Every ounce of energy coursing inside of her, every positive feeling, she pushed out through her palms, willing the madness swirling inside Emmaline to subside.
But her mother’s eyes remained vacant. Cold. Closed.
“Calliope.” Hildy moved in behind Emmaline and whispered, “This isn’t going to help. She’s not there.”
“I know.” Calliope nodded and two tears plopped onto her cheeks. “I know. Oh, Mama. I’m sorry.”
“Such a pretty girl.” Emmaline’s eyes brightened as she lifted her hand to Calliope’s face. “Such a pretty...”
Calliope wanted so much for her mother to touch her, to hold her, to recognize her, but it didn’t come. She didn’t think it ever would now.
“Goodbye, Mama.”
“I’ll call you tonight,” Hildy told her as Calliope backed out of the room.
“Tomorrow,” Calliope whispered. “Please. Tomorrow.”
Hildy nodded, a sad smile of understanding on her face. “Go home, Calliope. I’ll take care of her.”
Calliope made it into the hall and closed the door before the first sob hit. All these years, all the pain and heartache she’d withstood, and it came down to a broken picture frame. She covered her mouth, squeezed her eyes shut and bent over, the pain rolling inside her.
“Calliope?”
Xander.
She gasped and stood up as his hands gently grasped her arms. She stared at him, almost as if she was seeing him for the first time. His face was so kind, his eyes so concerned, but there was also strength. A strength that had eluded her, a strength she longed to have. “She’s gone. Just...gone.”
His brow furrowed. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
She reached to let him fold her into his arms. For the first time in her life, she held on to someone else.
And let go.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CALLIOPE WAS RIGHT.
There wasn’t any way Xander was going to be able to come up with a fresh idea for the sanctuary without taking a good, long look at the land where it would be built.
Funny how it had taken him the better part of two days to accept it. Not that he was thinking with a clear head at five in the morning, when he’d finally given up on sleep. The silence in this town was deafening, punctuated only by the crashing waves and rattling rocks far below his cabin.
It didn’t help that by coming here he’d proven the one thing everyone in his family already knew but had never said out loud—as an architect, he was a fraud.
He pushed himself up from the kitchenette table, shuffled through the wadded-up papers strewn across the floor and walked away from the blank notepad and laptop screen that he swore was laughing at him. It would have been so much easier if Antony had gotten on board with this project instead of agreeing halfheartedly. Instead his brother had gone against Xander’s wishes and begun entertaining offers from other architectural firms. To buy them out.
He tasted sour anger in the back of his throat. Of course, Antony would wait until he was halfway across the country before filling him in on that detail. No way was Xander giving up. Not on the business, not on his family.
Not on the legacy his grandfather had left for them.
Xander Costas did not give in. Or give up.
Which was why he was playing hide-and-seek with his muse. He needed an idea, something fabulous to make this deal work and prove to Antony the company was still viable as it was. But darned if Calliope’s comments and suggestions hadn’t weaseled their way into his mind, lodging an irritating doubting voice there that told him no matter which direction he thought to take, it was the wrong one.
“Coffee on the go, it is.” He rummaged in the cabinets for one of the reusable coffee cups he’d spotted the day he’d arrived, then set it beside the coffeemaker before heading in to shower and dress. After dropping Calliope and Stella off at home late yesterday afternoon, he’d headed back out of town to hit up a discount store for some grubbier, more comfortable clothes. Another pair of jeans, some T-shirts. A pullover sweatshirt for the cool evenings. And shoes. He’d been meaning to buy a new pair of work boots, anyway. May as well buy them where they would do some good.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, the ocean cascading beyond the window, the smell of brewing coffee stirring the air, Xander couldn’t shake the image of Calliope standing outside her mother’s room, as if she’d been a pane of shattered glass. She’d clung to him in a way that made him want to never let her go. Her tears had soaked his shirt, the summer flower scent of her hair overtaking his senses as he held on. When she’d lifted her tearstained face, he expected to find irritation there, shame, or maybe even anger at him for having intruded on what had to be an overwhelming emotional time. Instead, she’d lifted a soft hand to caress his cheek and softly whispered, “Thank you.”