Page 176 of The Exit Strategy

COLE

The scuffof Nana Mae’s slippers alerts me to her presence before she becomes visible in my driveway. Her hair’s down, and she’s in her bathrobe. I don’t think I’ve seen her this disheveled twice in a row since I was small enough to fit in her lap.

She huffs when she sees me but pulls one of the rocking chairs to the edge of the porch to sit next to me.

The card table Hudson set up with all my files sits next to her. We’re working out here because leaving my post feels like giving up on Junie, and I won’t do that.

“Drink the coffee or don’t,” she says, eyeing the mug she gave me yesterday that now has a gross film on it. “But stop staring at it like it owes you an apology.”

“Nana Mae?—”

“I’m not finished. And I’m not as fragile as you think I am, so spill it.”

Swallowing the guilt, I start slowly. First is the story of how I found the foreclosure notice to Junie’s house when I was in charge of organizing all our bills there, and what I did to clean up that mess by tying it to a piece of mygrandfather’s legacy with a loan I’ll be repaying for years. Then I move on to Devin, the ledger he found that gave him the blueprints to steal from us.

When I’m done, the silence of an early coastal Carolina morning settles around us. I’m both lighter and more devastated by my actions than I can begin to process.

“Cole.” She isn’t crying. Nana Mae doesn’t cry where you can see it. “I’ve known about Devin—to some extent—since the second quarter, when I started organizing your paperwork.” A chill hits the air that has nothing to do with the temperature.

“Then why?—”

“Because I was waiting for you to come to me.”

Oh.

“I knew you needed to be the one doing the protecting. You’ve had this need in you since your parents died.” She shakes her head. “You’re built like your mother, you know? Your brain, your empathy, your drive. But you have more of your father in you than I gave you credit for. The thing that was in his blood and had him running into that burning building to save your mother is the same thing coursing through you now with the need to protect, to fix, and to do it yourself. Papa and I saw it in you then. It’s why we decided that I’d move to Boston with you so you could stay in the only home you’d ever known. And I see it in you now—the way it’s crushing you not to fix what’s broken.”

If I so much as blink, my emotions will spill out, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop them.

“Do you ever regret it?” I ask, my voice too hoarse to be heard far. “You missed out on Papa’s last few good years to be with me in Boston?—”

“Papa and I knew we’d made the right choice the moment you started kindergarten and you came home withthree new best friends. You didn’t realize you were letting them carry the load when it got too much for you, but we saw it. We saw how Fenway would pull you from the darkness when the sadness got too much. We saw how Nolan silently cared about if you had a seat at every table. And we saw how Hudson bulldozed you into new experiences. And for that alone, we knew it was the right decision. We may have lost our daughter when you lost your parents, but you gave us a piece of her that we would’ve moved heaven and hell to protect.”

“You did.”

“Mm-hmm. But somewhere along the way, you forgot that family means leaning on each other. It’s time, Cole.” She pats my shoulder with a heavy hand. “Gotta go see what those boys are up to before they burn down your kitchen. Think about what I said.”

With my emotions all over the place, I press my fingers to her bony hand and nod. The soothing sound of her slippers scuffing across the floorboards is the last thing I hear before my phone starts vibrating again.

Fen & Tonic:

Hudson: Injunction filed at 9. Meridian’s general counsel called forty minutes later. They’re dealing with the fallout of Junie’s email and don’t want more bad press. The prize money will clear by Wednesday at the latest.

Hudson: Next time you want to go after Natalie, fucking warn me. I just got the copy of your AIA filing.

Hudson: Drink some fucking water.

A bottle of water hits my back.

I drink it, then hold up the empty bottle. The screen door slams shut behind me.

Fen: Story confirmed for Tuesday. Rolls out at 8 a.m. Eastern. Two outlets. Your statement is locked and loaded.

Fen: (Heart eye emoji)

I fucking hate sitting here doing nothing. I hate it with every fiber of my being. But I do it because they’re the experts now. And I asked for their help. They’re doing what I can’t, and sitting here while they do it is the second hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

I’m about to turn the phone over when a message from Nolan comes through.