Chapter 6: The Drive to St. Jude’s
The convoy of two vehicles crawled through the slick, rain-drenched city streets. Clara’s compact sedan led the way, its worn windshield wipers slapping a frantic rhythm against the glass. Behind her, Nal’s battered pickup truck rumbled along, its high headlights cutting amber paths through the gathering twilight. Inside the truck, Leo kept his eyes on the rearview mirror, checking for any sign of Jack’s dark blue sedan tailing them.
“He’s not behind us,” Leo said, breaking the silence in the cab.
Nal kept both hands firmly on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the red taillights of Clara’s car ahead. “He’s not trailing us because he knows where we’re going. St. Jude’s Hospice is on his radar now. Jack doesn't need to follow us when he knows the destination.”
“Are we playing with fire, Nal?” Leo asked, his tone laced with genuine concern. “You walked away from that mess for a reason. If Jack uses this against you, it could blow the whole cover we’ve spent three years building.”
“Evelyn taught me that some things matter more than keeping your head down,” Nal replied quietly, his voice devoid of doubt. “A dying woman wanting to see her family isn't a loose end, Leo. It’s just a human being running out of time. We play our parts, we give Clara her hour of peace, and then I’ll deal with Jack on my own terms.”
Ahead of them, Clara signaled and turned sharply into the dimly lit parking lot of St. Jude’s Hospice. The building was a somber, red-brick structure surrounded by weeping willows that dripped water onto the asphalt. Clara parked near the entrance, cutting her engine immediately. When Nal pulled the truck in beside her, she was already out of the car, standing in the cold drizzle, hugging her light blue cardigan tightly around her chest as she waited for them.
Nal and Leo stepped out into the rain, the damp chill biting through their leather and denim. Clara walked over, her face pale under the amber glare of the parking lot lights.
“Okay,” Clara whispered, her teeth slightly chattering. “The room is on the second floor. Room 214. The nurses are used to me, but… they haven't met him yet. What do we call him? What’s his name in this story?”
“Let’s keep it simple,” Nal said as he approached the entrance doors. “Leo can be the uncle, and I’ll be… well, I’m too old to be the father. Let’s say I’m the grandfather who stepped in to help raise him. It explains the gray beard and the miles on my face.”
Clara let out a shaky, half-hysterical breath that sounded almost like a laugh. “My father died ten years ago. A grandfather figure… that might actually make her cry happy tears instead of suspicious ones.”
May you like
They walked through the sliding glass doors into the antiseptic warmth of the hospice lobby, ready to step into a fiction that mattered more than the truth.
***
