Page 111 of Capturing You
“No, no.” She didn’t know how much she should say about how she’d met Ford, if anything. “We’re just friends.”
“I see.” Though the woman seemed skeptical.
While they talked, Brooklynn took in the space. Like the foyer and side rooms and hallways, it dripped with luxury. There were photographs and books and lots of personal touches. She loved the fact that the woman wore diamonds with her casual outfit. She loved that, despite this tiny space, she behaved like the queen of her own castle.
Mrs. Ballentine was in the middle of telling a story about her late husband when her words trailed off. She seemed to slump in her seat.
“Are you all right?” Brooklynn leaned closer. “Mrs. Ballentine?”
The woman looked at her, and her eyes popped wide. “Who are you?”
“Uh…I’m Brooklynn. I came with Ford. Your grandson?”
“I don’t know you.” Her volume rose, and she looked terrified. “Where’s my grandson?” She looked around. “Where is he? He was just here.”
“It’s okay. I’m a friend of his.” Brooklynn's great aunt used to have similar episodes, after she was diagnosed with dementia. Brooklynn had taken care of her from time to time. Now, she brushed her hand across Mrs. Ballentine's forehead. It didn't feel hot. She gripped her wrist to check her pulse. It was neither racing nor sluggish. There didn't seem to be any immediate danger, thank God.
“I need Forbes.” Mrs. Ballentine looked around as if the man might materialize in the room. “Where did he go?”
Brooklynn didn’t know if Forbes ever visited his grandmother, so she assumed the woman was looking for Ford. “He’ll be right back. Why don’t we get you into bed? Would you like that?”
“Well, yes. I suppose.” She tried to stand but wobbled.
Brooklynn wrapped her arm around her waist and supported her as they walked through an opening into the bedroom. The bed was neatly made, so Brooklynn had her sit on a small chair while she pulled the covers back.
The woman didn’t protest as Brooklynn moved her to the bed, slipped off her shoes, and pulled the covers over her.
“Find Forbes,” she said weakly. “I need to talk to him about…something.”
“I will. I promise.” She’d find Ford, anyway. Right away. Obviously, the concussion had affected Mrs. Ballentine more than anyone realized.
Her eyes closed. Had she fallen asleep already? Her breathing was steady. She looked older than she had twenty minutes before, but otherwise, the same. No drooping, nothing that indicated a stroke.
She turned toward the living room, but her gaze caught on an array of framed pictures on the bureau.
She recognized Forbes, the little boy from the photos she’d seen at the house.
His age progressed in the rest of the photos. From eight to ten to a teenager to a college graduate to…
To Ford.
She blinked, trying to work out what she was seeing.
FordwasForbes. Just as she’d suspected. And just as he’d denied. She’d believed his denial.
He’d lied to her. She’d asked him if he was Forbes Ballentine, and he’d looked her square in the face...
And lied to her.
The truth rang in her head, a buzz she couldn’t shake off.
He’d lied to her about who he was. About everything.
She didn’t understand. All she knew was that the man she’d trusted to protect her couldn’t be trusted at all.
She stepped out of the bedroom and grabbed her backpack, but she couldn’t leave without notifying someone that Mrs. Ballentine needed help.
What should she do?
