Marcia Talley: Sing It to Her Bones

“Pity you? Hannah, I love you.” His voice was soft against my ear. “I can’t tell you how panicked I was when Dennis told me I’d nearly lost you. Again. I love you more than I can say.”

I turned my head to look at him, his eyes, dark as chocolate, only inches from my own. “I love you, too, Paul. I do! But I keep picturing you with that-that child.” The word just tumbled out of my mouth. I couldn’t believe I’d said it.

“Hannah! How many times do I have to tell you it’s not true?”

“I’m sorry. I just can’t seem to help it. Why can’t things be the way they were? I want you back. I want Emily back. I want my breast back. Oh, God, maybe I need to see a therapist.” I sat on the edge of the bed, my back to him, feeling ugly and vulnerable without my prosthetic bra and my wig.

Paul ran a finger down the nape of my neck, brushed my shoulder with his lips. “You’ve got me, Hannah. You’ve always got me. And if you want to see a therapist, I understand. We can go together if you want. I’ll wait for you, Hannah. I’ll do whatever it takes, but I won’t lose you.” I felt his weight shift on the bed and heard the creak of the bedsprings as he stood up.

“Katie’s death has made me realize how important Emily is to me, Paul. I don’t want to end up like poor Mrs. Dunbar. She’ll never be able to hug her daughters again, tell them that she loves them. Never rock her grandchildren to sleep.”

Paul walked over to the window and drew open up the curtains. Sunlight cascaded into the room. “Emily’s not as far away as you think, Hannah.” He bent and kissed the top of my head. “Take your time.” Seconds later the door closed softly behind him.

I remained where I was, with the sun falling full on my body. I stretched in its warmth and felt as if the healing had already begun.

I took a shower and pulled on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. After yesterday’s adventures my wig looked like road kill, so I settled a hat on my patchy head, dabbed on some makeup, and padded downstairs.

In the kitchen the clock said nine, and Paul was pouring a cup of coffee for his sister. I had just sat down to join them when there was a knock on the door and Dennis walked in, looking as if he hadn’t had much sleep. He extended his hand to Paul, who took it in both of his and pumped it up and down enthusiastically. “Glad you made it. You made good time.”

“Lucky I didn’t get caught speeding on the Jersey Pike. Found a truck cruising along at seventy-five and dogged his tail. I tell you, though, when that trooper knocked on our door in North Truro, I nearly had a heart attack.”

“Sorry, old man. Couldn’t think of any other way to locate you.”

“Glad you did.” He looked at me with such affection that it nearly broke my heart.

I broke the spell. “Coffee?”

“Can’t refuse.” Dennis pulled out a chair and sat down. After he poured milk into his cup and stirred in half a teaspoon of sugar, he took a careful sip. “Chase is going to be okay. He’s confessed to everything, implicating the others. Didn’t want a lawyer, although I insisted one be called. Says he’ll plead guilty to all charges.”

“And?”

“And you were right, Hannah. Old Dr. Chase had prescribed herbs for Katie’s cramps. Frank found the notations on her chart. He says she induced her own abortion by taking two tablespoons of pennyroyal. Dangerous stuff. The usual dose is five drops.”

“Why didn’t she just pay for the abortion with the money Hal gave her?” Connie’s forehead wrinkled in confusion.

“I can guess,” I said. “She spent it all on the dress she wore to the dance. It was meant to dazzle Chip into bed.”

“How foolish and sad.” Paul slumped in his chair, his coffee forgotten.

“How about Liz? And Hal?” Connie wanted to know.

“Still no trace of Liz. But the divers found Hal in the boat.”

I set my mug down on the table, carefully, using both hands. My heart was thumping wildly. “Dead?”

“I’m afraid so. He had a life preserver on, but his foot was wedged in an opening in the bilge. Snapped his ankle.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. My hands trembled.

“And I think we’ll need to talk about this.” Dennis pulled a neatly wrapped package out of his pocket, placed it on the table, and unrolled it. It was the silver lure, its tail feathers ragged, but its barbed hook as bright, shiny, and sharp as the day Craig had bought it.

“It was the only weapon I had. I couldn’t think of anything else.” I looked Dennis in the eye. “Did I kill him?”

Dennis rewrapped the deadly lure and returned it to his pocket. “No, Hannah. Looks like he drowned.”

But I felt responsible, either way. Even if the lure hadn’t killed him outright, I was still the one who pulled the plug on Sea Song . I’d have to learn to live with that.

Paul rose and stood behind me, a hand on my shoulder. “My God, that was brave.”

“It didn’t feel very brave at the time. I was scared spitless.”

Dennis poured the coffee remaining in his cup down the sink. “You’ll need to come down to make a formal statement.” He handed the empty mug to Connie. “Both of you.”

Connie looked down at her bathrobe and turned her fashion-critical eyes on me. I must have been a sight in my paint-spattered shorts and a sequin-decorated ball cap perched sideways on my head. “Later this afternoon?”

“That’ll be fine.”

I started to panic. “You’re not going to arrest me?”

Dennis’s face broke into a huge grin. “Don’t be silly! We’ll probably give you a medal.”

Two weeks later, back in Annapolis, we learned that Liz’s body had been discovered by a crabber, caught in a trotline near the mouth of the Patuxent River. I sent a silent prayer to the Dunbars; I could only imagine their anguish at losing both their daughters, and under such horrible circumstances.

At the same time I called my daughter, Emily, in Colorado. I spent an afternoon rehearsing what I was going to say, but when she came on the line, my script flew out the window, I was so relieved to hear her voice.

“Hi, how’s it going, pumpkin?”

“Oh, hi, Ma. I’ve been meaning to call.”

Daniel’s business was going well, she told me. He’d hired another masseur and had completed a year’s training at the Rolf Institute in Boulder. My son-in-law was a certified rolfer, some sort of high-class masseur, I gathered, who could get away with being called simply Dante.

“And, Ma?”

“What?”

“I got a job, Ma.”

“That’s good news. What are you doing?”

“Working in a bookstore. Not one of those big chains. A little store. You’d like it.”

The old me would have mentioned all the money we’d spent on her Bryn Mawr education, just so she could follow some dropout to Colorado and work in a bookstore, but the new me bit my tongue. “I’m sure I would like it,” I said.

“Even has a cappuccino bar.”

“Now I know I’d like it.” I paused. “I don’t think the place where I’ll be working has a cappuccino bar.”

“Mother! I thought Dad said you were going to take it easy for a while.”

“I’m temping. The job doesn’t start until September anyway. I’ll be working for a law firm somewhere out on West Street, filling in for a secretary on maternity leave.”

“Funny you should mention that.”

“Mention what?”

“Maternity leave.” Emily giggled, then was silent. A light began to dawn.

“Emily! Are you pregnant?”

“Hold on, Ma. I’ve only just found out. Took one of those home pregnancy tests yesterday morning. Damnedest things. Pee on a stick and voila! If the double pink lines are to be believed, you and Dad are going to be grandparents.”