Chapter 104
Nora's POV
The restaurant was small and warm, the kind of place where the menu was handwritten on a chalkboard and the owner knew everyone by name. I'd skipped lunch—just a sad desk salad that did nothing—so I ordered half the menu without shame.
Julian watched me eat with that small smile he got sometimes, the one that made him look younger. Less federal inspector, more just... a guy having dinner with someone he liked.
"What?" I asked around a mouthful of pasta.
"Nothing. Just glad you're eating."
I rolled my eyes but couldn't quite kill the warmth spreading through my chest. When I finally pushed my empty plate away, he leaned back in his chair, expression shifting to something more serious.
"Can I come with you? To see your mother?"
I hesitated. "She probably won't react. She doesn't... recognize anyone most days."
"I know." His voice gentled. "I'd still like to see her. If that's alright."
There was something in his eyes I couldn't read—something careful and hopeful and maybe a little vulnerable. I found myself nodding before I'd fully thought it through.
"Okay. But don't expect much."
---
The medical center at night was all fluorescent lighting and hushed voices. The nurse on duty gave us a tired smile and waved us through to Mom's room.
Julian went still beside me.
I settled into the chair by Mom's bed and took her hand. It was cool and papery-dry, the bones too prominent. "Hey, Mom. It's Nora."
No response. Her eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, empty as always.
I swallowed hard and kept talking. Told her about work, about stupid little things that didn't matter. My voice stayed light, cheerful, like she could hear every word.
"I brought someone with me today," I said, glancing at Julian where he stood at the foot of the bed. "This is Julian. He's... he's a really good man, Mom. Really good."
Julian's expression softened, but he stayed where he was, giving us space.
I was about to stand, to give up for the night, when Mom's fingers moved.
Just a twitch—barely anything—but I froze, heart suddenly in my throat.
"Mom?"
Her eyes shifted. Found my face. And for the first time in months, they focused.
"Nora..." The word came out slurred, broken, but it was there. Real.
Tears burned hot behind my eyes. I gripped her hand tighter, leaning in. "I'm here. I'm right here."
Her gaze drifted past me to Julian. Lingered there for several long seconds. Then the corner of her mouth lifted—just barely, just enough—in what might've been a smile.
When she looked back at me, her fingers squeezed mine with surprising strength.
"Good," she whispered.
I choked on a laugh that was half sob, turning to Julian with probably the most undignified expression I'd ever worn. "She knows me. She's talking!"
"I see." He moved closer, expression warm. "She's getting better."
The nurse appeared, eyes wide with surprise. "This is remarkable. She hasn't been lucid since she arrived here."
But even as she spoke, Mom's eyes were already losing focus again. Her hand went slack in mine, her gaze drifting back to that empty middle distance. Within seconds, it was like nothing had happened at all.
"Mom?" I tried again, desperate. "Can you hear me?"
Nothing. Just that blank stare.
"She's gone back," the nurse said gently.
I held Mom's hand anyway, unable to let go. My voice cracked when I spoke. "But she saw me, right? That was real?"
Julian's hand settled on my shoulder, warm and solid. "It was real."
I stayed a few more minutes, talking to the emptiness, before finally forcing myself to stand. At the door, I looked back one more time. Mom lay there motionless, exactly as she'd been when we arrived.
But something had shifted. Just for a moment.
I didn't know if that was a good thing or terrifying.
---
Julian was quiet on the drive back—quieter than he'd been coming. His hands stayed steady on the wheel, gaze locked forward, but the silence felt heavier somehow.
"You've been carrying this alone for a long time," he said finally. "Haven't you?"
I shrugged, aiming for casual and probably missing. "Marianne and Gareth help. They've done more than I ever could've asked."
His hand left the wheel long enough to rest on mine—just holding it gently. He didn't say anything else, but somehow that small gesture said enough.
When we pulled up outside RiverView Community, Julian glanced at the dark windows above. "No one home?"
"Marianne and Gareth are handling something in Blackwood. My cousin is working late shift."
He killed the engine. "I'll walk you up."
"You don't have to—"
"Not going inside. Just want to make sure you get in safe."
In the elevator, he told me he had something important this weekend. He couldn't be with me.
"Call me anyway," he added. "Even if it's nothing."
Then he pinched my cheek—actually pinched it—and said, "Remember that?"
I swatted his hand away. "I will. You should go back now."
At my door, I paused and looked back. He was already halfway down the hall, but he stopped when I called his name.
"Thanks. For today."
His smile was small and real. "Anytime."
I let myself in and went straight to the bedroom window. Below, Julian was almost to the car when he paused and turned, looking up like he knew exactly where I'd be. He raised one hand in a brief wave.
I waved back, watching until he climbed into the car.
The engine rumbled to life, and he pulled away into the night.
---
Julian's POV
The headlights cut through the darkness as I left RiverView Community behind, turning onto a service road that would take me back to the main highway.
This particular stretch was worse than most. No streetlights, just cracked asphalt. If Nora took this road every night after late shifts, it wasn't safe.
Something glinted on the road ahead.
I eased off the gas, eyes narrowing. Metal? Glass? At this speed, in this light, it was impossible to tell.
I jerked the wheel right. The car responded, heavy frame shifting—but not fast enough.
The impact came from below, a sickening crunch of metal on metal. The steering wheel lurched in my hands as the right front tire gave a violent shudder.
I guided the car to the shoulder and cut the engine, already knowing what I'd find.
The right front tire was shredded, rubber peeling away from the rim in jagged strips. I crouched down, pulling out my phone for light, and found the culprit still embedded in the remains: a twisted piece of rebar.