Page 146 of Jonesing for a Spy

“There’s the woman I love.” He saunters down the hall and returns, his water refilled. “Drink up, Freckles. Your body needs all the help it can get to recover.”

He seems to be doing the same, whether in sympathy or solidarity, I don’t know.

“After my nap,” I offer quietly.

Strider

She sleeps.

And I take another God-forsaken pill.

The blood transfusion I got in Austin was probably a life-saver. The same for the platelet infusion. I can thank Jamie for that one. Between those and the prednisone, I should be okay. I’m watching every symptom I know and am prepared to head to the doctor at any given moment if something feels off.

In the meantime, this is a typical, run-of-the-mill flare-up. I hate that I even know that, but I do.

I managed to get away with everything without Mirren noticing. Not that I’m trying to get away with it. But she has enough stress as it is. Major surgery is plenty. The pending meeting at the agency actively weighs on her mind. The holidays around the corner add to that too.

I’ll tell her. Of course, I’ll tell her, but I want her recovery to be as easy as it can be. Surgery twice in two years is two times too many.

Besides, Jamie knows and is checking in. Speaking of checking in…

Hey, Mom. Texting because Mirren is sleeping. She had surgery to repair a knee.

How much can I say here? Ugh!

Mom

June already let me know. How’s she doing?

That’s the last thing I expected to hear.

You talked to June?

While you were at the hospital. She wanted to introduce herself. She sounded dead on her feet but was sweet.

June Jones is not sweet.

Glad you both connected.

June doesn’t know. But I’m in a flare.

My phone rings, and I silence it and head down the hall on quiet feet.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Strider.” My name is love and pity on her tongue. There’s a pause before she rushes on. “Are you okay? Do you have what you need? A good doctor? Are you getting rest?”

“I’m fine. I just wanted you to know. I don’t know why I always feel the need to tell you.”

“You can always tell me anything.”

Like I’m engaged, and my fiancée is an honest to God spy? Yeah, that’s a no.

“I know. I’m watching everything. I’m on the right track.”

“That’s good to hear.” Her sigh is relief not exasperation. “Oh, and we had some excitement too. Aaron Fitzgibbons’s home was raided the day before yesterday. Like they do on TV. They swarmed in and came out with boxes upon boxes and then taped it up with that yellow crime scene plastic. Gene Clasky called Dad. You remember Gene?”

“I’ve been gone for five minutes, Mom.”