Chapter 29

Sarah visited Helen and the babies before she left the hospital. The babies were sleeping and so was Helen. Sarah crept in and left a note. They looked so peaceful. Far from what Sarah was feeling, after her last call day in the ICU.

Sarah felt wide awake when she got off the bus and climbed the hill for home. Her whole life had been on hold while she was in the ICU. Mail, e-mail, texts. Her phone had to be off in the unit, and sometimes she was so tired, she just kept it off. Now she could catch up. She felt full of energy, exhilarated. She could read her newspaper through for the first time in a month. And eat a real dinner instead of another bowl of Cheerios. She wanted to talk to Frances Noonan about the ICU. She wanted to tell her about Helen and the twins, and she wanted to hear about Ben. She hoped he’d perked up after he left her on Halloween. If she visited Mrs. Noonan early enough, she’d get invited to dinner. Which was always delicious. She stopped and bought some flowers.

She went right up to see Mrs. Noonan, who greeted her with a huge smile.

“Have you been home yet, Sarah?”

“No. I brought you these.” Sarah handed over the flowers. She tried to think how to invite herself to dinner. Usually Mrs. Noonan assumed she would stay and mentioned it right off the bat, and Sarah never had to ask. She could smell something delectable cooking right now. “Helen had her babies! I have a picture,” she said. Invite me to dinner, she thought.

“What beautiful little angels,” Mrs. Noonan said, taking a quick look at the photo. She seemed distracted.

Sarah again remembered about El Dia de los Angelitos. Mrs. Noonan lost her child, Isabelle, when she was little. Did she remember and mourn on the first of November?

Today was El Dia de los Muertos. The day for Sarah to remember her parents. For all the people who’d lost loved ones and parents. Like Mrs. Noonan and her husband, Bill. Like Ben.

Before Sarah could ask about Ben, Mrs. Noonan said, “Ah, you have your paper. Did you read this?” She passed a section of the paper to Sarah, folded back to an article on page A7.

“Jail Fire Injures One,” the headline read. “Wife killer Joseph Stalk was injured Friday in a kitchen fire at the Philadelphia Industrial Correctional Center. He sustained second-degree burns on his arms and chest in a grease fire while on kitchen duty. Stalk is awaiting trial on charges in the strangling death of his wife, Shelley Stalk, last October. Shelley was found in the back of the family car. Their infant son is now living with relatives in Petaluma, CA. Stalk stood to gain one million dollars from his wife’s life insurance policy.”

“What do you think of that?” Mrs. Noonan asked.

“Just like Paul,” Sarah said. “This happened over a year ago. The guy’s still in jail, still awaiting trial. These things drag on forever.”

“Spencer Tremaine told Julia that if he couldn’t get Paul out on bail, it might be six to eight months before the trial date. You have a right to a speedy trial, but somehow lots of things get in the way. Mostly motions filed by your own lawyer, motions to dismiss the case, motions to suppress evidence. All very important, apparently, but they delay things. Ben will be a different boy by then, a scared, sad, haunted little boy.”

“This man’s son is all the way across the country. That must be worse for the child. The little fella couldn’t have known these relatives very well. Not like Ben and his grandmother.”

“That’s just what I was thinking,” said Mrs. Noonan. “But I bet they have some ideas about what a child might be going through. They’re a year farther into the process than we are. Maybe we could learn from them, learn something to help poor little Ben.”

“Whoever they are,” said Sarah.

“Yes, well…” said Mrs. Noonan.

Sarah could tell Mrs. Noonan wanted something. She waited.

“It’s about Andy.” Mrs. Noonan smiled, her mouth wide and her eyes crinkling.

“Andy?!” Her Andy? Sarah’s heart skipped a few beats, like it was dancing in her chest. She could see from Mrs. Noonan’s expression that this was good news. The last she knew, Andy was in northern India. He sent her a photo of a baby elephant standing backwards underneath the mother, both silhouetted in sunshine through a golden haze. That was a whole month ago. She hadn’t heard from him since.

“He’s back.” Mrs. Noonan could hardly contain herself and told the news all in a rush. “He arrived yesterday and went straight to see you, then raced up here to find out where you were. Said it’s over six months, long enough already. He’d seen his elephants and now he wanted to see you. He couldn’t believe you weren’t here, he said he e-mailed you twice with his itinerary. He’s down there right now waiting for you.”

“Andy’s back? Look at me, I’ve been on call all night. I didn’t have time to take a shower today. I’m a mess.”

“No, no, dear, you look fine. Just go on down.”

“Andy’s back!” Sarah jumped up to go, but Mrs. Noonan put a hand on her arm.

“When he’s back to work at the newspaper, could you ask him to do something for me?”

Sarah nodded and started for the door.

“Could he find out more about this little boy? Where he is in Petaluma? I’d like to visit and talk to the family.”

“Andy’s a photographer. I don’t think he can find out information like this,” Sarah said over her shoulder.

“We’ll see. We’ll see what he can do for you.”