God, her mother looked so tiny and frail lying there. She'd always been petite, smaller than Dylan by a good four inches, her hair a richer shade of red, even with the handful of grays that had crept in since the first battle with cancer. Now Sharon's hair was kept short, a spiky, spunky cut that made her look at least a decade younger than her true age of sixty-four. Dylan felt a pang of irrational, but jabbing anger for the fact that a renewed round of chemo was going to ravage that glorious crown of thick copper hair.
She walked softly toward the bed, trying not to make any noise. But Sharon wasn't sleeping. She rolled over as Dylan came close, her green eyes bright and warm.
"Oh...Dylan...hi, baby." Her voice was feathery, the only real physical giveaway in her that she was ill. She reached out and took Dylan's gloved hand in a tight hold.
"How was the trip, sweetheart? When did you get back?"
Shit. That's right - she'd supposedly extended her stay in Europe. It seemed like a year had passed in the few days she'd been with Rio.
"Um, I just came home a little while ago," Dylan answered, a partial lie.
She took a seat on the edge of the thin hospital room mattress, her hand still caught in her mother's clutching grasp.
"I got a little concerned when you changed your plans so abruptly. Your e-mail that you were staying a bit longer by yourself was so short and cryptic. Why didn't you call me?"
"I'm sorry," Dylan said. The lie she had to keep hurt even worse knowing that she'd made her mom worry. "I would have called you if I could have. Oh, Mom...I'm sorry you don't feel well."
"I feel all right. Better, now that you're here." Sharon's gaze was steady, level with a calm resolve. "But I'm dying, baby. You do understand that, don't you?"
"Don't say that." Dylan squeezed her mom's hand, then brought the cool fingers up to her lips and kissed them. "You'll get through this, just like you did before. You're going to be fine."
The silence - the tender indulgence - was a palpable force in the room. Her mother wasn't going to push the subject, but it was there, like a ghost lurking in the corner.
"Well, let's talk about you instead. I want to hear all about what you've been doing, where you've been...tell me about everything you've seen while you were gone."
Dylan glanced down, unable to hold her mother's eyes if she couldn't tell her the truth. And she couldn't tell her the truth. Most of it would be unbelievable anyway, especially the part where Dylan confessed that she feared she was developing feelings for a dangerous, secretive man. A vampire for crissake. It sounded crazy just to think the words.
"Tell me more about that demon's lair story you're working on, baby. Those pictures you sent me were really something. When is your story going to run?"
"There is no story, Mom." Dylan shook her head. She was sorry she ever mentioned it to her mother - or to anyone, for that matter. "Turns out that cave was just a cave," she said, hoping to convince her. "Nothing strange about it."
Sharon looked skeptical. "Really? But that tomb you found - and the incredible markings on the walls. What was all of that doing in there? It must have meant something."
"Just a tomb. Probably a very old, tribal burial chamber of some kind."
"And the picture you took of that man - "
"A vagrant, that's all," Dylan lied, hating every syllable that passed her lips. "The pictures made everything seem more important than it was. But there is no story, not even one suitable for a rag like Coleman Hogg's paper. In fact, he let me go."
"What? He didn't!"
Dylan shrugged. "Yeah, he did. And it's fine, really. I'll find something else."
"Well, that's his loss. You were too good for that place, anyway. If it's any consolation, I thought you did a great job on that story. Mr. Fasso thought so too. In fact, he mentioned he had contacts with some big news outlets in the city. He could probably find you something if I asked him to look into it."
Oh, shit. A job interview was the last thing she needed to worry about. Not when the rest of what she'd just heard had put a knot of dread in her throat. "Mom - you didn't tell him about that story, did you?"
"You're darn right I did. I showed off your pictures too. I'm sorry, but I can't help bragging about you. You're my little star."
"Who did you...Ah, God, Mom, please tell me you didn't talk about it with a lot of people...did you?"
Sharon patted her hand. "Don't be so shy. You're very talented, Dylan, and you should be working on bigger, more hard-hitting stories. Mr. Fasso agrees with me. Gordon and I talked all about you on the river cruise a couple of nights ago."
Dylan's stomach was clenched over the thought of more people being privy to what she'd seen in that cave, but she couldn't help noticing the little glint of joy in her mother's eyes when she mentioned the man who founded the runaway shelter. "So, you're on a first-name basis with Mr. Fasso now, are you?"
Sharon giggled, a sound so youthful and impish that Dylan forgot for a moment that she was sitting beside her mom in a hospital room in the cancer ward. "He's very handsome, Dylan. And utterly charming. I'd always thought him to be so aloof, almost chilly, but he's actually a very intriguing man."
Dylan smiled. "You like him."
"I do," her mother confessed. "Just my luck I should find a real gentleman - who knows, maybe my true prince? - when it's too late for me to fall in love."
Dylan shook her head, hating to hear that kind of talk from her. "It's never too late, Mom. You're still young. You have a lot of living left to do."