48
SUNDAY, JUNE 17
11:13 A.M.
NORTH MEMORIAL MEDICAL CENTER, ROBBINSDALE
SUBURBAN MINNEAPOLIS
Ian gritted his teeth as he trudged along the hospital corridor. Even walking gingerly, each movement sent fresh agony through his left shoulder, held tight to his chest with a bound sling.
He reached his mother’s room and took a deep breath to dispel the pain before entering.
Flowers lining tables and along the floor were brightened by sunlight streaming through the windows. He recognized Brook’s large bouquet and another from Brook’s parents. Dennis Hoy’s. A large bunch of flowers from Talk Show. A larger one still from an unnamed benefactor Harry insisted was Anthony Ahmetti.
There was a smaller bouquet of lilies set apart on the windowsill that hadn’t been there the day before.
His mother lay propped on the bed, gazing at the flowers as though staring through her living room window at her own flower garden. Ian took a seat on the edge of the bed and reached out for her hand.
“Mom,” he said, using the same words that began each of his visits, “you’re going to be fine. The bullet that went through me went through you too. You were very lucky. We both were.”
A chilling scene swept through his mind: of the cold cement terrace beneath his chest; the Marine like a crumpled doll at Sean Callahan’s feet; the SWAT team roaring through the patio door; his mother lying pale and still at his side. “You’re going to be fine,” he repeated as if to confirm this for himself.
He waited. As with each day before, she didn’t respond.
“I spoke with Greg,” Ian went on, naming their neighbor across the backyard. “He said to give you his best. He said he’d take care of the yard and gardens until you get back.”
His mother still didn’t stir. Her hand lay limp in his own.
“You know, Adrianne’s going to be here on Monday. She’s gotten a few weeks off from her clinic and will be with you. She said a trauma like you suffered can be a setback, but it doesn’t have to be the end, Mom. You have a lot of good days ahead.”
Still nothing.
Ian sighed and looked away. “You know, I thought all my life that Dad was a quiet, calm man. Steady but no sparks. Did his work well but never took chances. I had no idea how wrong I was. He knew, didn’t he? He knew all about you and the robbery. Prima was right when he tagged Dad’s connection to Doyle the year you married—because when you married Dad, he married everything you were carrying. The connection to Jimmy Doyle, the guilt from that night in the art gallery, the shame of it all. He did it with eyes wide open. Rory told me Dad had ‘fallen for his sister.’ I thought he was being sarcastic since I thought he didn’t have one. But he was talking about you. Dad fell for you and spent his life protecting you and everybody else around him. Including Katie. He loved you that much.”
A nurse came in with medications. Ian stood while she gently cajoled his passive mother to take the pills. She settled Martha back on the pillow and left the room.
There was a knock on the door the moment the nurse left. Brook stepped into the room with a scolding look. “You’re not supposed to be walking so far.”
It was so good to see her. “Apparently I come from a long line of overachievers.”
“No response yet?”
He shook his head. “But I think she notices the flowers.”
“That’s good.”
“They’re letting me out the middle of this week.”
“That’s also good,” Brook said. “Hey, I got a text from Sophie that Rory’s going to testify against Callahan and McMartin—including on the murder charge. He’s doing it for a reduced charge for his daughter. Not for Liam. Just Maureen.”
“Yeah, I heard something about that too,” Ian said. “I’m the one who got Harry to represent him.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. Didn’t see it coming, but it doesn’t surprise me.”
“Yeah. I’m going to owe Harry for this. Seems like I’ve gone into debt to a lot of people lately.”
Brook smiled. “I resigned,” she said flatly. “Left the U.S. Attorney’s Office.”
That came as a blow. “I’m sorry, Brook. This is my fault. They didn’t ask you to leave, did they?”
“No. Other than Chloe—who’s almost begging to wash my car—only Eldon really suspects I was helping you. Don’t feel bad. I’m glad I did what I did, but I couldn’t stay on after the decisions I had to make. Doesn’t mean I’d make different ones, though.”
“I’m sorry. I know you loved that job.”
She shook her head. “I really, really liked the job. It’s the people I worked with I loved. Finding a replacement for that won’t be easy. Have you decided what you’re going to do with your practice?”
“I’m done with the old office. I’m not renewing the lease when Dennis moves out in a couple of weeks. Besides, it’s time I refocused. I’m done with estate plans and trusts.”
“So, what’s next?”
“I have a thought about that. We can talk about it later.”
They grew quiet once more. Brook glanced at the side table, where a deck of cards lay. She picked them up. “How about a game of gin?”
For the briefest moment, from the corner of his eye, Ian thought he saw his mother’s eyelids flutter. If so, she’d stopped when he looked fully at her face.
Smiling, he sat back down on the end of the bed. “Deal. If you’ve got the courage.”