“Maybe they’ll understand.”
Her eyes filled with tears for the dozenth time that morning. “Not for a long time.”
The nurse knocked on the door, her short blond hair bouncing. “Good morning,” she whispered.
“I couldn’t get much,” Abby said as I handed the nurse the equipment and container.
The nurse held it up and narrowed her eyes then smiled. “It’ll do. He’ll be a happy boy.”
“Can we see him?” Abby asked.
“Yes,” the nurse said, pointing at her. “Right after you get some rest.”
“We’ve been trying,” I said.
“Not a problem. I’ll make a note. Do not disturb.”
“Unless,” Abby began.
“Unless something comes up. Yes, ma’am.” The nurse closed the door behind her, and I settled back into the recliner.
Abby turned off the light above her, and except for the sunrise peeking through the edges of the blinds, it was dark. The birds were chirping, and I wondered if I would ever sleep again.
“I love you,” Abby whispered from her bed.
I wanted to crawl into her bed with her, but the IV made that precarious. “I love you more, Pigeon.”
She sighed, the bed crinkling as she settled in.
I closed my eyes, listening to Abby’s breathing, the IV pump, and the obnoxious bird happily singing outside. Somehow, I slipped beneath the waves of consciousness, dreaming that I was lying next to Abby for the first time in my college apartment, wondering how in the hell I was going to keep her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SHEPLEY
AMERICA HELD MY HAND, pulling me through Abby’s hospital room doorway. It smelled like bleach and flowers, exactly why I was glad America had our last two boys at home. Hospitals gave me the heebie-jeebies, pretty much just holding bad memories for me. Mercy Hospital was the setting for the times I remembered going with my parents to see Diane, when I broke my arm, when Trenton got into that bad car accident with Mackenzie and again with Camille. The only good memories I have of Mercy Hospital were when Ezra and then Travis and Abby’s twins were born.
“Hi,” Abby said with a smile, embracing America when she bent over for a hug.
“You look so good!” America said, repeating the phrase every postpartum mom wants to hear.
Abby beamed. “They’re taking me to see him soon.”
“Good,” America said, sitting next to her. She held her friend’s hand. “That’s good.”
There was an elephant in the room. The four of us had been close since the first night Abby came to my apartment with Travis. It wasn’t like them to keep things from us. At least, that’s what I’d thought. America and I had several conversations about how the FBI seemed to have forgotten about Travis’s involvement with the fire, how the questions and the suspicion stopped. And then the weird moment the morning after Travis and Abby’s wedding in St. Thomas when he was so upset he couldn’t speak. That was it. That was when it happened. Thomas had given him an ultimatum.
America fell quiet. The America I fell in love with would have raked Abby over the coals for being dishonest, but my wife and mother of three tyrants was wiser and slower to anger. She listened more and reacted less. Their friendship had lasted on the basis of full disclosure. How else could they love each other no matter what? But now we were in a time of our lives when we had to put our spouses first. Marriage made friendship—even old ones—complicated.
“Mare,” Abby began. “I wanted to tell you.”
“Tell me what?” America said. Now that the conversation had started, she wasn’t going to let her off too easy.
“About Travis. I just found out myself a few years ago.”
“When did you stop trusting me?” America asked, trying not to sound hurt.
“It’s not about that. He wasn’t cheating or fighting a drug addiction, Mare. He was undercover for the FBI. He was running with the mob, fighting at first, and then shaking down Vegas strip clubs and making threats. I couldn’t call you about it or text. We couldn’t whisper about it like gossip next to the pool while watching the kids play. Travis was being watched. Why would I tell you?”
“So you didn’t have to carry it alone.”
“I wasn’t alone,” Abby said. She looked at Travis with a small smile.
“That morning in St. Thomas?” I asked. “That was when you were recruited?”
“I didn’t have a choice,” Travis said.
I rubbed the back of my head, my thoughts spinning. How had Travis kept this secret all these years? When he was traveling for the gym, and then when he took over Thomas’s job, it was always the FBI. That explained how they bought a house based on his personal trainer wages, but I still couldn’t believe they’d kept it from us.
“So why Thomas?” I asked. “Why did Thomas keep it a secret?”
Travis shrugged. “Mom. She made Dad promise to quit his job as a detective, and that we wouldn’t follow in his footsteps. But Thomas was born to do this job.” He spoke of Thomas with reverence, and I believed him, even though I still didn’t understand the lies.
“Jim would have understood, Trav. Surely, there’s another reason.”
Travis shrugged. “That’s the only reason he’s ever given me. He didn’t want to disappoint Dad. He didn’t want Dad to tell him not to pursue a career he was passionate about.”
America watched Travis speak, her eyes narrowing. She picked up on something I didn’t. “So Thomas knew that you were about to be arrested and talked someone in the Bureau into offering you a job because of your connections with Mick and Benny? Why not Abby?”
Abby chuckled. “Travis was capable of doing things for Benny I wasn’t. And Travis would have never agreed to that.” America nodded, but she still wasn’t satisfied. Something wasn’t adding up. They were still hiding something. “So now Thomas …” America trailed off. She did that with the boys a lot, hoping they would fill in the blanks.
Travis cleared his throat. “Was targeted, yes.”
“And that cut on your head?” I asked.
He traded glances with his wife. “I was, too. That’s why the agents came to Dad’s. That’s why they’re here. That’s why we have to stay together.”