincerity on his brother’s face sent a shiver of foreboding down Matthew’s spine.
    Was he crazy? Was his brain deteriorating? Was that what the doctors had really meant by deterioration of the nerves and tissue?
    He thought of the way he had to concentrate to eat a simple meal without spilling food like a child. He thought of the way he