After Helen stepped out, the door closing softly behind her, Irene turned back to Alexander.
“Alexander.”
He didn’t look up. “What.”
She hesitated, then said gently, “She’s still our mother. And that was her grandchild too. She’s mourning in her own way. She doesn’t mean any harm.”
Alexander rubbed a hand over his face, dragging his fingers down slowly as he exhaled. The last thing he wanted right now was to be made to feel guilty. His head was already heavy, his chest tight with too many things he hadn’t allowed himself to feel.
“Irene,” he said tiredly, “I really can’t do this right now.”
She opened her mouth, probably to keep explaining, but he straightened slightly and cut in.
“Faye’s in the room,” he said. “If you want to see her, you can. You can take Mom with you too.”
Irene
