CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Officer Will’s wife met her at the hospital.
“Thank you for coming,” Marie sobbed. “Thank you so much.”
“Of course I’d come,” Winnie said.
She sat in the corner of the room while the nurses scrubbed and swabbed and collected everything they could. It was like being violated all over again, except with soft voices and lighter touches.
The worst, Marie thought, was when she exposed her breasts. Bite marks everywhere. On her nipple and ribs and on her stomach.
“I hope it helps,” she whispered to nobody in particular. “I hope it helps my baby.”
They didn’t understand and she didn’t bother to explain, but pictures were taken. Bites were measured. Details were taken and carefully written down.
It seemed to last for hours. At last they said she could go home.
“I’ll drive you,” Winnie offered, and Marie nodded wearily.
The car ride was silent for a long time. Marie leaned her head back against the seat and stared at the dark sky.
“Thank you for coming today,” she said.
Her voice. Was that her voice? So tired and almost shaking?
“Gladly. I’m glad there’s something I could do to help.”
Marie wondered what she was going to do now. If she should lie down in the road and hope something heavy ran her down. If she should get up to fight another day. But fight for what? Her part was done now, wasn’t it?
“Tell me about your daughter.”
Marie blinked slowly, twice, and tears flowed.
“I’m sorry,” Winnie quickly apologized. “I didn’t mean to bring up something so sensitive. I guess that between you doing what you just did for her, and with how hard Will has been working on this case, I just want to know more about her. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
The car was strangely quiet. The sounds of the city were muffled. Marie could remember the off-tune sound of Aleta humming.
“Aleta used to be the brightest light you had ever seen,” she said slowly. She traced her finger on the steam inside the window. Smiley faces. Hearts. Things she would have drawn if she were a little girl. Or Aleta.
“Yes? How?”
“She loved carnivals. And lights. Anything shiny. She wanted to be a veterinarian when she grew up.”
The stories poured out. The time Aleta asked her about Santa Claus. Teaching her how to play hopscotch in the back yard. Finding out about Lyle and his “little girl games.” Promising her that she’d keep her safe forever.
“And you try,” she said, and her voice was wistful and tired. “You try to do that. Always know where she is and create a safe environment. Have dinner on the table even when dinner is pancakes for the fourth day in a row because they’re cheap. She never complained. She never said, “Mom, I’m hungry,” or “Mom, I’m cold.” You know the last thing she said to me?”
“What?”
“She said, ‘Mom, why don’t you take a bath. You love baths.’” And then she was murdered while taking her sick grandmother some goodies.”
More silence.
They pulled up to Marie’s front door, and she turned to Winnie.
“Thank you for all of it. For coming today, and asking about Aleta. I don’t get to talk about her too much. There isn’t anybody to tell.”
They said goodnight and Marie unlocked her house. She started undressing on her way to the bathroom, shedding clothes left and right. She swished with Aleta’s mouthwash that erased the taste of man. When she reached the tub, she turned on the shower as hot as she could possibly stand.
“I did my part,” she whispered again, and stepped into the shower.
She scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed.