forty-one

Tom and I talked about my mother’s hospital adventure and the investigation. No, that’s not quite right. Tom did most of the talking, and I vacillated between giving him my full attention and none at all. My eyelids felt like sandpaper as the dry heat of the hospital joined forces with fatigue and I wondered where I might find a secret sofa for a twenty-minute nap. I may even have been drifting into sitting-up sleep when Tom’s voice broke in.

“How are you doing?” asked Tom.

Swell. “I’m okay.”

I didn’t look at him, but I could feel his eyes on my face.

“It doesn’t look as dire as we thought at first,” he said.

“Nope.”

“Did I do something wrong?” He sounded confused with a hint of annoyed.

“Not that I know of,” I said, and immediately wanted to kick my own butt. Passive aggressive, anyone? I looked at Tom. He was leaning forward, both forearms resting on the table. His face was relaxed, but there was something in his eye that said he didn’t like this game. I didn’t much like it either, even if I was the one making the moves. You’re out of control, said a voice in my head. My whole life is out of control, said I. Aloud I said, “I’m tired and I’m worried and I’m the tiniest bit terrified.”

“Of what?”

“Of what? Are you kidding?”

“No, but she’s doing okay, unless I missed something. What did the doctor say?”

I filled him in on what Doctor Krishna had told me before he arrived. Three women sat two tables away, so I leaned across the table and lowered my voice. “And there’s the little matter of our possible status as murder suspects.”

He laughed at that. “Oh, come on. That’s just the police brainstorming possibilities. Lots of people saw us leave the trial long before Rasmussen was killed.”

“Did they?” I thought back to Saturday at the agility trial. I was pretty sure that no one stood in the parking lot at Dog Dayz and watched our departure. Why would they? “Even if someone did see us leave, who’s to say we didn’t go back? I mean, Rasmussen himself left and came back.”

“What else?” asked Tom.

I took a long moment to answer, “I don’t know.” It seemed less confrontational than you tell me.

“So what do you think? Should I put my house up for rent?”

“Do whatever you want,” I said. I tried to keep my voice noncommittal, but my tone came out sharper than I intended. Then again, you’re the one with the secret plans, I thought.

Tom looked like I had dumped the missing ice in his lap, and I could heard the tight bands of control around his voice when he said, “What?”

I knew I should shut up, but my mouth took off on its own. “Apparently you’ve already decided what you’re going to do, so why ask me?”

“What are you ta …”

“I think I’d like to be alone,” I said. I’m terrified of being alone again. But that wasn’t what frightened me, and I knew it. Being alone is not the same as being apart from someone you love. What I should have said was I think you’re leaving, so I’ll just make sure of it.

Tom picked up all the trash except my cup and the plate with the remaining half Danish, the cardboard pastry now trapped in congealed goo. The clock on the cafeteria wall hadn’t moved since we came in, and it didn’t move after Tom walked away, so I have no idea how long I sat there wanting to punch someone.

Mostly myself.

My hot flash had been replaced by a chill, and a shiver shook me out of my paralysis. I got up. I would find Tom and we would find a quiet spot and I would apologize and then I would shut up and hear what he had to say. I scurried down the hall.

A nurse had just left Mom’s room, and she intercepted me. “She’s finally fallen asleep.”

“I won’t wake her,” I said. “Is anyone else in there?”

“No, just Mrs. Bruce,” she said, and bustled off.

I wouldn’t have answered my phone, but its ringing seemed obscene in the medicinal quiet of the early morning corridor. I thought
I had turned it off, but lately nothing I thought seemed to be right. I flipped it open and ducked into the stairwell, trying to keep my voice low.

It was Alberta. She wanted me to photograph the feral cats and the cat colony set up. I assumed this was a request for pro bono photography, since most rescue groups have no discretionary funds, but she said, “Okay if I give you the retainer when I see you? Or I can send it by, what’s that computer thing?”

I told her not to worry, she could pay me when I finished. I was happy not to be paid at all this time, but I couldn’t afford to turn down the money.

“Any chance you can come this afternoon or tomorrow? I mean, if your mother is okay?” It seemed like an afterthought. “It’s so nice out, I thought you could get …”

I filled her in. “But I don’t need to be here at the hospital all afternoon,” I said. “Tomorrow’s out. I’m going with Tom to look at a litter of puppies. At least that’s the plan, unless something happens.” We set a time and I walked back to Mom’s room, thinking Tom should be back by now.

He was not. I checked the waiting area where Doctor Krishna and I had spoken, but he wasn’t there either. He wasn’t in any of the other sitting areas on that floor. My pulse thundered in my ears. I went back to Mom’s room, thinking he might have left me a note. Maybe he had gone to the lounge downstairs.

He hadn’t, and his jacket was no longer draped over the chair where he had left it earlier. The tea and morsel of Danish I’d eaten turned to lead in my stomach, and then I saw something on the bureau. No note. Just my keys. What was it I had told him in the cafeteria? I think I’d like to be alone.

I had never felt so alone.