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“Are you sure you don’t want to call Lavinia to come with us?” I offer again. I’d asked before we even got in the car. I can see how she calms him, grounds him in a way I never could.

“No,” he replies, staring out the window. His voice is flat, edged with steel. “This is between us.”

Fair enough.

It’s a nice day. Spring is finally making an arrival, the sky a soft blue, trees beginning to bud along the winding road. Graves pulls past the iron gates leading up to the white stucco building with its terra cotta tile roof. Saint Mary’s sits at the top of a small hill, the river glinting below, rolling downstream like it doesn’t carry the weight of every secret this place holds.

Remy’s agitation becomes more noticeable the closer we get. His jaw clenches, shoulders rigid.

Graves parks the car in the visitor lot. From the back seat Remy says, “Wait. I’m not ready for this.”

“I know it’s a lot all at once. I dropped a huge bomb on you today.” I lean between the seats. “We can come back when you’re more prepared.”

“It’s not just that,” he says, but adds nothing else.

I turn to Graves and say, “Will you give us a minute? Maybe go check us in at reception?”

“Of course,” he says, giving both me and my son an empathetic look. “I’ll be inside.”

“Want to tell me what’s really going on?” I ask.

Remy sighs heavily, slumping deeper into the backseat. He rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I’m not sure I can go back in there.”

It takes me too long to realize it’s not all just about his mother. It’s Saint Mary’s itself.

“That was a dark time for me and I’m not sure I can relive it.”

Guilt slices through me, sharper than a blade. “If it makes a difference, Amber is located in the long-term adult center–quieter, more private compared to the juvenile facility on the other side of the property.”

He stares out the window. “It may.”

“It’s your decision, but whatever choice, I’ll be right here with you.” He doesn’t move one way or the other. “But I can at least prepare you for seeing your mother.”

“Okay.”

“She doesn’t talk much anymore and is always a little distant. Often disconnected from reality.” Or, unfortunately, still linked to the demented reality she and Benji came up with all those years ago. “It may be hard to get her to focus on the here and now. But I think she’ll be happy to see you.”

He takes a deep breath and reaches for the door handle. “Just take me to her.”

It’s an abrupt decision and it forces me to admit that I may have been procrastinating. Still protecting. Remy is a man now, I remind myself. He’s healthy. He can make his own decisions.

We get out of the car and walk through the glass sliding doors into the building. The faint scent of lavender tries–and fails–to mask the underlying institutional smell of antiseptic and stale air. We meet Graves in reception.

“She’s in her room,” he says. “Want me to wait out here?”

“You can come along,” I suggest. “If that’s okay with Remy.”

Remy shrugs, eyes already locked on the door leading to the back of the facility. I nod at Graves to follow.

A female staff member, Stacy, from the name on her tag, leads us down the long hallway toward her room. Remy is stiff, shoulders tense, fists clenched at his sides. A few of the residents watch us as we walk past them–curious eyes following the tension radiating off my son.

“Here we are,” Stacy says in a slightly sing-song voice as she stops at the door. “Mrs. Maddox said she wasn’t feeling up to activities today and wanted to rest in her room, but I know she’ll be happy to see you.”

I turn to face Remy while I stand in front of the closed door. Remy grabs me by the upper arm and pushes me aside. “I want to go in first.”

I don’t argue.

Tapping on the door, he calls out, “Hello?” then twists the knob. It opens easily. He peers in, taking in the small and tidy room. He looks back at Stacy. “There’s no one here.”