Third Time's a Charm (Holland Springs #3)(43)
And like every Poppy Holland before her, she was destined to be an outcast. To never really be a part of society, but hover on the fringes and help those who needed it. Even those who didn’t deserve it. Maybe that was the real reason her mother had left. She couldn’t deal with the responsibility or the shame of being a Holland. But she thought nothing of putting the burden on her oldest daughter.
The one that Rose had always thought Summer to be, but as it turned out, Summer was her first cousin, abandoned on their back porch steps by her mother, Wisteria Holland, a month after Summer was born and never heard from again. No one but their family knew and Rose intended to go to her grave keeping it that way.
***
The acrid smell of bleach reminded Sasha of death. He fought the urge to cover his nose and mouth with his hand. Or nick one of those masks that the nurses wore. But for Phoebe, he’d brave anything.
The lonely echo of his footsteps sounded like a cell phone ringing in the middle of a darkened movie theater. Muted voices, the hum of machines and constant beep of heart monitors were the background music of his trek.
No one greeted him, and not since checking in at the front desk had he seen another living soul.
Slowing his pace as he reached his destination, he mentally prepared himself and patted the bag slung over his shoulder. A few heartbeats later he was standing in the doorway, motioning the guard to leave. It wasn’t until after the burly man left, did Sasha close the door and approach the bed in the center of the room. One that was appointed with serene earth colors, thick rugs and paintings of his mother’s home in Zimbabwe. He had no family to speak of living there; the entire village where his mother had been born was ravaged by cholera two years after they sent her to boarding school in London.
“Hullo.” He tenderly smoothed the soft black and grey curls away from his mother’s brow. “What have you done with your hair?” He tsked. “Hospital patient was so seven years ago.”
Sasha hooked his foot around a nearby chair and pulled it up to the bed. He dropped the bag in the seat, unzipped it and began to lay out its contents on the bedside table. A brush, comb, hair smoother, facial cleanser, and a shampoo cap. Beside those, he placed her favorite moisturizer and his iPod.
He dialed the iPod to the playlist he’d created just for his mother. One full of ridiculously sentimental songs. But that didn’t stop him from humming along as the microwave heated the shampoo cap and he washed his hands.
After checking the cap to make sure it wasn’t too hot, he tucked his arm under his mother’s frail shoulders and gently lifted her, fitting the cap around her head. He carefully propped her against the pillows and began to lightly massage in the shampoo.
His mother had always been so proud of her appearance and her heritage, even when she’d changed her name. A well-meaning agent had convinced a then fifteen year old Mudiwa that her Zimbabwean name wasn’t catchy enough. So, she’d changed it to Phoebe, in honor of her favorite English poet. Ten years and a successful modeling career later, she’d met Maks Romanov at a Safe and Clean Water for All benefit.
“I took one look into her beautiful green eyes and she couldn’t stop me from asking her out,” his father would always say.
“And he couldn’t stop me from saying no,” she’d laugh.
Then they’d kiss and his father would waltz her around the room, caught up in their own love song.
He’d always loved watching them, even with an adolescent’s embarrassment over the affection they shared. Or rather had shared. His father was gone and, for all intents and purposes, so was his mother.
Sasha snagged a towel from by the sink, wrapping it around Phoebe’s wet hair after he’d removed the cap. Then he washed her face and applied the moisturizer to her mostly wrinkle-free skin.
“Last month, your old arch-rival, Lina, had a face lift. Everyone knows she’s at least eight years younger than you. Although she claims to be eternally thirty-five,” he said as he brushed her hair. “I know, I know, I shouldn’t revel in others’ misery.”
Sasha kept the conversation flowing, however one-sided, about fashion and gossip. All the things that would make his mum smile and shake her head at him. It was from her he’d inherited his love of clothes and eye for style.
Tight spirals fell in an orderly array when he was done and he chucked the brush into his bag. Finally he sat, edging the bag out of the seat with his hip and laid his head beside his mother. He took one of her hands and placed it on the back of his neck, the slight weight a comfort. It was times like these he could pretend Phoebe was stroking his hair and asking about his day, his accomplishments.
Exhaling, he closed his eyes and said, “I’ve met the most beautiful woman. She’s kind, generous and has absolutely horrid taste in pajama bottoms. She’s raising her sister’s baby and running a business all by herself. I think you’d get on with each other.”
“Then what’s the problem?” his mum laughed.
“I’ve been sent to destroy her.”
“Mugare kure nemoto.”
Stay away from the fire. He smiled ruefully. That had been her advice every time he’d been caught being naughty.
“That’s a bit dramatic, even for you,” Vladimir Romanov chuckled.
Sasha’s eyes popped opened and he jumped to his feet, his mum’s arm falling listlessly to her bed. He adjusted her hand and the covers. “Don’t recall your name being on my VIP list.”