Friday, mid-morning
AS SOON AS RANNIE FINISHED COPYEDITING THE FINAL PAGES OF THE Mengele manuscript, she placed it in a brown envelope, along with the style sheet she’d assembled, the borrowed books on Mengele, everything ready to deliver. Then she left a message at the precinct for the lieutenant to call.
Nate’s poetry book was on the counter near the phone. The sight of it made her sad…and guilty. Ms. Hollins had been a good daughter and a good teacher. On a past Parents Day, Rannie had listened to Ms. Hollins discussing her classes, so animated, so excited once again to be sharing the work of writers she loved. Augusta Hollins was a person who probably had been happiest, most at ease, in a classroom.
Right now Rannie shut her eyes to block out a dreadful vision of Ms. Hollins plummeting from the Annex rooftop. At the very least, Rannie hoped it all happened fast and that she was dead before ever knowing what hit her.
Rannie’s doorbell rang. It was her downstairs neighbor with her toddler astride her hip, a cast encasing one of his arms up to the elbow.
“Lukie! How’s the arm?” Rannie asked.
He held out his arm proudly, his hand gripping a sandwich bag of Cheerios. “Boo boo,” he announced while keeping a thumb plugged in his mouth.
“Rannie, do you have a sec?”
“Sure. Want coffee?” She beckoned them inside.
“We’re withdrawing Noah’s application from Chaps.”
“I don’t blame you. I’d do the same thing.”
“The thing is, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything to Jem Marshall yet.”
“I guess he’s ruing the day he ever left City.” As Rannie was filling another mug in the kitchen, Luke eyed a Pepperidge Farm box and chirped, “Cookie?” But his mother shook her head and reminded Luke about his Cheerios.
“You liked him? Jem?” Rannie asked once they were back in the living room, Luke sitting cross-legged on the rug, in an undershirt, diaper and cast—a vision in white.
Melinda tilted her head, squinted, and pressing her lips together, thought for a moment. “Like?” She shrugged. “I admired his dedication, that’s for sure.” Melinda took a rattle from the back pocket of her jeans and handed it to Luke. “I mean, the school seemed to be his whole life. Every picnic, every play, every game, he’d be there cheering like it was Super Bowl Sunday. And I told you about all the money he raised.”
“But?” Rannie prodded, picking up on the unstated. She watched Luke, who was now plucking Cheerios, one by one, from the sandwich bag with his thumb and index finger and placing them carefully on the rug.
Melinda leaned back on the sofa cushions, exhaling. “A couple of years ago, I ran the Christmas Fair and we spent a considerable amount of time together. Jem and me. But there was never any joking around. I had my role. He had his.” Then Melinda caught Rannie’s affectionate gaze and said, “It’s amazing how quickly he adjusted to doing things with his left hand. I thought having the cast would be a nightmare—you know the frustration level at this age. Less than zero, right? But our pediatrician said he’s still pretty ambidextrous.”
“Right from the start, Nate reached for everything with his left hand.” And as soon as the words were out of her mouth, Rannie called to mind the specific image of Jem Marshall signing letters, another leftie. She recalled watching him struggle with a pen, the hunched posture, the curled-in hand. Just like Nate. But now suddenly another image of Jem surfaced, overlaying the first, only something was out of register. It hit her, stunning her like a joy buzzer, a jolt that felt almost physical.
“Who’s a good boy?” Melinda was cooing while she bent down to swipe away a pendant of drool hanging from Luke’s chin. Then her nose wrinkled. “Ooh, fella, you reek!” She turned to Rannie. “Somebody needs to be changed—Hey, are you okay?”
Rannie managed a nod. “Fine. Just remembered something.”