BREE DROPPED HER PURSE in the front hall. God, she wanted to go home to water her plants and to rest, even for a few hours. Her home, not this place. She hadn’t been alone in six days. Sometimes she just needed time to herself. She wasn’t one of those people who was afraid of being alone; she craved it. Inevitably, her mother was at her father’s bedside. “Hello, sweetheart,” she said pleasantly. Yet when Bree saw her father, she blanched. It felt like all the blood had rushed out of her head and she was dizzy. He was pale and unmoving, his mouth open as he breathed—although it wasn’t really a breath, more a gurgle—and the odor was foul. His eyes were half open yet unfocussed. She had to sit down on the edge of her mother’s bed before her legs gave out. “What the hell happened?” “Hospice says he’s lapsing into coma. It won’t be long now.” “But yesterday he was talking.” Bree hadn’t seen him before she left for work this morning. Her mother had fed him and given him his pills.
