“That’s good,” Holt said, trying to nod but wincing as pain sliced through his head. “Where is my grandson?”
“He’s at a friend’s,” his son told him. “I didn’t think…” He swallowed, his eyes darkening with emotion. “I didn’t know how bad it was, so…” He cleared his throat. “So I thought it best not to bring him.”
“Wise,” Holt agreed, and then another thought struck him. “You didn’t call your gran, did you?”
“I did,” his son told him unapologetically. “Seriously, Dad, if I hadn’t and you’d…” He cleared his throat again. “Gran would’ve killed me.”
“True,” Holt said. “Where is she?”
“She went to the cafeteria for a coffee and…” His son turned as the room door opened.
“Oh, good, you’re awake,” Holt’s mother walked into the room. While she held herself poised, her eyes gave away the sheer panic and terror she felt inside. She leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Don’t ever scare me like this again.”
“I’ll try not to,” Holt said with a soft laugh that caused him to wince in pain.
Just then, the doctor walked in. “Hello, everyone,” he greeted them. “Hello, Director Dillinger. Welcome back. You’ll be pleased to know that we got the bullets out and managed to stitch you up. You were very lucky that the bullets didn’t hit anything serious. The one in your chest was very close to your heart.”
She heard his mother gasp, but Holt kept his eyes on the doctor. “How long will I have to be in here?” he asked. “And when can I get back to work?”
“Not so fast, Director Dillinger,” the doctor said, scanning the tablet. The nurse, who had just checked all of Holt’s vital signs, gave him. “If all goes well, you’ll be out of here in four to five days.”
“That’s not too bad,” Holt said. “And can I go straight back to work?”
“No!” The doctor’s voice brooked no argument. “I’m afraid I can’t let you go straight back to work. I’m recommending a leave of absence for at least five to six weeks.”
“What?” Holt bellowed and instantly regretted it. He felt like a white-hot bolt of lightning struck him in the brain.
“That’s one of the reasons why,” the doctor pointed out. “Your head injury is quite severe.”
“You know what you could do, Dad?” his son suggested. “You could come visit with your grandson and me for six weeks. I know he’d love to see you for the summer.”
“That is a brilliant idea,” Holt’s mother agreed. “I’ll be there too and it will be nice to have the family all together for a summer vacation and not just a few days over Christmas for a change.”
“I don’t know,” Holt said, starting to feel drained, and his head was pounding. “I have so much wor…”
“I’ve already said you can’t work for at least five to six weeks, Director Dillinger,” the doctor reminded him. “I suggest you take your son up on his offer, or we’ll just keep you here.” He gave Holt a smug smile. “The choice is yours.” He checked his watch, handed the tablet back to the nurse, and gave her some orders. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” He said goodbye to Holt’s mother and son before leaving the room.
“So that’s settled then,” Holt’s mother said. “We’re all going to …”
Her voice started to fade as a warmth spread through him, blotting out the pain in his head and other parts of his body. The effort of staying awake and holding a conversation was more exhausting than Holt had anticipated. His eyelids felt heavy, and he could feel his body trying to pull him back into sleep. But there was something nagging at him, some detail from his dreams that felt important.
“Oh, I have to take this call,” Holt managed to make out his mother saying before she kissed his cheek. “I’ll be right here, love.” She turned and left.
“Dad,” his son said, his brow furrowed with concern. “Before you go to sleep. Who is June?”
The question hit Holt like a cold splash of water. “June?” he repeated, stalling for time while his foggy mind spun. “Why do you ask?” He managed to slur out the words as his body grew weaker and weaker.
“You were calling out her name when I came into your room,” his son explained. “It sounded like you were having an argument with someone, but there was no one here except the medical staff.”
Holt was quiet for a long moment, fighting off the waves of exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm him.How could he explain June to his son? How could he describe a marriage that had lasted less than four years but had shaped the rest of his life?
His son knew that Holt had been married before Lillian, but they’d never discussed the details. It was easier to let peopleassume that his first marriage had been a typical young romance that had simply run its course. The truth was more complicated and infinitely more painful.
“Just someone I used to know,” Holt finally said, the words feeling inadequate, but all he could manage in his current state.
He could see that his son wanted to ask more questions, but exhaustion was winning the battle against consciousness. Holt’s eyes drifted closed despite his efforts to stay awake, and he felt himself sinking back into the medicated haze that had claimed him earlier.
As sleep took him again, his dreams were once more filled with images from his past. But this time, instead of the warehouse and Marcus Volkov, he found himself remembering quieter moments. June laughing at something he’d said over dinner in their tiny Cambridge apartment. June studying at their kitchen table, law books spread around her like armor against the world. June sleeping curled up beside him, her dark hair spread across the pillow.
