Free Last Whisper by Carlene Thompson Page A

her about Sam’s Alzheimer’s and he couldn’t imagine what she must be thinking, but he couldn’t fill her in on Sam’s malady, now. Instead, he tried to cover for Sam by taking Brooke’s arm and nearly lifting her from her chair. “I think the guest room at the north end of the house would be best for you,” he said loudly. “Nice view, although you’re probably not concerned with the view right now. Double bed. Small bathroom attached. You’d probably like to take a shower after all you’ve been through. Plenty of room for you and Elise.”
    “Who’s Elise?” Sam asked.
    “The dog,” Vincent said. “Remember that Brooke brought her dog?”
    “Cinnamon Girl.”
    “Yes. Cinnamon Girl and her dog, Elise.”
    Sam looked down at the blond dog, who hovered close to Brooke’s legs, bristling. “A dog,” he mumbled. “A dog.” Then memory flashed in his eyes. “Of
course
I remember the dog, Vincent. I’m
not
senile!”
    At least they’re not calling what you suffer from senility anymore, Vincent thought, but he didn’t press the matter. Lately, Sam’s temper had become hair-trigger, often a symptom of Alzheimer’s.
    Vincent and Sam walked Brooke to the guest room.Vincent flipped on the light to show a large bedroom decorated in shades of lilac and ivory. “How beautiful!” Brooke commented.
    “Mom redecorated this room right before she got sick,” Vincent said. “Unfortunately, she never got a chance to have anyone stay in it.”
    Sam grinned. “She’d be glad you’re the first guest, Brooke.”
    Brooke smiled. “I’m glad, too. Thank you for being so kind to me. I don’t know what I would have done without you.” She hesitated and looked at Vincent. “
And
you.”
    Vincent stared into her large violet-blue eyes, right now looking incredibly beautiful in spite of their fatigue. For a moment, she seemed to be looking back at him just as intensely. Then Sam blasted out, “Nighty night, Cinnamon Girl!” He looked down at the dog. “Good night, Bernice.”
    “It’s
E
lise,” Vincent corrected, then could have kicked himself. What did it matter if his father didn’t get the dog’s name right? But Vincent just couldn’t bear to see his father’s once razor-sharp mind growing fuzzy and confused.
    Sam glared at him for a moment and Vincent braced himself for a tirade. Then Sam’s expression softened and he said magnanimously, “Son, it’s past your bedtime. You’re getting cranky.”
    Relieved that Sam hadn’t burst into a loud verbal dressing-down, Vincent allowed Sam to lead him down the hall as if he were an eight-year-old boy.
2
    For a long time, Brooke lay wide-eyed and tense in the big, cool bed, staring into the dark, listening. Finally, Brooke felt her eyelids growing heavy. She fought sleep for a while, feeling she must stay up all night, alert and readyfor imminent flight, but finally sleep claimed her exhausted body.
    Brooke dreamed of beautiful iridescent stars shining down from the ceiling. Then she heard the voices. Her mother’s, crying, saying she’d made a mistake and should never have married Zach, because Karl Yaeger had been her only love. Then Zach’s sharp reply that she didn’t know what she was saying. He’d saved her and Brooke. She was simply out of control. “I’ll divorce you!” she was screaming. “I should have done it months ago!” And later, ominous popping sounds that roused Brooke and brought her flying down the stairs to find her mother lying on the floor with half of her beautiful face gone.
    Noise woke Brooke again. But this time, she didn’t hear the multiple reports of a gun. She heard a squeaking sound coming from the area of the window. Then she felt Elise pawing at her, then saw her running to the window and standing on her hind legs looking out between the draperies.
    Brooke slid from bed and put her arms around the dog. “What is it, girl?” she asked, expecting the dog to have seen nothing more than an opossum or a raccoon.