“There must be something on your mind,” she said.
He sighed softly. She was learning too much from him. “I was thinking about my mother. She said something I can’t remember. It’s right on the tip of my brain.”
“Don’t push. If it’s important, it’ll come to you.”
He stared at her, then gave her a small smile. “You’d better get going. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She got up slowly and brushed the wrinkles from her skirt. “I’ll be home tonight. Call if you need anything, even if you just want to talk.”
“I’ll do that.”
Cal waited for the click of the door, then closed his eyes and relaxed into the chair. It only took a moment, thinking of a hand waving in front of his face. He’d had plenty of practice now, three or four times a day, flying back twenty-five years.
The drawer in the nightstand was open slightly. The carpet was soft under his feet. He crossed to the wall, leaned in and started the count.
Tori hadn’t left, but stood in the shadows by the door. His arms began to quiver, and his head turned as if he was listening hard for something. Somehow she knew he was gone, no longer in the office. She wouldn’t leave, and she couldn’t bring him back, so she just stayed to watch over him.
Fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four . . .
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Robert Palmer is a lawyer and law professor in Washington, DC. His clients have included cops and school teachers, members of Congress, judges, and agency heads—and more than a few psychologists. In his spare time he enjoys distance running, downhill skiing, and backpacking in the Blue Ridge, the Rockies, and anyplace else with mountains. He lives with his wife and son and their Portuguese water dog, Theo. For more, visit www.robertpalmerauthor.com.
The Survivors Page 31