The Mirror (The Lost Bride Trilogy #2)

It all looked almost bucolic, but Sonya saw a woman with tears on her cheeks crossing to the parking lot.

Such was the cruelty of forgetting.

Inside, they checked in, had their identification verified, then got an overview by one of Gretta’s caregivers as they walked past a common area.

People sat together, sat apart. A trio of women worked, intently, on a jigsaw puzzle.

“We offer group and individual activities, designed to stimulate or soothe all five senses. Music therapy, photographs, animal therapy. Art—which is Gretta’s interest. She wanted to stay in her room this morning and draw.”

The caregiver, Jen, gestured them down a hallway.

“She draws?”

“Art engages her, and comforts her. Her drawings are childlike now, but she takes pride and pleasure in them. I understand you don’t know your great-aunt.”

“No, I only learned about this part of my family recently.”

“She wanted to be an artist when she was younger. Her son often brought her art supplies when he visited.

“We were sorry to hear of his passing.”

“Does she ask about him?”

“No. She’ll ask about her mother. While she still has good days, her condition has deteriorated over the last year. Though rare, she can have bursts of violence or verbal abuse. Understand, this is the disease.”

“I do.”

“She’s having a good morning, and most often enjoys visitors.”

They walked into a pretty private suite with the cheer of natural light. Dozens of drawings and paintings lined the walls. Childlike depictions of flowers, of houses with a big yellow sun overhead, Christmas trees, stick figures.

The room had a cozy sofa and chairs, a colorful floral rug.

And a table by the window where a woman sat drawing with crayons.

Her hair was stone gray and cut short. Over faded blue eyes she wore white-framed glasses that slid down her nose. And over her thin frame, she wore pink pants and a crisp white blouse.

With her tongue caught in her teeth, she hummed tunelessly as she drew.

“Good morning again, Gretta. It’s Jen, and I’ve brought you visitors.”

“Did Mother come? She said she would.”

“Not today. Oh, what pretty flowers. They’re so cheerful.”

“Need to finish, hang it up. Pick the ones I want for my show when I go to New York.”

“We’ll hang it up for you, but these nice women have come to see you.”

She looked up, wrinkling her nose as her glasses slid down a bit more. “You’re pretty. I like pretty things.”

“Thank you.” Sonya offered an easy smile. “I like your art.”

“I’m very talented. There are several artists on the Poole family tree. Such talents often come through the blood.”

“I’m sure they can.”

Gretta offered a hand. “I’m…” Her eyes clouded a moment. “Miss Poole. Are you an art dealer?”