Fractured Memory. Jordyn Redwood
asked, closing his laptop.
“As well as can be expected.”
He rose from the table. “Can I get you anything? I think Eli put some tea in the cabinet.”
“You sit. I don’t want to disturb your work.” Julia walked into the kitchen and began to scour the cabinets. She found several boxes of flavored tea. On the stove top was a stainless steel teakettle. She lifted it and filled it with water. “Can I make some for you?”
“I’ll try anything once. Coffee is my go-to beverage.”
“You know, I never got the taste for coffee, which always surprises people when I tell them I work in health care.”
“That does strike me as odd.”
“How do I make a long story short? During nursing school, I worked with a hospice nurse. When we were visiting a family after her patient died, they offered me a cup.”
“I take it that didn’t go over so well?”
Julia chuckled. “It was the strongest, most bitter liquid I’d ever put in my mouth, but I drank it because I didn’t want to appear thoughtless. From then on—”
“No coffee for you.”
Not to mention that the aroma of the coffee had also been forever linked in her mind to the stench of death. Julia shuddered and turned the water off, set the teakettle on the stove and turned on the gas burner. “Exactly, just tea. So, what is it you do for the FBI?”
“I guess you could call me a jack-of-all-trades. My specialty is computer forensics, but I hated being cooped up indoors, which was part of why I joined the FBI—to get to work in the field.”
“And outside of work?”
“I know I don’t look the part of the rugged mountain man, but when the snow is melted and the sun is out I’m usually hiking. Evergreen is home.”
Julia tapped her fingers on the counter as she waited for the water to boil. “Have you seen the insane gymnastics maneuvers people are attempting these days? I didn’t even know what parkour was until some kid came in with a broken arm after trying it.”
Ben laughed. “Those parkour people are a totally different breed. A little—” he whistled and circled his finger next to his head “—cray-cray to say the least.”
“Do you have children?”
His lips parted slightly as if to speak and then clamped down. A flash of unhappiness appeared in his eyes as quickly as it was replaced with a placid smile. “No children.”
“Sorry if that’s too personal, but that phrase you used is common with kids these days, and I noticed you watching the boys in the park.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m just keeping a close eye on the perimeter. The agents outside don’t have a view of this side of the property. I’m curious though. What’s it like? Working with kids all the time?”
“Challenging. You can have the best and worst moment in the same day.”
“How is that possible?”
Julia pulled two cups from the cupboard. “I’ve saved a child’s life and lost another in the same day.”
Ben placed his elbows on his knees. “What’s it like for you to lose a child? As a nurse?”
Julia’s pulled down one of the boxes of tea Eli had stocked. It touched her that he’d gathered these for her to try and make her feel more comfortable. There hadn’t been a man in her past who had even tried to be attuned to her needs. “I can’t speak as a mother about the loss of a child, because I’ve not been one, but I know as a nurse to lose a patient...particularly someone so young...” Julia pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. Her gut clenched. There had been too many lost little ones in her eight years of nursing. “It’s devastating.”
Contemplating her statement, Ben shifted back and looked out the window.
There was something there. Something hidden she couldn’t quite figure out. Years of nursing instilled in Julia a wealth of intuition. Every day, she had to interpret the things patients could not say.
A child claiming her black eyes and swelling lips were the result of running into a door. The teenager with small, deliberate razor cuts on her forearms as the only means to experience the pain she could not speak of. It was her expertise to read the smallest impressions of verbal tone, the slightest shift of body language that would disclose a truth a patient didn’t want to confess.
She placed a tea bag in the brown mug.
Ben settled his eyes back to her. “I’ve lost victims in the line of fire. You’re right...it’s tough. But it’s not like losing a family member.”
Julia’s parents came to mind and how she didn’t have them anymore.
Ben was right—it wasn’t the same.
* * *
Eli slowly walked up the steps of the one-story redbrick structure of the facility where Hank Galloway, Julia’s grandfather, was a resident. His thoughts often wandered back to Julia, how seeing her in the flesh, so strong and healthy, made it difficult to keep his emotions in check.
In law enforcement, it was rare to see a good outcome to someone who had suffered from such a violent crime. Knowing that Hank was a retired law enforcement officer, Eli figured it would be hard for him to keep his nose out of Julia’s business—particularly if he felt her life was in danger.
Eli’s goal was to make it clear to Hank that that was exactly what he needed to do to help ensure Julia’s safety.
As he entered the facility, he spied the U.S. Marshal who was working undercover dressed as a volunteer to help keep an eye on things. They acknowledged each other only with the briefest glance as Eli approached the receptionist’s desk and inquired about Hank’s room.
She pointed down the hall. “Third door on the left.”
Eli inhaled deeply. He undid the top button of his dress shirt, loosened his tie and tried to dismiss the vexing nature that the fading imprint of holding Julia in his arms had on him. He knocked softly, semihoping that Hank might be napping.
“Enter.” The voice was strong—anything but weakened with age.
He stepped inside. On the wall hung several commendations and awards from Hank’s law enforcement career. They locked eyes, Hank’s brown eyes, so similar to Julia’s, clearly sizing Eli up.
“Well, if it isn’t the prodigal son.”
Hank, a few inches shorter than Eli, struggled to plant his cane and push himself up from the rocking chair.
Eli crossed the room quickly and grabbed his forearm to steady his tremors. Parkinson’s disease had ravaged his body and laid waste to his muscles. He was a hunched-over remnant of the man in the photos.
“Sir, please, you don’t have to get up.”
“I always like to meet a man eye-to-eye. Particularly one who took such an interest in my granddaughter.”
Holding tightly on to Eli, Hank struggled to a standing position and clasped Eli’s hand in his strong, chafed, leathery one. Even though his other muscles were weak, the ones in his hand were seemingly spared from the ravages of the disease.
“I know you were the detective on Julia’s case. Recognize your face from the newspaper stories but you’re also the one who helped with her rehab. Or am I just being presumptuous?”
“Guilty as charged.”
“Nice to officially meet you, son. I’m Hank Galloway.”
“Eli Cayne, sir.”
“Now sit down,” Hank ordered.
Eli assisted Hank back to a sitting