“You can sleep in the bed, I’ll sleep in the chair.”
“Knox, it’s your room.”
“And you’re a lot bigger than me. And I’ve slept in far worse places, trust me.”
She grabbed some things from her suitcase and went back into the bathroom. A minute later she came out dressed in shorts and a tank top, her hair down around her shoulders. She snagged a pillow off the bed and a blanket from the closet. She curled up in the chair and put the blanket over her.
“You sure about this?” said Puller, who had been watching her uncomfortably.
“For the last time, yes. Can you hit the light?”
Puller swiped the switch with his hand. Then he got into bed, lay back against the pillow, and lifted the sheet up to his chest.
Knox sat up in the chair. “What were you thinking about when I came out of the bathroom?” she asked. “Your brother?”
“No. Somebody else in the family.”
“Your father?”
“No,” he said, his tone blunt.
“Okay, I get the message. I’ll stop asking.”
They lay there in silence for a few minutes, the only sound their breathing.
“It was my mother. I was thinking about her.”
He glanced over. Knox was looking at him.
“Is she still alive?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he replied.
“What happened to her?”
“She disappeared when I was a kid. She was waving at me from the window of our house while I was outside playing. She was just there and then she was gone. Never saw her again.”
“Puller, I’m so sorry.”
“I’ve…I’ve never told anyone about this. At least not since it happened.”
“I can understand that.”
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t…”
“Puller, if there’s something I can do, it’s keep a secret. I would never tell anyone. I swear.”
“Thanks, Knox.”
“But why did you start thinking of her now? Because of your brother?”
“No. It was your being in the shower. And the singing.”
She looked embarrassed. “I was singing in the shower? Jesus, sometimes I don’t even know I’m doing it. I’m sorry. I can’t even carry a tune.”
“No, you were fine.” Then he grew silent.
She said, “Is that the last memory you have of your mother, apart from seeing her in the window? She was singing in the shower?”
Puller nodded, because he couldn’t speak right now.
“I had no idea, Puller. I never would have—”
“I know,” he said interrupting her. “It’s okay.” He paused. “Some family, huh. Brother on the run. Mother disappeared. And my father’s sitting in a VA hospital still thinking he’s heading up an Army corps.”
She said, “My grandfather had Alzheimer’s. It’s a…terrible disease. It wipes everything important away from the inside out.”
“Yeah, it does,” he said curtly, and then there was silence once more.
“Good night, Puller.”
“Maybe Kirk can file a motion?”
“No, that would take too long. We need a shortcut.”
“How?”
Puller pulled out his phone. The man answered on the second ring. James Schindler from the National Security Council said, “Hello?”
“Mr. Schindler, John Puller. I need your help, sir. And I really need it right now.”