A Map of the World - Jane Hamilton [110]
When I started to complain about the stock market Theresa said, “You talk as if you’re an old fart. Like you grew up in these parts and aspired to be an old fart.”
“That’s awfully nice of you to say,” I said.
She laughed. “I meant it as a compliment, I really did!”
The girls were on the deck spitting watermelon seeds at each other. Theresa rested her cheek in her cupped hand and watched them out the sliding door for a long time. She closed her eyes tight for a minute every once in a while. I gathered that she was wincing at what for her was still unthinkable. I tried not to look on. I wondered what to say that could be of help. At the same time I knew there was nothing anyone could say. She couldn’t see the other girls without wanting Lizzy. She couldn’t believe in her death, and yet after their vacation out West she had gone down to Police Headquarters to talk to the officers about the drowning. She insisted, apparently, that nothing of a criminal nature had taken place at the pond. It was Rafferty, not Theresa, who informed me of the meeting. Sometimes, over lunch, I couldn’t keep from watching her as she struggled with her thoughts. I’d wonder about her while she was right across the table. Hers was a strength that was admirable.
On the twenty-third of July I took Emma and Claire from Vermont Acres after lunch and drove them to Racine for their interview. I had tried to be as casual as I could. They stood still with their faces upturned while Theresa cleaned their mouths with a wet dishcloth. The people were nice, she explained. No need to worry. The room was stocked with toys and games, stuffed animals and dolls. She put some spit on her finger and slicked down Emma’s cowlick. The girls knew enough to be afraid. Nothing we said allayed their anxiety. In the car Emma asked if she would be taken away. “No,” I said, again feeling the heat rising in me, seeing the road and sky in front of the car blaze and pitch.
Rafferty was waiting in the airy brick entrance at the Law Enforcement Center, where the Police Investigation Unit is housed. Emma and Claire did not know that their mother was in the next wing, four flights away. They took turns getting a drink from the bubbler while Rafferty whispered at me. “This place is up for grabs,” he said. “They’re not sure what to do. They don’t know if they have to honor my requests or if they can tell me to go to hell. Lexin said she’d put it on tape, the other one, Anderson, said they are under no obligation to do so. She made a ruckus about how taping children makes them uncomfortable. I smiled very prettily at her. I said that your girls had spent their formative years in front of a camcorder, correct? And that we would be glad, egregiously glad to pay for any expenses incurred. Then, goddamn it, if anything comes up, we’ve got it all right there. They have to haul the tape into court and it’s clear as dog shit, pardon me.” He turned to the girls. “How are we today?”
They looked out at him from under their bent heads. Emma whickered, “Go-o-o—d.”
Two young women came from a long hall, conferring as they walked toward us. They ignored Rafferty as he made the introductions. The attractive one knelt to look at Claire’s stuffed animal. Her natural speaking voice seemed to be at the pitch of a whine. “What have you got there?” Claire turned her face into my leg. “It’s okay,