“Where’s your grandmother?” Holt asked Rad.
“Gran is lying down. She has a migraine.” Rad moved back to the coffee pot and refilled it.
Holt’s attention sharpened at once. “How bad is it?”
“She says it’s manageable,” Rad replied. “But she’s in her darkened room with a compress on her head.”
Holt felt immediate concern tighten through him. Mina had dealt with migraines off and on for years, though she tried to pretend they were an inconvenience rather than an event. Stress could trigger them. So could wine, especially if she let herself drift from one glass to two over dinner, and then there was the matter of her ice cream habit.
Tyler gestured toward the stove. “There are plenty of eggs, bacon, and toast. I can dish up for you if you want,” he offered.
“Thank you, Tyler. That would be great,” Holt said, accepting his grandson’s offer. “While you dish up, I’m just going to check on my mother.”
“Sure, no problem,” Tyler called after Holt as he left the kitchen.
He took the stairs two at a time at first, then slowed, mindful of the healing pull in his side. Mina’s door was slightly ajar, as it always was. Holt couldn’t remember his mother ever completely closing it unless she was having a shower or getting changed.I like to hear what’s going on in the house,she would say. He tapped lightly before easing the door open.
The room was dark except for the thin line of morning light sneaking around the sides of the curtains. His mother lay propped slightly on her pillows, a cold compress over her forehead, and one hand resting on it.
“Hi, Mom. So how bad is the migraine really?” Holt asked quietly as he stepped inside and walked toward her bed.
She let out a delicate sigh. “Bad enough that I actually let Rad cook breakfast this morning.”
Holt grinned despite himself and moved closer to the bed. “What brought it on?” His eyes narrowed. “Did you have two glasses of wine with dinner again?”
“No.” Mina lifted the compress enough to peer at him with one eye. “If you must know, I ate ice cream last night.”
He stared at her.
“Yes, and with honey dribbled over it,” she added, sounding utterly unapologetic. “And I piled it full of caramel pieces.”
Holt sighed and shook his head. “You know it doesn’t agree with you, Mother.”
“I know,” Mina replied, letting the compress settle back into place. “But I do love vanilla with honey dribbled over it and caramel pieces.”
“Clearly enough to wage war on your own head.” Holt glanced at the pill bottle on the nightstand.
“A little indulgence is not war.” Mina dropped the compress to give him a one-eyed glare before pushing it back into place.
“Your temples would disagree,” Holt pointed out.
She made a small dismissive noise. “What can I say? I’m weak in the face of dessert.”
“Can I bring you anything for your ice cream hangover?” Holt asked.
“A little sympathy, perhaps?” Mina drawled. “And a lot less condescension.”
“You brought this on yourself. Ice cream has always done this to you,” Holt reminded her.
“Yes, yes, I know.” Her voice softened. “But no, thank you. Unless you have a spare brain, I don’t need anything.” She pointed blindly at her nightstand. “I’ve taken my medication. I’m just waiting for it to work.” She smiled faintly beneath the compress. “You can take my car if you need it.”
“No. June has Carmen’s car,” Holt told her. “She messaged me a few minutes ago. Apparently, Carmen has been given the EMT captain’s vehicle while they sort out a replacement, so June can use Carmen’s car for now.”
“Oh, so Carmen accepted the position until they find someone new?” Mina asked.
“I think so. June didn’t elaborate,” Holt replied.
Mina shifted slightly on the pillow. “How is June? Is she healing properly?”
