The last secret_ a novel - Mary McGarry Morris [126]
“Here you go, Mrs. Hammond,” Jimmy Lee says, coming in from the family room with the teal blue afghan that Robin knit for her, once, a long time ago. He arranges it over her shoulders. He heard the call on his scanner.
“Did they take them yet?” she asks, but he doesn't seem to hear. When the policewoman leaves, he looks around, then hands Ken a thick envelope. Found it under the car seat, he says. Must be Mrs. Hammond's. Her stationery, anyway.
“Did they?” she asks. No reply. No need. Details matter now. Yes, of course. She understands, though most are hard to remember. Like waking up with a start and trying to make sense of a nightmare. Who had the shovel first? How did she get it away from him? Is that what he hit her with? He never hit her. Who did, then? She's not sure what they mean. They're confusing her. The coffee in her mug is cold, untouched. A brown ring stains the porcelain. Bleach, that works. But not on blood.
Ken's pallor is grimly white. His hands tremble, can't even hold the phone still against his ear. He is trying to contact their lawyer. The police detective has agreed to wait before asking any more questions. From the other room now comes a piercing scream, Emily Shawcross crying out, “Oh my God. Oh my God.” She has just arrived and they are telling her what has happened, the little they know. No one has yet been able to locate Bob Gendron.
He's not answering his cell phone, his mother told Ken, who's been trying to reach him for the past half hour. The door opens and another police officer comes in from the garage. Frowning, he tears a sheet from his notepad and leans over the table to jot something down. Nora watches his heavy-handed pen, knowing it will leave indentations in the polished cherry wood. But what does it matter, she thinks with dull relief to be this bodiless creature who no longer needs to think or care about anything or anyone. Not even her children who are holed up in Ken's study with Stephen. The world goes on quite well without her, doesn't it? Interesting, how unnecessary she actually is. Everyone has their job to do. They are very kind. Donald is on his way. To make sure Nora's all right, Ken has just told someone. Her own personal anesthesiologist. To numb her, she hopes. Forever. She only has to sit here. Nothing left to do. They will take care of everything. These most efficient strangers. Outside, someone is smoking. She smells it when the door opens. There's a terrible taste in her mouth.
A woman sits next to her and takes her hand. Celery, not onions, that's all she has to say. But it's Kay. Her skin is jaundiced. Her wig is brown. So her hair really did fall out, Nora realizes and tries to look sympathetic but instead is grinning, she sees by her reflection in Kay's glasses.
“Here, honey.” Kay is holding a glass of water to her lips. “Take a few sips.”
“Where's Robin?” she whispers.
“They've already taken her.”
“Where's Lyra?”
“With an EMT But Emily's going in.”
Going where, she wonders, doesn't ask. “Robin's dead.”
“No, but she's in a pretty bad way.”
“It's all my fault,” Nora tells her.
“Of course it's not.”
“Okay, good. Good. That's what we'll do,” Ken says before he hangs up the phone. He pulls a chair out from the table and leans in close to the two women. Bruce Levant is on his way from Lincoln. He doesn't want Nora speaking to anyone until he gets there. Just sit tight.
“She's upset. She thinks it's her fault,” Kay whispers, and Nora averts her head from the foul breath.
“Take it easy,” Ken says, and she knows that cautionary tone.
“Everything's going to be all right. You'll see,” Kay says, and tries to hug her.
“No,” Nora says, pulling away, and Ken glances at Kay. He says he'll take her into his study. There's too much commotion in