“SARA?” MOLLY asked, then repeated, “Sara?”
“Hmm?” Sara said. Molly, Candy Nelson, and her three children were all staring at her expectantly.
Sara shook her head a little, saying, “Sorry,” before she went back to the examination. She had been worrying about Lacey Patterson, wondering what was happening to her.
“Breathe deeply,” Sara told Danny Nelson.
“I’ve been breathing deeply for the last ten minutes,” Danny complained.
“Hush up,” his mama said.
Sara could feel Molly staring at her, but kept the focus on Danny. “That’s good,” she told him. “Put your shirt back on and I’ll talk to your mother.”
Candy Nelson followed her out into the hallway.
Sara said, “I want to send him to a specialist.”
The mother put her hand to her heart, as if Sara had just told her Danny only had a couple of months to live.
“It’s nothing to be nervous about,” she assured her. “I just want you to get his ears checked by someone who knows more about them than I do.”
“Are you certain he’s okay?”
“I’m certain,” Sara said, then, “Molly, could you write a referral for Matt DeAndrea over in Avondale?”
Molly nodded, and Sara walked into her office, dropping her stethoscope on the desk. She sat down in her chair, trying not to sigh. She found herself thinking about Jeffrey. Every part of her body felt alive, if not slightly bruised. Her back was killing her, but that wasn’t surprising, considering they had not made it out of the hallway until around three that morning.
“So,” Molly said, interrupting Sara’s thoughts. “I guess this means we’re taking Jeffrey’s calls now?”
Sara blushed. “Is it that obvious?”
“Let’s just say an ad in the Grant Observer would be more subtle.”
Sara narrowed her eyes at the nurse.
“That’s your last patient,” Molly told her, smiling. “Are you going to the morgue?”
Sara opened her mouth to respond, but a banging noise echoed up the hallway, followed by a curse. Sara rolled her eyes at Molly, and trotted up the hall toward the bathroom. Thanks to a six year old with a keen interest in flushing his Matchbox collection down the toilet, the waste pipe had backed up. Sara had actually debated whether or not to call her father, knowing that Tessa would be working with him today. She did not have the proper tools to fix the toilet, however, and since she had taken yesterday afternoon off, she did not have the time to do the job. Besides, her father would have been very hurt if she had not called him to come to her rescue.
“Daddy,” Sara whispered, shutting the bathroom door behind her. “This is a children’s clinic. You can’t cuss like that around here.”
He shot her a look over his shoulder. “I cussed around you girls all the time and you turned out okay.”
“Dad…,” Sara tried again.
“That’s right,” he said. “I’m your father.”
She gave up, sitting on the edge of the tub. As a child, Sara had often watched her father work, and Eddie had put on quite a show for Sara and Tessa, banging pipes, dancing around with a wrench in one hand and a plunger in the other. He wanted to teach his girls to be good with their hands, and comfortable with their abilities. Sara often thought that he had been somewhat disappointed that Sara had not joined the family business when she got out of college, and chose instead to go to medical school. He had picked up the part of her tuition that the scholarships did not pay for, and made sure she had money to live on, but in his heart Sara knew Eddie would have been perfectly happy to have her back living at home, snaking drains and welding pipes alongside him. Some days, Sara was tempted. She certainly would be working fewer hours as a plumber.
Eddie cleared his throat and began, “The old West, right?”
Sara smiled, knowing he was about to tell one of his jokes. “All right.”
“This sheriff goes into a saloon and says, ‘I’m lookin’ for a cowboy wearing a brown paper vest and brown paper pants.’” He waited a beat, making sure Sara was listening. “The bartender says, ‘What’s he wanted for?’ And the sheriff says, ‘Rustling.’”
Sara laughed despite herself.
Eddie returned to the job at hand, shoving a toilet auger down the bowl. The spindle beside him turned slowly, letting out the flexible metal snake with a pointed tip on the end that would hopefully clear the blockage.
He asked, “What’d this kid flush down again?”
“Matchbox car,” Sara said. “At least, that’s what we think.”
“Little bastard,” Eddie mumbled, and Sara just shook her head, knowing it was useless to try to censor him. She had learned that lesson nearly thirty years ago at a particularly embarrassing parent-teacher conference. Instead, Sara leaned her elbows on her knees and watched him work. Eddie Linton was not what anyone would call a snappy dresser, even when he tried. He was wearing a Culture Club T-shirt from a concert he had taken Sara and Tessa to when they were in high school. His green shorts were so old that they had strings hanging down. She leaned over and pulled at one.
“Hey,” he said.
“You should let me get the scissors,” she offered.
“Don’t you have patients to see?”
“This is my morgue day,” she told him. Even though there was a stack of paperwork waiting for her at the morgue, Sara did not want to deal with it. As a matter of fact, she would be perfectly content to sit here all day with her father. At least until Jeffrey got off work.
Eddie looked at her over his shoulder. “What are you so happy about?”
“Having you here,” she said, rubbing his back.
“Yeah, right,” he mumbled, shoving the snake in harder. “This is a pain in the ass. You should charge that kid for my time.”
“I’ll see what his insurance company says.”
Eddie sat back on his heels. “Your sister’s in the van.”
Sara did not respond.
He gave her a serious look. “When I was in the war, I watched men die.”
Sara barked a laugh. “You fixed toilets at Fort Gillem, Daddy. You never even left Georgia.”
“Well…” He waved this off. “There was that corporal from Connecticut who couldn’t handle his grits.” Eddie crossed his arms and gave her a serious look. “Anyway, what I mean is, life is too short.”
“Yes,” Sara agreed. She saw evidence of that at the morgue on an almost weekly basis.
“Too short to be mad at your sister.”
“Ah,” Sara said, getting it. “Did she tell you what we’re arguing about?”
“Do you girls ever tell me anything?” he grumbled.
“It’s complicated,” Sara told him.
“I bet it’s not,” Eddie countered, pulling the snake out of the toilet, hand over hand. “I bet it’s real simple.” He rolled the metal snake around a spindle, telling her, “Go get me the power auger.”
“I have to get to work,” she said.
“Right after you get the auger,” he told her, handing her the coiled snake.
Sara hesitated, then took it. “I’m not doing this because you told me to.”
He held up his hands. “You haven’t done anything I’ve told you to do since 1979.”
She stuck out her tongue at him before leaving the room. Sara took the back door and walked around the clinic so that the patients in the waiting room would not see her. Technically, she was off-duty, but there was always someone who knew her, and Sara did not want to be stopped.
Eddie’s work van was backed into a parking space beside Sara’s car. LINTON AND DAUGHTERS was painted on the side panels. A drawing of a commode with a roll of pink toilet tissue on the back of the tank served as the logo. As Sara drew near, she could see Tessa sitting behind the wheel, the windows rolled up and the engine on. She had probably been waiting out here for at least thirty minutes.
Sara yanked the passenger’s side door open. Tessa did not look up. Obviously, she had seen Sara approach.
“Hey,” Sara called over the roar of the air-conditioning, tossing the auger into the back of the van. She got into the van and slammed the door behind her.
Tessa gave a reluctant, “Hey,” back, then, “Did they find that kid?”
“Not yet.” Sara leaned her back against the door so that she was facing her sister. She slipped off her clogs and hooked her toes onto the edge of Tessa’s seat.
“That’s my side,” Tessa told her, a phrase that had been oft repeated when they took car rides as children.
“So,” Sara said, prodding Tessa’s leg with her big toe. “What’re you gonna do?”
“Stop it,” Tessa slapped at her feet. “I’m mad at you.”
“I’m mad at you,” Sara told her.
Tessa turned back around, resting her hands on the steering wheel. “I’m sorry I said what I said.” She paused. “About not having children.”
Sara let some time pass. “I’m sorry I asked if Devon’s the father.”
“Well…”—Tessa shrugged—“he is, if you were really wondering.”
“I wasn’t,” she said, though part of her had been.
Tessa turned, leaning her back against the door so she could face Sara. She pulled her feet up under her and the two sisters stared at each other, neither saying anything.
Sara broke the silence. “If you want to do this…,” she began, trying to sound like she meant it. “If you really need to do this…I’ll support you. You know that.”
Tessa asked her, “Where did all that come from?”
“I just…” Sara began, looking for a way to explain her feelings. “I’ve just seen so many kids hurt this week, and I…” She let her voice trail off. “How I feel about this doesn’t matter, Tessie. It’s your decision.”
“I know that.”
“I know it’s your choice,” Sara repeated. “I know that you’re not doing this lightly—”
“It’s not that,” Tessa stopped her.
“What is it, then?”
Tessa looked out the window, and was silent. After a while, she said, “I’m just really, really scared.”
“Tessie.” Sara reached out, taking her sister’s hand. “What are you scared of?”
“It’s Mom and Dad,” she said, and she started to cry. “What if I’m not as good as they are? What if I’m a horrible mother?”
“You won’t be,” Sara assured her, stroking Tessa’s hair back.
“You were right before,” Tessa told her. “I am selfish. I do only think of myself.”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“Yes, you did. I know you did, because it’s true.” Tessa wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I know I’m selfish, Sara. I know I’m immature.” She laughed with some irony. “I’m thirty-three years old and I still live with my parents.”
“Not in the same house.”
Tessa laughed, even as she cried. “Oh, God, please, don’t stick up for me.”
Sara laughed, too. “Tess, you’re such a good person. You love kids.”
“I know I do. It’s just different thinking about having them around twenty-four hours a day.” She shook her head. “What if I do something horrible? What if I drop him, or what if it’s a girl and I end up dressing her up like that Ramsey kid?”
“Then we’ll have you committed.”
“I’m serious,” Tessa whined, but she laughed as well. “What if I don’t know how to do it right?”
“Mama and Daddy will be there to help,” Sara reminded her. “I will, too.” She let that sink in, then amended, “If that’s what you decide to do, I mean. If you want to keep it.”
Tessa leaned forward. “You would be a great mother, Sara.”
Sara pressed her lips together, not wanting to cry.
“I just don’t know what to do.”
Sara took a deep breath, then let it go. “You don’t have to decide right now,” she said. “You could wait a couple of days, just to see how you feel once the shock has worn off.”
“Yeah.”
“I do think you should tell Devon. He has a right to know.”
Tessa nodded slowly. “I know he does,” she said. “Maybe I didn’t want to tell him because I know what he’ll say.” She gave a wry smile. “He’ll get exactly what he wants.”
“You don’t have to marry him.”
“Oh, and give Dad a heart attack, living in sin?”
“I seriously doubt he’d have a heart attack.” Sara smiled. “He might take you over his knee…”
“Yeah, well.” Tessa took a tissue from the center console. She blew her nose in three short bursts, the way she had done since she was a baby. “Maybe somebody should take me over his knee.”
Sara squeezed her hand. “You make this decision, Tess. Whatever you decide, I’m with you.”
“Thank you,” Tessa mumbled, wiping her nose with another tissue. She sat back against the window again, and took a long look at Sara. After a few beats, a smile broke out on her face.
Sara asked, “What?”
“You look so obvious.”
“So obvious what?”
Tessa kept smiling. “So obviously fucked.”
Sara laughed, and the sound echoed in the van.
“Was it good?” Tessa asked.
Sara glanced out the window, feeling a bit mischievous. “Which time?”
“You slut,” Tessa screamed, throwing the used tissue.
“Hey.” Sara deflected the tissue with her hand.
“Don’t go all big sister on me,” Tessa warned. “Tell me what happened.”
Sara felt a blush creeping up her neck. “No way.”
“What changed your mind?” she asked. “I mean, last I heard, you didn’t even want to date him.”
“Mama,” Sara answered. “She told me to make up my mind.”
“And?”
“We’ve just been doing this stupid back-and-forth thing for so long.” Sara paused, thinking about how to phrase it. “I have to give it another try. I either have to get him out of my system and go on, or keep him in my system and live with it.”
Tessa asked, “Was it good?”
“It was nice to feel something new,” she said, thinking about the night before. “It was nice to stop feeling guilty for a while.” As an afterthought, she added, “And scared.”
“Over that missing girl?”
“Over everything,” Sara said, not going into details. She made it a point not to talk about her work at the morgue with her family. This protected Sara as much as it protected them. There had to be a part of her life that wasn’t overshadowed by death and violence. “It was nice to…”
“Have a screaming orgasm?”
Sara clicked her tongue, smiling. “It was pretty spectacular.” She shook her head, because that wasn’t right. “It was amazing. Totally—”
“Oh, shit,” Tessa sat up, wiping her eyes. “Dad’s coming.”
Sara sat up, too, though she did not know why. It was not as if Eddie could send her to her room for sitting in the parking lot too long.
“Where’s that auger?” he demanded, throwing open Sara’s door. “What’re you two talking about in here?” When he did not get an answer, he said, “Do you know how much gas you’re wasting, sitting here with the engine running?”
Sara laughed, and he popped her on the leg, asking, “What would your mama say if she saw that look on your face?”
Tessa answered, “Probably, ‘It’s about damn time.’”
They started giggling, and Eddie gave them both a sharp look before slamming the door closed and walking away.
THE morgue was housed in the basement of the Grant Medical Center, and no matter how hot it got outside, it was always cool in the tiled subterranean rooms. Sara felt bumps come out on her skin as she walked back to her office.
“Hey, Dr. Linton,” Carlos said in his soft, heavily accented voice. He was dressed in his usual green scrubs, and held a clipboard at an angle against his thick waist. Sara had hired Carlos six years ago, right out of high school. He was short for his age, and wore his hair cut in a bilevel, which did not do much for his round face. Carlos was efficient, though, and he never complained about having to do what amounted to shit work, literal and figurative. Sara could trust him in the morgue to take care of things and keep his mouth shut.
Sara managed a smile for him. “What’s up?”
He handed her his clipboard, saying, “That Weaver kid is still here. What do you want me to do with her?”
Sara felt her heart sink as she thought of the baby. Dottie Weaver had no reason to claim the child since Sara had told her it was not Jenny’s. Something about that fragile little girl sitting in the freezer broke Sara’s heart.
“Dr. Linton?” Carlos asked.
“I’m sorry,” Sara apologized. “What did you say?”
“I asked what you wanted to do with the bodies.”
Sara shook her head at the plural, thinking she had missed something. She looked down at the chart and saw that Jenny Weaver’s name was at the top. Sara thumbed through the paperwork, noting that she had released the body on Sunday. There was no accompanying form from the funeral home to verify that she had been picked up.
“She’s still here?” Sara asked.
Carlos nodded, tucking a hand into his hip.
“We haven’t gotten a call from Brock?” she asked, referring to the funeral director in town.
“No, ma’am,” he said.
Sara glanced back at the paperwork, as if that could offer an explanation. “We haven’t heard from the mother?”
“We haven’t heard from anybody.”
“Let me make some phone calls,” she told him, walking into her office.
Sara knew the number to Brock’s Funeral Home by heart, and she dialed it into the phone, watching Carlos through the window. He was mopping the floor in slow, deliberate strokes, his back to her.
The phone was picked up on the first ring. “Brock’s Funeral Home.”
“Brock,” Sara said, recognizing the man’s voice. Dan Brock was Sara’s age, and they had gone to school together from kindergarten on.
“Sara Linton,” Brock said, genuine pleasure in his voice. “How you?”
“I’m great, Brock,” she answered. “I hate to cut right down to business, but have you gotten a call on a Jennifer Weaver?”
“The one what was shot last weekend?” he asked. “Sure haven’t. Gotta say, I was expecting that call.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, Dottie goes to my church,” he told her. “I just assumed she’d call on me.”
“Do you know her well?”
“Well enough to say hi to,” he answered. “Plus, that little Jenny was a peach. She was in the children’s choir for a while. Sang like an angel.”
Sara nodded, remembering that Brock directed the children’s choir in his spare time. “Sara?” Brock prompted.
“Sorry,” Sara told him, thinking she was too easily distracted lately. “Thanks for the information.”
“It hasn’t been in the paper, either.”
“What’s that?”
“The obituaries,” Brock said, giving a self-deprecating chuckle. “Tools of the trade. We like to see who’s doing who, if you know what I mean.”
“And there’s been no mention?”
“Nary a peep,” he told her. “Maybe they sent her up North? I think that’s where her daddy is.”
“Still, it would’ve been in the paper, right?” Sara asked, playing dumb. Brock was generally discreet because of the business he was in, but she did not want to start rumors.
“Maybe,” he said. “Or the church bulletin at least. I haven’t seen it there, either.” He paused, then said, “Heck, Sara, you know how some people are about death. They just don’t want to admit it happened, especially with a kid involved. Maybe she handled it quietly just so she could get through it, you know?”
“You’re right,” Sara told him. “Anyway, thanks for the information.”
“I hear Grace Patterson doesn’t have much longer,” he said, and she imagined business was slow if he was being so chatty. “That’s gonna be a hard one.”
“You know her, too?”
“She helped me with the choir before she took sick this last time. Wonderful woman.”
“I’ve heard that.”
“From what I’ve gathered, she’s just eat up with the cancer,” he said. “Those are always the hard ones.” His voice had dropped, and he seemed genuinely upset. “Well, hell, Sara, you know what I’m talking about.”
Sara did, and she understood his grief. She couldn’t imagine having to do Dan Brock’s job. He probably felt the same way about hers.
“Guess there’s no word on the little girl yet?” he asked.
“No,” Sara said. “Not that I know of.”
“Jeffrey’s a good man,” he told her. “If anyone can find her, it’s him.”
Sara wanted to believe this, but with everything she had learned about the case lately, she wasn’t too sure.
Brock lightened his tone. “You take care now,” he said. “Best to your mama and them.”
Sara wished him the same and hung up the phone. She pressed the button for a new line and called Jeffrey.