weather, he wasn’t sure his conscience could take it.
Michael took a deep breath, opened the door to the atrium, and stepped into the courtyard.
A long-standing voluntary resident, his mother basically came and went as she pleased within the facility, but next to the arts and crafts Sentinel’s Hunger
85
classes, the atrium was her favorite spot to be.
He well understood her need for the tranquility afforded by the setting, with its lighted fountain and tropical potted palm trees strewn around the grounds.
There were a handful of people scattered on benches throughout the atrium, enjoying the afternoon summer sun spilling through the domed glass roof and sparkling through the water in the fountain.
It was the woman at the fountain with her back to him that caught his attention.
She was slim and petite, one mahogany, toned arm extended to run her fingers over the surface of the crystal water as she sat on the edge of the fountain. Her wavy black hair reached mid-back, reflecting from the sun.
Michael stood still and appreciated his mother’s peaceful aura. He was repeatedly amazed at how young she seemed at fifty-one, especially after everything she’d been through over the years, fighting her parents for independence, in general, and to keep him, in particular.
She turned as he neared and he caught his breath at her ethereal features, wondering for the millionth time how someone could hurt her the way his father had. But then, his father wasn’t a someone but a something.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” she murmured.
Michael sat on the edge of the fountain opposite her and leaned in to kiss her cheek.
“You shouldn’t be so tense. Your grandparents aren’t due here until tomorrow.”
He chuckled. God, she knew him too well. “We’ve got that schedule down to a science.”
“They’re not so bad, you know, just misguided and
misunderstood.”
Michael didn’t know about the misguided part, but he understood them just fine. They hated him and rued the day he’d been born, and 86
Gracie C. McKeever
he wasn’t too crazy about the rich pompous snobs either. How the two of them had created his mother was beyond Michael. But he wouldn’t punish his mother for the circumstances of her birth any more than his mother would punish him.
“It wasn’t easy for them, dealing with what happened to me.”
“And it was easy for you?” Michael arched a brow then raised a hand to stop what he knew was coming. “Please, Mom. Don’t defend them to me. You can’t win that argument.”
“I’m not trying to win anything except your peace of mind. And I need you to understand that they handled things the best way they could.”
“By trying to have you abort me and then abandoning me to the system when you…got sick?”
“You can say it, Michael. When I tried to kill myself. It happened.
It was a selfish act of weakness that will never happen again, but I’m not ashamed of it.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
“I don’t want you to be ashamed either.”
“I’m not.”
She peered at him, said nothing for a long time.
“Mom, you raised me to be the best person I can be. I’ll always love and respect you for that and I’ve accepted who and what I am. I don’t have a problem with where I came from.”
“Then you won’t have a problem releasing that woman you’re holding in your apartment? Unharmed?”
He knew his abilities didn’t come solely from his father, but it never ceased to surprise him how easily his mother got through his shields to read him. “So you know about Xevera?”
Solemnly, she nodded. “What happened to me doesn’t concern her and she shouldn’t be punished any more than my parents should be punished.”
“I can’t help the way I feel about your parents, Mom. If you want to call that punishment—”
Sentinel’s Hunger
87
“You can try and help it.”
“I’m civil.”
“Just.” She grinned, the first time since he had arrived that she showed any
Michael took a deep breath, opened the door to the atrium, and stepped into the courtyard.
A long-standing voluntary resident, his mother basically came and went as she pleased within the facility, but next to the arts and crafts Sentinel’s Hunger
85
classes, the atrium was her favorite spot to be.
He well understood her need for the tranquility afforded by the setting, with its lighted fountain and tropical potted palm trees strewn around the grounds.
There were a handful of people scattered on benches throughout the atrium, enjoying the afternoon summer sun spilling through the domed glass roof and sparkling through the water in the fountain.
It was the woman at the fountain with her back to him that caught his attention.
She was slim and petite, one mahogany, toned arm extended to run her fingers over the surface of the crystal water as she sat on the edge of the fountain. Her wavy black hair reached mid-back, reflecting from the sun.
Michael stood still and appreciated his mother’s peaceful aura. He was repeatedly amazed at how young she seemed at fifty-one, especially after everything she’d been through over the years, fighting her parents for independence, in general, and to keep him, in particular.
She turned as he neared and he caught his breath at her ethereal features, wondering for the millionth time how someone could hurt her the way his father had. But then, his father wasn’t a someone but a something.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” she murmured.
Michael sat on the edge of the fountain opposite her and leaned in to kiss her cheek.
“You shouldn’t be so tense. Your grandparents aren’t due here until tomorrow.”
He chuckled. God, she knew him too well. “We’ve got that schedule down to a science.”
“They’re not so bad, you know, just misguided and
misunderstood.”
Michael didn’t know about the misguided part, but he understood them just fine. They hated him and rued the day he’d been born, and 86
Gracie C. McKeever
he wasn’t too crazy about the rich pompous snobs either. How the two of them had created his mother was beyond Michael. But he wouldn’t punish his mother for the circumstances of her birth any more than his mother would punish him.
“It wasn’t easy for them, dealing with what happened to me.”
“And it was easy for you?” Michael arched a brow then raised a hand to stop what he knew was coming. “Please, Mom. Don’t defend them to me. You can’t win that argument.”
“I’m not trying to win anything except your peace of mind. And I need you to understand that they handled things the best way they could.”
“By trying to have you abort me and then abandoning me to the system when you…got sick?”
“You can say it, Michael. When I tried to kill myself. It happened.
It was a selfish act of weakness that will never happen again, but I’m not ashamed of it.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
“I don’t want you to be ashamed either.”
“I’m not.”
She peered at him, said nothing for a long time.
“Mom, you raised me to be the best person I can be. I’ll always love and respect you for that and I’ve accepted who and what I am. I don’t have a problem with where I came from.”
“Then you won’t have a problem releasing that woman you’re holding in your apartment? Unharmed?”
He knew his abilities didn’t come solely from his father, but it never ceased to surprise him how easily his mother got through his shields to read him. “So you know about Xevera?”
Solemnly, she nodded. “What happened to me doesn’t concern her and she shouldn’t be punished any more than my parents should be punished.”
“I can’t help the way I feel about your parents, Mom. If you want to call that punishment—”
Sentinel’s Hunger
87
“You can try and help it.”
“I’m civil.”
“Just.” She grinned, the first time since he had arrived that she showed any
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