Page 77 of The Hacker
“It sounds like all three of us are worried about you.” She took one of his hands and tugged at it. He unfolded himself from the stool and stood, towering far enough above her that she couldn’t see the expression on his face in the minimal lighting. That wouldn’t work.
She interlaced her fingers with his and pulled him toward the sofa. For the briefest moment, he resisted. Then he let her settle him on the cushions. She grabbed the fake-fur throw draped over the back of the couch and wrapped it around herself before she sat sideways and curled her legs under her. She made sure her knees touched his thigh. The contact would provide a literal connection between them.
“Did they tell you?” he asked.
“I haven’t discussed your work habits with either of your partners. This is just me, wondering why you’re trying to drive yourself to exhaustion.”
“Huh.” He dropped his head into his hands and rubbed his face again. “They think it’s because my mother died three months ago.”
He stopped again, so she prompted, “Had she been ill?”
“That’s the hell of it. She was perfectly healthy except for the undiagnosed aneurysm in her brain.” He shook his head. “Jesus, I have all this money for the best possible medical care, but no doctor caught it. She died alone. Probably in pain.”
She laid a hand on his forearm. “No one can know whether she was in pain.”
“The doctor said she might have had a severe headache or nausea immediately before the aneurysm ruptured. But he said it was a blessing she died. If she’d survived, there would have been extensive neurological damage. She would have hated being less.” He turned away but she caught the glint of tears on his cheek. “She was such a strong woman.”
She understood one part of his sorrow. “You didn’t get to say goodbye. That must be hard.”
He gave her his profile again, after he wiped his cheek on the shoulder of his T-shirt. “Mama raised me single-handedly. We were a team, a unit, allies, as well as mother and son. We had each other’s backs. But I wasn’t there when she needed me. I didn’t have her back at the most important moment.”
She picked up his hand from his thigh and sandwiched it between both of hers. “Your love was with your mom. She knew that. I’m sure she felt wrapped in it when she died. Because I can feel it radiating from you.”
“I don’t believe in any of that woo-woo stuff about projecting energy through the universe.”
Stubborn man.“When you think of your mom, what do you feel?”
“Loss. Grief. Absence. Guilt.”
“What about love? You don’t remember being loved?”
“Of course I do.” He was almost angry. “My mother worked three jobs to put me through school. She encouraged me and supported me and told me I could do anything I put my mind to. She loved me deeply.”
“When she was dying, I guarantee she thought of you and felt your love in that same way.”
“It’s not the same as being there to hold her hand so she wasn’t alone when she faced death.”
His pain ripped at her heart like claws. “I get that, but you said she was a strong woman. I’m sure she faced death with courage.”
He was silent for a moment. “She was religious too. A Catholic. She believed in heaven and hell. God knows, she deserved to go to heaven.”
“She sounds extraordinary. I wish I could have met her.” The woman who had created this man whom Leland was must have been quite a force. She would have loved to see them together to watch the dynamic between them.
Finally, he curled his fingers around one of her hands and tilted his head to look at her. “You have a lot in common with her when it comes to strength. I think you would have gotten along well, the two of you.”
“That’s a lovely compliment.” She brought his hand to her lips for a brush of a kiss.
He turned on the sofa, crooking one knee flat on the cushion so he faced her full-on. “Derek and Tully think I work to bury my grief.” He shrugged. “That’s partially true. But I also do it to honor Mama. She gave up so much to make sure I had the tools to succeed. I owe it to her to use them.”
“Um, I think she knows you succeeded.”
He managed a ragged cough of a laugh. “Yeah, maybe.” He toyed with her fingers without seeming to be aware of it. “I bought her a house, a car, jewelry, designer clothes. All the things she couldn’t have when I was a kid. Honestly, I don’t think she really cared about any of it. She just wanted to see me doing well. So I’d fly her up here to stay in my apartment. A penthouse I bought to show her I’d made it.” His lips twisted into a wry smile. “I took her to fancy restaurants, to expensive stores. She was happy about that, not for herself, but becauseIcould afford all those things.”
“So you saw her often?”
“As often as she would come.” A silent sob shook him. “I miss seeing her face light up when the maître d’ showed us to the best table in a restaurant where reservations were supposedly impossible to get. Or when the manager in a designer store would wave away the minions and serve Mama herself. She’d give me this sly look that said, ‘We’re really something, aren’t we, getting this kind of treatment?’”
His adoration for his mother vibrated in every word he spoke. Tears pooled in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
