Sue Grafton - E Is for Evidence

"Let me think about it," I said grudgingly. But I could already see the bind I was in. With Henry gone, Rosie on vacation, and Jonah out of town, I'd be on my own. Truly, I wasn't feeling that good. I just couldn't make my body do what I wanted it to. The elderly, the feeble, and the infirm must experience the same exasperation and bewilder-ment. For once, my determination had nothing whatever to do with my proficiency. It was exhausting to sit up, and I knew perfectly well I couldn't manage much at home. Staying here was out of the question. Hospitals are danger-ous. People make mistakes. Wrong blood, wrong medica-tion, wrong surgeries, wrong tests. I was checking out of this place "toot sweet."

Daniel ran his hand across the top of my head. "Do what you want. I'll be back later."

He was gone again before I could protest.

I buzzed the nurses' station on the intercom.

A hollow voice came on. "Yes?"

"Can Mr. Kohler in three-oh-six have visitors?"

"As far as I know he can." The nurse sounded like she was talking into an old tin can, coughs and rustling in the background.

"Can I get a wheelchair? I'd like to go down and see him."

It was twenty minutes before anybody managed to find me one. In the meantime, I became aware that I was struggling with a depression generated by Olive's death. It wasn't as if we had had a relationship, but she'd been around on the borders of my life for years. I'd first seen her in high school when I met Ashley, but she'd left just before our junior year began. After that she was more rumor than fact… the sister who was always off somewhere else: boarding school, Switzerland, skiing in Utah with friends. I don't think we'd exchanged more than superficial chat until two days before, and then I'd found my opinion of her undergoing a shift. Now, death had smashed her like a bug, the blow as abrupt as a fly being swatted on a windowsill. The effect was jarring and the emotional impact hadn't worn off. I found myself turning images in my mind, trying to absorb the finality. I hadn't been consulted in the matter and I hadn't agreed. Death is insulting, and I resented its sudden appearance, like an unannounced visit from a boorish relative. I suspected the knot in my chest would be there for a long time; not grief per se, but a hard fist of regret.

I wheeled myself down the corridor to room 306. The door was closed and Bass was standing in the hall. He turned his head idly as I approached. Bass had the smooth good looks of someone in an eighteenth-century oil paint-ing. His face was oval, boyish, his brow unlined, his eyes a barren brown. His mouth was sensual, his manner supe-rior. Put him in a satin vest, a waistcoat, breeches, and leggings, and he might have been Blue Boy, grown slightly decadent. His hair was fine and dark, receding at the tem-ples, worn slightly long and rather wispy where it gathered in a point on his forehead. He should have had an Afghan at his side, some creature with silky ears and a long, aristo-cratic snout.

"Hello, Bass. I'm Kinsey Millhone. Do you remember me?"

"Of course," he said. He bent down then and gave my cheek a social buss, more noise than contact. His expres-sion was bleak. There was a dead time in the air, one of those uncomfortable stretched moments when you strug-gle to find something to say. His sister was dead. This was hardly the time for effusiveness, but I was puzzled by the awkwardness of our encounter.

"Where's Terry?"

He glanced at the door. "He's having his dressing changed. They should be done shortly. He's going home as soon as the doctor signs the release. How are you? We heard you were down the hall."

"I'm all right. I'm sorry about Olive," I said, and I truly was.

"God, this is all so screwed up. I don't know what's going on."

"How's your mother doing? Is she holding up all right?"

"She'll be okay. She's a tough old bird. She's taking it pretty hard, but she's got a spine of steel. Ash is destroyed. She's been leveled. She and Olive were always just like this," he said, holding up crossed fingers. "What about you? You look like you took a beating."

"I'm all right. This is the first time I've been out of bed and I feel like shit."

"You're lucky to be alive from what I hear."

"Lucky is right. I thought about picking the package up myself, but Olive's car pulled in and I went to help her with the groceries instead. Are you staying at your moth-er's?"

He nodded. "I got in Thursday night and then Olive called yesterday and said she was putting the party to-gether. Seems like years ago. I was having a swim before I got dressed when Ebony showed up at the side of the pool. I couldn't figure out what was wrong with her. You know Eb. Always in control, never a hair out of place. Well, she looked like a wild woman. I pulled myself up on the side of the pool and she said a bomb had gone off at Olive's house and she was dead. I thought she was making the whole thing up. I laughed. It was so far-fetched, I couldn't help myself. She slapped the shit out of me and that's when I realized she was serious. What happened? Terry can't re-member and the police won't tell us much."

I told him what I could, omitting the gruesome details of Olive's injuries. Even talking about it made me shake. I clamped my teeth shut, trying to relax. "Sorry," I said.

"It's my fault. I shouldn't have brought it up," he said. "I didn't mean to put you through it all again."

I shook my head. "That's fine. I'm okay. Nobody's told me much either. Honestly, I think it helps. The blanks are frustrating." I was looking for a narrative thread to hang fragments on. I'd lost the night. Everything from 4:30 on had been deleted from my memory bank.

He hesitated for a moment and then filled me in on events from his end. Ash had left. She was on her way to Olive's to help set up for the party. As soon as he heard about the explosion, he pulled some clothes on and he and Ebony jumped in the car. They arrived to find Terry being loaded into the ambulance. I was being bundled onto a stretcher, semiconscious. Olive was still lying near the shrubs, covered by a blanket.

Bass's recital of events was flat, like a news report. He was calm, his tone impersonal. He made no eye contact. I stared down the hall where a doctor with a somber expres-sion was talking to an older couple sitting on a bench. The news must have been bad because the woman clutched and unclutched the purse in her lap.

I remembered then that I had seen, Bass… one of the faces scrutinizing mine, bobbing above me like a balloon on a string. By then, shock had set in and I was shiver-ing uncontrollably, in spite of the blankets they'd wrapped me in. I didn't remember Ebony. Maybe they had kept her out by the road, refusing to let her any closer to the car-nage. The bomb had made tatters of Olive's flesh. Hunks of her body had been blown against the hedges, like clots of snow.

I put a hand against my face, feeling flushed with tears. Bass patted me awkwardly, murmuring nonsense, upset that he'd upset me, probably wondering how to get out of it. The emotion passed and I collected myself, taking a deep breath. "What about Terry's injuries?"

"Not bad. A cut on his forehead. Couple of cracked ribs where the blast knocked him into the garage. They wanted him in for observation, but he seems okay."

There was activity behind us and the door to Terry's room opened. A nurse came out bearing a stainless steel bowl full of soiled bandages. She seemed enveloped in aromas of denatured alcohol, tincture of iodine, and the distinctive smell of adhesive tape.

"You can go in now. Doctor said he can leave any time. We'll get a wheelchair for him when he's ready to go down."

Bass went in first. I wheeled myself in behind. A nurse's aide was straightening the bed table where the nurse had been working. Terry was sitting on the edge of the bed, buttoning up his shirt. I caught sight of his taped ribs through the loose flaps of his shirt and I looked away. His torso was stark white and hairless, his chest narrow and without musculature. Illness and injury seem so personal. I didn't want to know the details of his frailty.