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“Yes.” It took every ounce of discipline he had to keep his voice steady. “What are we going to do about him? We need to do something.”
“I’ve already got feelers out. Hopefully we’ll find him and can have a conversation. Until then, we have to hope he will come to his senses.”
He did hope his friend and former boss would go home. That would be the best therapy for Striker. Preacher wasn’t quite sure what would be enough for him. But he desperately needed to figure it out.
* * *
Virginia Beach,Virginia
GQ had the good fortune to have been born and raised in Virginia Beach. He said that with tongue-in-cheek because he lived in his old home with his mom. It saved on living expenses, and he helped around the house when he wasn’t deployed. He didn’t often see his mom. He was busy when he was home and chose to spend most of his time either on the job, with the guys, or with the ladies. When he came through the front door, he could tell almost immediately that the house was empty. It had that hollow feeling. He called out anyway. “Mom?”
He had texted her that he would be home and approximately what time. But she hadn’t texted him back. It wasn’t unusual. She was often unsociable. He walked through to the kitchen. It was as neat as it always was. He looked out back, but the bleak backyard was empty. He frowned and pulled out his phone and checked his messages again. Nothing.
He went back to the front of the house. He still needed to grab his gear. When he opened the door, Mrs. McCreedy from next door reeled back and set her hand on her chest. He reached out to steady her and she said, “My, you startled me. I was just about to knock.”
“Do you know where my mom is?” he asked.
Her face went sad, her eyes saying,you poor thing being saddled with such a mother.
“You don’t know, do you? Typical.” She bustled inside and he stepped back to let her pass, then closed the door.
“Know what?” he asked, hearing the weary tone to his voice.
“Maybe you should sit down,” she suggested as she went into the living room. He followed behind her, his manners kicking in. “Can I get you something to drink?”
Mrs. McCreedy turned around with an exasperated look on her face. “She is such a bitter woman, and you are such a good boy. So kind and caring. Quite a warrior. Any mother would be blessed to have such a son.”
His chest and mind filled with memories of Mrs. McCreedy. She would often take him in on the pretense that she had baked too many cookies for Mr. McCreedy or her daughter to eat. She had pampered him and coddled him. He had to admit it was her who had given him what he’d needed as a child. It was her and her husband he really wanted to make proud.
She took his hand. “There isn’t any other way to tell you this. But I know you’re a resilient person. Your mom had a heart attack. She’s in the hospital.”
He sat there for a moment, speechless. She hadn’t had anyone contact him? The thought that she didn't seem to care that her son was the last to know that she was ill made him feel hollow.
She reached out and clasped his hands. “Now, don’t go doing that, Rem. You know how she is.”
“How bad is it?”
“Bad. Why don’t we go over to the hospital, and talk to the doctor? Jim and I can go with you.”
“I would like that very much, Mrs. McCreedy.”
“We’ve known each other a long time and you and I are close friends. Why don’t you call me Molly?”
“I’d like that very much, Mrs…Molly.”
“Let me scoot next door, get Jim, and we’ll drive you.” She cupped his chin and then pinched his cheek like when he’d been young. He smiled, thankful for her and her husband.
When they got to the cardiac floor, his mom’s attending physician came out to the waiting room. “Mr. Nash?”
GQ stood up. “Yes.”
“I’m Doctor Mills. I handled your mother’s case when she was brought in two days ago.”
“Thank you. How is she doing?”
He’d seen that look before on medics’ faces when a combat casualty wasn’t going to make it. He steeled himself. “I’m sorry, but her heart was damaged beyond what we can repair. The only thing that would save her is a new heart. But because of her age, and her placement on the transplant list, her prognosis is grim.”
“I see. She’s terminal?”
