Chapter 8 Holt
HOLT
The drive to Sandpiper Shores should have been relaxing.
Holt had made this journey countless times over the years, first as a boy visiting his great-uncle Abe during summer vacations, then later bringing his own son to experience the magic of the small coastal town.
The familiar route along Florida’s Nature Coast usually soothed something deep in his soul, but today tension coiled in his shoulders like a living thing.
“You okay, Dad?” his son asked, glancing at him in the rearview mirror. “You’ve been quiet since we left Miami.”
“Just tired,” Holt said, which wasn’t entirely untrue.
The doctors had warned him that recovery from his injuries would take time, and he could feel exhaustion pulling at the edges of his consciousness despite the afternoon nap he’d taken before they’d left the hospital.
“Looking forward to seeing your grandmother and Tyler.”
“They’re excited to have you here for the whole summer,” his son replied.
Holt smiled at that. His relationship with his grandson was one of the few things in his life that felt purely good, uncomplicated by the professional demands and personal regrets that shadowed most of his other connections.
Tyler’s enthusiasm for everything from baseball to technology reminded Holt of what it felt like to see the world with fresh eyes.
As they crested the hill that offered the first glimpse of Sandpiper Shores, Holt felt his chest tighten inexplicably.
The town spread out below them like something from a postcard, all weathered shingles and flowering gardens leading down to the harbor where sailboats bobbed at their moorings.
It should have been peaceful, welcoming, the kind of view that made him remember why he’d always loved this place.
Instead, dread settled in his stomach like a stone.
Holt pushed the feeling aside as they pulled into the lighthouse cottage’s crushed shell driveway.
The red brick tower stretched sixty feet into the sky beside the keeper’s cottage that had been in his mother’s family for over a century.
His great-uncle Abe had maintained both the lighthouse and the cottage with loving care until his death last year, and now his son and grandson called it home.
The front door burst open before they’d even turned off the engine, and Holt’s spirits lifted despite his inexplicable anxiety. His mother appeared first, moving with the spry energy that belied her eighty-three years, followed by Tyler, who looked taller than he had just a few weeks ago.
“Gramps!” Tyler called out, waving as he ran towards the car.
“Hi, kiddo,” Holt said, climbing carefully out of the passenger seat. His ribs protested the movement, and his leg was still stiff from the bullet wound, but seeing his family made the discomfort fade into the background.
A sharp bark drew his attention, and he turned to see Duchess, Tyler’s basset hound, loping toward them with her tail wagging furiously. The dog’s joy was infectious, and Holt found himself laughing as she circled his legs in excitement.
“Hey, girl,” he said, reaching down to scratch behind her ears. “It’s good to see you, too.”
His mother reached him then, pulling him into a careful embrace that managed to convey both her relief at having him safe and her determination not to hurt him further.
“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” she asked, studying his face with the sharp eyes that had been assessing injuries and illnesses for over sixty years as a nurse.
“Better every day,” Holt assured her. “A little hungry though.”
“Good,” she said firmly, “because I’ve made your favorite meal for lunch and some peach flavored ice tea.”
Tyler appeared at his other side, and Holt was struck again by how much the boy had grown over the past year. At fourteen, he was already showing signs of the height that ran in the Dillinger family, and his face was starting to lose the softness of childhood.
“Come on, Gramps,” Tyler said, taking Holt’s arm with surprising gentleness. “Grams made your favorite mac and cheese for lunch.”
They made their way up the porch steps slowly, Duchess trailing behind them with her tongue lolling out happily.
The interior of the cottage was exactly as his uncle had left it.
He noted that his son had yet to make any changes.
There was comfortable furniture worn smooth by generations of use, windows that let in the salt-scented breeze, and the kind of deep quiet that only came from being surrounded by people who loved you.
“Sit,” his mother commanded, pointing to the recliner that had been his great-uncle’s favorite spot. “Put your feet up. I’ll get you some iced tea.”
“Mom, I’m not an invalid,” Holt protested, but he was already sinking into the chair’s familiar embrace.
“No, but you’re a man who was shot three times and nearly died,” she replied tartly. “So you’ll sit where I can keep an eye on you.”
Tyler perched on the arm of the chair, launching into an animated description of everything Holt had missed during his hospital stay. How he’d become fascinated with drones, which his new friend was into, and how he now wanted one for his birthday.
“My new friend Andy is really cool, his mother is the captain of the fire department,” Tyler said, his eyes wide and sparkling. “I’ll be starting at Sandpiper High School in the fall, and I’m actually looking forward to it.”
“You, looking forward to school?” Holt said, with raised brows. “Wow! That’s a first.” He laughed despite how it made his ribs ache. “Look at you, here for not even a month, and you’ve already lost the city kid blues.”
“Yeah,” Tyler said with a grin. “I guess here, everyone knows you. Whereas in New York…”
“You’re just another face in the crowd?” Holt said in complete understanding. “That’s how I felt when Gram and your late great-grandfather moved us away from Sandpiper Shores to Miami.”
“Oh?’ Tyler’s brows shot up. “You used to live here?”
“Yup,” Holt said, nodding. “My late sister, Carly, and I were both born here in Sandpiper Shores.”
“How awesome,” Tyler said, his eyes darkening with emotion. “I’d have loved to have been born and raised in a small town like this.” He gave a tight smile. “Maybe… well, I just think it would’ve been a lot better and nicer to have grown up in this kind of environment.”
Holt’s chest tightened as he knew Tyler was thinking of his selfish mother, who had walked out on them when he was five for a modeling career.
Anger spurted through him as he remembered that his second ex-wife, and his son’s mother, Lillian, had done the same thing to them.
Only Lillian had left Holt and their five year old son, Conrad, to marry a famous plastic surgeon.
Like Tyler’s mother, Lillian had also never looked back.
Never contacted them, not even a birthday card or phone call to find out how their sons were.
Holt swallowed the anger and smiled at Tyler. “Well, you’re here now,” he reasoned.
“And I’ve already made a great friend,” Tyler said, grinning, his glitch over his mother gone in an instant.
They were interrupted when his mother called them for lunch, which was a quiet affair, just the four of them around the kitchen table that had served the Strand family for decades.
His mother had made mac and cheese, and despite his lack of appetite since the shooting, Holt found himself eating with genuine enjoyment for the first time in days.
“This hits the spot,” Holt said, earning a pleased smile from his mother. “It’s been a while since I had a great mac and cheese.”
“I’m glad you still enjoy the dish,” she said, her shrewd eyes observing him. “You look tired, son. Maybe you should go have a lie down after lunch.”
“Normally, I’d take offence to that,” Holt told her with a smile. “But, I am rather tired after the trip, so I might just do that.”
“Good,” his son said, nodding and looking at his wristwatch. “I have to go get ready for my shift.”
“Are you working today?” Holt and his mother said in unison.
“Yeah,” his son nodded. “I missed a few days, and I’ve only been here for not even a month.”
“Those were extenuating circumstances,” Holt pointed out.
“I know,” his son nodded. “And Chief Morrison has been very understanding, but it doesn’t feel very professional not to go in now that I’m home.”
Holt smiled at how easily the word home had slipped from his son’s lips, and he was pleased that they had chosen to settle down here in Sandpiper Shores.
It beat New York, and at least Holt could sleep a little easier at night knowing his son wasn’t in a city where danger lurked around every corner.
Holt knew he was being overprotective, but his eyes fell on his grandson.
He also knew what it was like to grow up without a father.
At least Holt had had his mother. Tyler didn’t have that luxury.
They were just finishing their meal, and Holt’s son had gone to get changed when a knock came at the front door. Tyler’s face lit up immediately.
“That must be Andy!” Tyler announced, jumping to his feet, “Excuse me from the table. But I have to answer the door.”
Tyler dashed off with Holt’s mother rolling her eyes and shaking her head before standing and starting to collect the lunch dishes.
“Let me help you with that,” Holt told her, starting to rise.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You go and relax, I’ve got this.”
As Holt stood and moved back to the recliner, he heard a woman’s voice at the door, warm and confident as she spoke to Tyler.
Something about the tone made his chest tighten, though he couldn’t say why.
He turned as footsteps approached the living room, where his mother appeared with another iced tea.
Then when the woman appeared in the doorway, the breath left his lungs in a rush.