Chapter 14 Holt #2
It was a lie, but one that seemed to satisfy his son.
The truth wasn’t something he wanted to admit or blurt out.
That he was grappling with decades of regret as he tried to navigate the complex emotions of seeing June again.
It wasn’t something Holt was ready to discuss with anyone, let alone his son.
As they finished their preliminary examination of the scene and began walking back toward the staging area, Holt found himself observing the dynamics between the people around him.
Rad moved with easy confidence, but there was something almost brotherly in the way he positioned himself near Willa, offering quiet support without being obvious about it.
More interesting was the way Rad’s entire demeanor changed when they reached the area where Margo Tanner was packing up the emergency refreshment station.
The subtle shift in his son’s posture, the way his voice gentled when he spoke to her.
Then there was the look on his son’s face.
It was a look Holt hadn’t seen on Rad’s face since his disastrous marriage to Tyler’s mother.
“Can I help you with that?” Rad asked, moving quickly to assist Margo with a heavy cooler.
“Thank you,” Margo replied with a smile that seemed to light up the entire area. “That’s very kind of you.”
Holt watched the interaction with growing interest. Unlike his gut feeling about Rad’s ex-wife, which had been negative from the beginning, there was something genuinely warm and positive about Margo Tanner.
She had the kind of natural kindness that couldn’t be faked, the sort of person who would think to bring food and comfort to emergency responders without being asked.
“Dad?” Rad broke into his thoughts again. “You okay?”
“Sorry,” Holt said, realizing he’d been staring. “Just processing everything from tonight.”
“Margo wants to know if you’d like something to eat before we head back to town,” Rad said, though his attention was clearly focused on the red-haired woman beside him.
“I’ll pass, thanks, Margo,” Willa said, exhaustion evident in her voice. “I need to get home to my kids.”
“I have to get to the clinic,” Carmen said as she passed their group, gathering her medical supplies. “Please tell June I’ll be late, Willa.”
“Will do, Aunt Carmen,” Willa replied. “Thank you so much for your help tonight.”
Carmen nodded and moved away without so much as a glance in Holt’s direction.
He sighed quietly, understanding her protective stance.
Carmen had essentially raised June after their mother died and their father fell apart with grief.
Her loyalty to her younger sister was absolute, and Holt didn’t expect forgiveness for the pain his divorce from June had caused.
“Director?” Margo’s voice drew his attention back to the present. “Would you like some coffee or a sandwich before you go?”
“Coffee would be great, thank you,” Holt replied, suddenly realizing he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
“Thanks for your help tonight, Director Dillinger,” Willa said, pulling off her fire helmet and running a hand through sweat-dampened hair. “I’m going to head home now, but I’ll have those files ready for you first thing in the morning.”
“I’ll walk you to your vehicle,” Ace said immediately, and again Holt felt that unwelcome surge of protectiveness.
“Good night, Willa,” Holt managed, forcing himself to focus on the professional aspects of their interaction rather than the personal complications swirling beneath the surface.
As Willa and Ace disappeared into the darkness, Holt found himself sitting at one of the folding tables Margo had set up, accepting a cup of coffee and a sandwich he didn’t particularly want. Rad sat beside him, and Chief Morrison joined them, looking as exhausted as Holt felt.
“You should eat something too,” Rad told Margo with gentle insistence. “You’ve been taking care of everyone else all night.”
“I suppose I am a bit hungry,” Margo admitted, settling into the remaining chair with her own cup of coffee.
As Rad and Margo fell into easy conversation about the evening’s events, Holt turned his attention to Tom Morrison. They’d known each other since kindergarten, growing up together in the same small town, following different paths that had somehow brought them back to the same place.
“So,” Holt said quietly, “how’s divorced life treating you?”
Tom sighed deeply, the question clearly touching on painful territory. “Honestly? It’s a relief. Victoria and I should never have gotten married in the first place.”
“What happened?” Holt asked, though he suspected he knew the answer. Small-town gossip had a way of traveling, even to FBI offices in Virginia.
“Same old story,” Tom said with a bitter laugh.
“High school sweethearts, family pressure, the assumption that just because you dated as teenagers, you weren’t meant to be together forever.
My parents chose Victoria for me because she came from the ‘right’ family, had the ‘right’ connections.
Her parents chose me because I was wealthy and from the right Sandpiper Shores family. ”
“Arranged marriages don’t usually go well,” Holt stated. “Or second marriages.” He shook his head, thinking of his own disastrous second marriage to Lillian.
“The truth is,” Tom continued, “I spent nearly forty years married to a woman who never really knew me, and I never really knew her. We played the parts we thought we were supposed to play, but underneath it all, we were strangers.”
“Any regrets?” Holt asked. “About the divorce, I mean.”
Tom was quiet for a moment, staring into his coffee cup as if it held answers to questions he’d been avoiding for years. “Nope. Just the glaring realization of what I’ve always known. I married the wrong woman.”
“I can sort of relate to that,” Holt told him, before they fell into comfortable silence.
Holt found himself thinking about June sleeping in her daughter’s house just a few miles away, probably wondering what the summer would bring now that their carefully maintained distance had been shattered.
Tomorrow, Holt would throw himself into the investigation, using work as a buffer against the emotional complications of their reunion.
But tonight, as he finished his coffee and prepared to drive home to the lighthouse cottage, Holt would allow himself to think.
Think about the past thirty-eight years, which was a long time to carry regrets.
Maybe it was time to find out if some stories deserved better endings than the ones they’d settled for.