So armed with roses and chocolates, he went in, hoping to convince his mother she wanted to leave this lovely place for some county-run shit-hole. Standing outside the door to her room, he took a deep breath and knocked. A soft, musical voice called to him to enter.
His mother’s face was pure sunshine when she caught sight of him. “Jamison!” she squealed as she launched herself at him. As he caught her, he inhaled the light, spicy floral scent she used—like fresh carnations. In her fifties, she still looked and moved as if she were two decades younger. Even without the careful maquillage she applied, her face didn’t reflect the struggles she’d endured in her life. Her blonde hair, untouched by gray, fell in soft waves around her face, and her bright blue eyes glowed undimmed. It was only her mind that was failing her.