Read Online Naked Hope by Rebecca E. Grant - Free Book Online Page B

smooth leather seats hold her close. “I was Olivia’s age. A Saturday, I remember. My sister, Anna and I were in the back seat of our car. My parents drove for what seemed like an eternity. I didn’t know where we were going, and Anna didn’t care.”
    “Too young?”
    Sudden tears burned at the back of her eyes. “No, she was seven years older.”
    Brows drawn low, he glanced her way. “Was?”
    Jill squeezed her eyes shut until the tears backed off. “She died recently.”
    She opened her eyes.
    Gavin’s fingers gripped the steering wheel. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
    Jill blinked back another surge of tears. “She had Down Syndrome and died of congenital heart disease.”
    He nodded, flicked on his signal, glanced over his shoulder, and changed lanes, increasing his speed.
    “I didn’t know until we got there that my parents were institutionalizing her,” she blurted, surprised to find herself talking about Anna.
    “She had a low IQ?”
    “She didn’t meet the definition of profoundly retarded. Her IQ was thirty-seven which is mid-range.” Jill shivered and hugged her arms to her chest.
    Gavin adjusted the air vent to keep the stream from blowing directly on Jill. “They couldn’t handle her care?”
    Jill bit her lips and nodded, blinking back the tears crowding the corners of her eyes. She stared out the window swallowing hard against the knife-edged grief. “Anna needed special training and an environment equipped to help her make the most of what she had to offer. I stayed in the car that day because I was too young to go in.” She broke off to collect herself against the next wave of sadness. “When they returned without her, my mother was crying and my dad’s face was all puffed up from the effort not to. In those days, Down Syndrome and mental retardation often carried the stigma of shame. My parents were farmers—neither finished high school. Both very intelligent, but ignorant. They always believed they were somehow responsible. They carried that tragic burden to their graves.”
    He eased back his speed for a curve. “Warmer now?”
    She brushed her hair away from the side of her face, pushed her toes into the floor mat and offered a watery smile. “Yes, thank you.”
    “Do you have any other family?”
    Anna was the last of my family. She shook her head, stared out the window, and whispered, “No.”
    “It’s just you, then? That’s rough.” He rested his hand over hers and squeezed. “Were you close?”His brief touch played havoc with her senses. Jill eased away and rubbed her hands. Structurally, the brain is sympathetic to comfort through touch, but hers blew past comfort and crashed straight into a dopamine dump, causing her to experience an intense sensual attraction. Electrical rivulets teased their way through her body. She drew a deep breath. “The closest. She even lived with me for awhile. After a few months, she asked to go back, to where things were familiar—she needed a strict routine. She worked part time cleaning houses for several years and took a lot of pride in being independent.”
    “Which begs the question, why not work with Down Syndrome kids? Or the developmentally disabled? Why choose TBI?”
    Jill focused on the car in front of them, noting the sunshine decal on the bumper. “I knew I could never maintain enough emotional distance—they’d all make me think of Anna. I didn’t want to spend my life trying to save my sister over and over again. TBI intrigued me, and frankly, there’s ground-breaking research that’s very encouraging.”
    He cocked his head. “Much of it, yours.”
    His comment warmed her and she smiled. “ Some of it mine.”
    “And so, you found something you love more than the cello.” He wheeled into the Maple Tree Inn parking lot.
    They were seated outside at a small table overlooking the river. People frequently rushed out to cheer as rowing teams from the university shot by, chasing after each other in hot