Ariel's Crossing - Bradford Morrow [126]
“Shall we go visit Mrs. McCarthy first?”
As they walked down the corridor, Mary glanced past open doors into rooms, some dark, others softly lit by bedside lamps. Agony, perplexity, fatigue emanated from those entries, soft murmurs and gentle groans that seared through her. Sarah lay an open palm on her back as they walked, the briefest maternal gesture.
Mrs. McCarthy wasn’t in her room. The bed was unmade. The curtains were drawn back. A nightlight gleamed in her bath.
They found her in the east lounge, alone, sitting in one of the deep-cushioned chairs, hands interlocked on her lap, head tilted back to concentrate on the huge panes of glass overlooking Acid Canyon. Water flowed translucent down the windows. But for the early-morning tympany against the glass, the room was embraced by tranquility. Sarah kneeled beside Ariel’s grandmother and said, “Pretty, isn’t it?”
Without looking at her, the woman whispered, “Beautiful.”
“I understand you’ll be leaving us pretty soon.”
She turned her head and gazed at Sarah.
“Your daughter’s made arrangements with the speech therapist, I saw, and you’ll be coming back here twice a week for some follow-up physical work.”
“The rain, truly beautiful.”
“You can stay if you want, you know. Nobody’s pushing you out. You’re welcome here.”
“Home will be fine.”
She had learned to try to avoid words that went flooey in her mouth, ones that might turn miss to myth or true to shoe.
“I wanted you to know that your granddaughter—”
“Ariel—”
“You may remember that she came with me down to Nambé to meet Kip Calder?”
“Where—”
“She’s with my son, Marcos. This is Marcos’s friend Mary.”
Mary shook her supple hand and smiled, feeling fraudulent despite having been thoroughly outed. “Hello.”
“They’ve gone downstate for a couple of days and Ariel wanted me to tell you she’s fine and will be back very soon.”
Sarah looked at Mary awkwardly.
“Good, good,” the old woman remarked, as if enjoying the sound of the word, then turned again to the runneling window.
“Good, yes. All right, then. Did you want to sit here a while longer? That rain is so pretty, isn’t it.”
“You warm enough?” Mary asked.
“I’m fine, good.”
“Will you tell your daughter that Ariel’s all right or do you want me to let her know?”
“Fine.”
Sarah rose to her feet. “I’ll tell Bonnie Jean, then.”
“Good, you do.”
Mary gently stroked a wisp of hair that had caught on the old woman’s eyelashes. “There,” she said.
“Beautiful,” the woman whispered, a rattling stutter at the center of the word.
“I’m sorry?”
“The rain is beautiful, isn’t it,” repeated Mrs. McCarthy, perfectly enunciating her pleasure.
“It most certainly is, dear.”
Sarah took Mary by the arm, and they departed the echoing room to find Clifford.
“Ki-ip,” she shouted, having heard what she thought was a man’s voice talking in the encircling wilderness.
Delfino turned in his saddle and said, “Hey, keep it down.”
She strained to hear the voice again but didn’t.
Marcos rode up from behind. “Let’s just get there first,” he said gently. “Then we’ll find him. You go yelling his name out here and you never know who’s going to hear you and yell back.”
That was okay. That wasn’t wrong. God, she was getting tired. But collected herself again.
Nabor’s Tank was the next appointed landmark in this neighborless place. It was up ahead in the dark—Delfino could tell by the way the terrain flattened and by the stunted vegetation and the more friable texture of the sandy ground. Even in the middle of the night and all these decades later, he remembered such nuances.
Not much was said for long periods, though now and again they spoke quietly, if only to confirm they were still within earshot of one another. They’d made a lot of miles without a second glimpse of those lights seen earlier. Marcos commented he was surprised they