Gordon and Gansa put me in the back of an unmarked car and got in another car. My driver, as chatty as Homeland Security, drove with his mouth in a thin line.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Federal building.”
“Do you have any idea what’s going on?”
“No.”
Then I looked back and saw the rookies take a different ramp on the maze of highways outside Lambert.
“Hey! We took a wrong turn,” I said.
“No.”
No amount of questions or prodding—I did try poking him—got another word out of my driver. In the end, I had no idea if he was an agent or some kind of lackey roped into doing Gordon and Gansa’s bidding.
When we arrived at the Federal building, my door was whipped open, and I got out into a swirl of snowflakes. A guard directed me inside to the fifth floor, where I waited for an hour and drank the most God awful coffee you’ve ever had in your life. Just when I was about to say screw it and leave—I wasn’t under arrest—Gansa came in and gestured me through an unmarked door and through yet another set of hallways. There were so many hallways in that building I was beginning to wonder if there were any offices at all.
“Are you going to tell me what this is about or what?” I asked.
“You’re going to tell me.” He stopped and opened a door marked “Conference RM E5”. “Here we go.”
I walked in and to my astonishment there were two people inside, unsurprisingly Gordon and very surprisingly, my Great Aunt Miriam. Sister Miriam is my grandad’s older sister and you’ll excuse me for saying this, a kind of holy terror. She sat at the conference table, stiff as a grissini breadstick and just as skinny. She had her oversized black purse on her lap, the one she was known to put bricks in so she could whack unsuspecting pimps and drug dealers when she was doing the Lord’s work, mainly helping runaways and teenaged prostitutes.
Aunt Miriam didn’t glance at me or acknowledge my presence. She stared straight ahead. I’d call it a 1000-yard stare, but she was sharp-eyed and missed nothing.
“Sit down, Mercy.” Gordon pulled out a chair next to Aunt Miriam. I sat down and whispered, “What’s going on?”
She didn’t respond, but she had a death grip on that purse. I shouldn’t have sat so close.
Gansa sat down and said, “Now do you know why we’re here?”
“Nope. Haven’t a clue,” I said.
“Really?”
I plunked my purse on the chair next to me and crossed my arms. “Really.”
“I told you this was about Kansas.” He gestured to Aunt Miriam. “And here she is.”
“So what?”
The rookies exchanged a glance.
“We’ve interviewed Sister Miriam four times,” said Gansa.
“About what?” I asked.
Another glance and Gordon got a briefcase off the floor. He opened it and pulled out an evidence bag. I glanced at Aunt Miriam. She didn’t blink, but the line of her mouth got a tiny bit thinner. It took family to see it.
Gordon slid the bag over to me. “Do you recognize that?”
I glanced at the bag and shrugged. “It’s a St. Brigid medal.”
“But do you recognize it?”
The way he was looking at me said I was supposed to. So I picked up the bag and turned it over. The metal was crusted with dirt, but it was an ordinary medal as far as I could tell, other than it had initials engraved on the back, M.E.M.
“No,” I said. “It’s pretty common.”
“What about the initials?” asked Gansa.
I wracked my brain and came up with nothing. “No. How about you just get to the point? Did you find that in Kansas?”
“We did.”
“Whose is it?”
Gordon pulled a slim file out of his briefcase and slapped it on the table. I wasn’t impressed and Aunt Miriam didn’t seem to notice at all. Wherever she was, it was far from there.
“Nobody you know has a medal like that one?” asked Gansa.
Then I got it. My brain must’ve been fried by the terrible coffee. “Well, yeah, Aunt Miriam has one. I’m sure lots of people have them.”
“Do you?”
“Um…yeah, I think so,” I said. “What are you getting at?”
Gordon put the briefcase on the floor and steepled his fingers. “It’s hard for us to believe that Sister Miriam hasn’t told you about this.”
“Believe it,” I said. “I don’t know why I’m here and I’m caring less by the second. Are you going to take me off that stupid list or what?”
“If you get her to talk to us,” said Gansa.
I pivoted in my chair. “Aunt Miriam, talk to them so they’ll take me off the No Fly List.”
Aunt Miriam turned her head toward me in a way that I half expected it to go all the way around like an owl or that chick in The Exorcist. It chilled me to my core and made me nauseated at the same time. She didn’t say anything. She just looked at me with her icy blue eyes and then looked forward into nothing again.
“I’m going with she’s not going to talk to you ever about anything,” I said. “Can I go because I don’t want to be here anymore.”
“She’s your aunt,” said Gordon.
“That’s not a bonus prize in this situation.”
“Does the name Sister Margaret Mullanphy mean anything to you?” asked Gansa.
“No.”
“You’ve never heard that name before?”
I thought about it. I really did. “No. Who is it?”
Gordon got a picture out of the file and slid it over to me. I took a good look, but one glance was really enough. That was an old picture. Black and white. Sister Margaret, if that’s who it was, appeared to be about twenty-five years old and wearing an old school habit. They gave those up after Vatican II, well before my time. Hell, it was before my parents’ time.
“Nope. Who is she?”
He slid over another picture. This time a later one of a group of nuns without habits, wearing conservative twin sets, A-line skirts, and short veils. “Recognize anyone there?”
I barely looked. “It’s still black and white. Why are you bothering me with this?”
“We can’t get ahold of anyone else in your family,” said Gordon. “Your parents and grandparents are on vacation. Your aunts, uncles, and cousins hang up on us.”
“So you decided to pick on me,” I said.
“We could’ve brought your cousins in, but let’s face it, they don’t have the relationship with Sister Miriam that you do.”
“If by relationship, you mean she whacks me with her cane, then yeah, but I still have nothing for you.”
“She didn’t call you about this?”
I resisted the urge to scream. “No. No. And no.” I pointed at Aunt Miriam. “She’s not going to speak to you and I don’t know what this is about, so we’re leaving right now. Get up, Aunt Miriam. We’re hitting the bricks.”
Then the most remarkable thing happened. She did it. Aunt Miriam obeyed me. She stood up. I was so astonished that I didn’t move and that gave the rookies a second to regroup.
“It’s about murder, Mercy,” said Gordon. “Sister Margaret was murdered.”
Aunt Miriam swayed and I caught her, lowering her down into her seat. “It’s fine. Don’t listen,” I said.
She didn’t answer and went right back to staring.
“My aunt’s upset,” I said. “We need to leave.”
“How can you tell?” asked Gansa.
“I can tell. So say what you want to say and leave us alone.”
“This could take a while,” said Gordon.
It could’ve taken a while, but it didn’t. Sister Margaret Mullanphy was murdered in 1965. 1965, for crying out loud. She was found in the woods, strangled, and it was thought that a priest did it. Father Dominic Kelly threw himself off the Eades Bridge before he could be properly questioned and the case was closed.
“What in the world do you want me to do about it?” I asked.
“Your aunt was close friends with the deceased.” Gordon pointed at the group picture and there was Aunt Miriam, right next to Sister Margaret.
“So what?” I asked. “The case is solved.”
“It isn’t,” said Gansa. “Not really.”
“You said the priest did it.”
“That’s what they thought,” said Gordon. “But it wasn’t proven.”
“They must’ve had a reason for thinking he did it,” I said.
Gansa leaned over the table. “They had a priest jumping off a bridge because the nun he apparently loved was dead so he must’ve killed her.”
“Works for me.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be good at this?” asked Gordon.
“What do you want from me? I got you on the Kansas task force,” I said.
“We want to reopen the case,” said Gansa.
“Fine. Do that.”
The rookies gritted their teeth.
“We can’t. The higher-ups don’t agree. They think it’s a dead end,” said Gordon.
I picked up the medal and examined it. “But you don’t because this was found in Kansas?”
“Look at the initials,” said Gansa. “It’s Sister Margaret’s medal. We need your aunt to confirm it.”
I looked over at Aunt Miriam. Nothing. Not going to happen, although I couldn’t imagine why. If it was her friend’s medal, what was wrong with saying so?
“Okay. So what if it is?” I asked, although I already had a feeling. That feeling that something wasn’t right. Aunt Miriam wore her St. Brigid medal constantly. You couldn’t see it, but it was there under her clothes, next to her heart. It had her initials on it. I remembered seeing them there and I was pretty sure, if I went home and dug around, I’d find my own medal with my initials on it, done in the exact same way.
Gansa took the evidence bag from me and shook it in my face. “It wasn’t found on her body. Her Mother Superior said she always wore it. Never took it off and it wasn’t on her body.”
“They thought Father Dominic took it?” I asked.
“They assumed he did.” Gansa shook the bag again. “But he didn’t. He couldn’t have. It wasn’t in his effects and, if he jumped off the bridge with it, it’d be at the bottom of the Mississippi river.”
“You found it in Kansas in the serial killer graveyard,” I said, feeling more sick by the second.
“The team did.”
“Where was it?”
“Between two bodies.”
Aunt Miriam stood up, walked around the table, and left the room. We just watched her go and it didn’t occur to me to say anything or stop her. It was Aunt Miriam and she undoubtedly had a brick.
“So have you identified the bodies?” I asked.
“We have,” said Gordon with satisfaction.
“And?”
“Shawn Gibson, nineteen, missing 1972 and Joan Gilbert, twelve, missing 2001.”
I swallowed and tried not to picture those two victims, the state in which they were found, what happened, but I couldn’t fight it. My mind went there. “Was it sandwiched in between?”
“Yes, it was,” said Gansa.
“You think Sister Margaret was killed by one of your serial killers.”
“Yes, we do.”
Gansa reached for the doorknob and said, “Get her to identify the medal. That’s all you have to do.”
“That’s all?” I asked. “Gee. No problem.”
“Are you being sarcastic?”
“No. Not at all. Dealing with my aunt is a piece of cake.”
His incredibly smooth forehead got one wrinkle. “I feel like you’re messing with me.”
“Ya think?”
Gordon stepped up. “You want to fly to Greece, get her to do it.”
“How about you convince your guys that you’re right? How about that?”
He clenched and unclenched his jaw. “This is just between us, but we just found another cache of bodies about fifty meters away from the first group. We’re up to our eyeballs and the press is going to be brutal.”
“You deserve it,” I said.
They frowned, showing more personality than I thought they possessed.
“Not you personally.”
“I’m glad you make the distinction. We’re the good guys,” said Gansa.
I wouldn’t go that far.
“If you get me off the list, you can be the good guys.”
“We wouldn’t have hauled you in here, if we could get this done any other way,” said Gordon.
“What about the Sister’s family, friends?”
“Everyone that might’ve remembered is dead. Sister Miriam is who we’ve got. The bureau’s stance is that the medal could belong to someone else, a man, for instance.”
“As in it might belong to one of the killers?” I asked.
“Correct,” said Gansa.
Hope lit up in my chest. “Maybe it did.”
“They’re running that line of inquiry into the ground and you better hope they aren’t too attached to it.”
I stepped back involuntarily. “Don’t say it.”
“It’s going to happen.”
“No.”
“I won’t do it,” I said. “Send someone else.”
“They tried,” said Gordon. “Yesterday, as a matter of fact. Blankenship wouldn’t come out of his cell.”
I touched my lip. The scar, although faded, was still there and would always be there. I’d been forced to go to Hunt Hospital for the Criminally Insane to get information out of mass murderer Kent Blankenship, and I paid for it in spades. He gave me what I needed and it led the FBI to Kansas. I always knew it was only a matter of time before I was asked to go back in and talk to Blankenship. We had what they like to call a rapport, but it was more like ownership, as in Blankenship thought I belonged to him.
“I’m not going back to Hunt,” I said.
“You will.”
“Won’t.”
“If it’s in the interest of your family or justice, you will,” said Gordon.
“I don’t like you two,” I said.
Gansa opened the door. “We know, but that changes nothing. Talk to her.”
I flounced out with my nose in the air. I wasn’t talking to Aunt Miriam and I sure the hell wasn’t talking to Blankenship. I had three seconds of superiority and then I ran straight into Aunt Miriam, who stood in the hall, hawk-eyed and disapproving.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
I just about turned around. The rookies were preferable. “I was leaving with style.”
“You look proud of yourself.”
“I was. Don’t worry. I’m over it.”
“Good. Let’s go.”
She has a cane. Where’d she get that?
“Um…I’m sure we’re not going to the same place,” I said.
Aunt Miriam got squinty. “Where are you going?”
Wherever you aren’t.
“Well…”
She brandished the cane. “Speak up. I haven’t got all day.”
“Home, I guess,” I said.
“Good, then you’re not busy.”
“I am busy. I’ve got to look for a job and—”
The cane came dangerously close to my shin and I jumped back.
“I need a ride,” said Aunt Miriam.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
“I didn’t drive,” I said, trying not to sound happy, but from the increasing squintiness, I failed.
“We can go together,” she said, marching off down the hall.
“I’m going to walk. I need the air.” I spun around, looking for an exit or an elevator. The rookies were gone, having slipped out when they saw a chance for escape.
“This way,” she yelled.
“I’ll just go somewhere that’s not there.”
“Carolina Watts!”
Dammit.
I jogged down the hall, almost losing a sandal, and caught up to her at the elevator. “I guess we can share an Uber.”
“I’ll order one,” said Aunt Miriam.
“You’ll order one?”
She gave me another core-chilling look as if her ordering an Uber was perfectly normal. It wasn’t. She’d yet to master turning on her phone and that is not an exaggeration. We waited a good five minutes for the elevator, took it down ten flights, and left the building before she managed it.
“There,” she said in triumph. “These things are poorly designed. I’m going to write a letter.”
“A letter?” I asked.
“Yes, Mercy, a letter. That is how it’s done. Civilized people write coherent letters of complaint.”
“Maybe they did in 1985, but now they email or tweet.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not being ridicu— never mind. Please order the Uber.”
Aunt Miriam went through her apps and, at one point, somehow ended up playing DJ Khaled at incredibly high volume. My feet were freezing and the flurries had turned into snow. There was an excellent chance that’d I’d have frostbite before she opened her app.
“This service is terrible,” she said.
“You should write a letter.”
She whacked me on the shins and while I danced around in pain, she opened the Uber app and claimed to have ordered a ride.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Why are you wearing those sandals? Have you no sense of the appropriate?”
Not usually. No.
“Homeland Security took the appropriate shoes I was wearing when you got me on the No Fly List,” I said.
“I did no such thing,” said Aunt Miriam. “I’m certain that you did something.”
“I’m related to you and apparently we’re close.”
“There you go.”
I turned to her and stepped out of cane reach. “Is it Sister Margaret’s medal?”
Her mouth went into a thin line.
“If it is, it is. If it isn’t, it isn’t. Just say so and we’re both off the hook.”
“There is no hook.”
“I’m on the No Fly List. That’s a pretty big hook. What’s my mom going to say?”
“Carolina will understand,” she said.
“No, she won’t and neither will my dad or Grandad or anyone,” I said. “What is wrong with telling the truth?”
She looked at me and I quaked. “I have nothing to say and the matter is closed.”
“Except it’s not. She was your friend. Don’t you want to help her?”
“The time to help her was then.”
“It’s not your fault. You didn’t do it.”
Aunt Miriam’s mouth twitched and her eyes got moist. “I will not besmirch her memory by letting this all be slobbered over in the press. She was a dignified person. She will remain dignified.”
“Wouldn’t it be dignified to catch her murderer, if they were wrong about the priest?” I asked.
“It was fifty years ago. The person is long dead.”
“You’re not.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.
“I do. You know I do. If those dufus rookies are right and I have a feeling they are, that person got away with murdering a nun.”
Aunt Miriam sighed and her rigid shoulders relaxed, just a bit. “It’s over, Mercy. I don’t want to think about it ever again. Can you understand that?”
I didn’t know what to say. Of course, I understood. I didn’t want to see Richard Costilla’s face, the teenager I killed in New Orleans, ever again. I didn’t want to remember how Mom looked when I found her stroked out after her attack. But those things were in my mind and pushing them away didn’t make them go away. It just didn’t.
“Good. It’s agreed then,” announced Aunt Miriam. “Here’s our ride.”
A super long, old Q45 pulled up and the driver leaned over to look at us. He didn’t have the moderately friendly look of most drivers. If I had to name that look, I’d say it was dread.
“Do you know him?” I asked.
“Naturally,” said Aunt Miriam. “Get in.”
I got in and the driver looked somewhat relieved that I got in the front seat instead of Aunt Miriam. I didn’t blame him.
“Hello, William,” said Aunt Miriam.
“Good morning, Sister Miriam,” said William. “How are you today?”
Somebody had been trained in Sister Miriam politeness.
“I’m very well. Thank you,” she said.
He pulled out into traffic so slowly we got blasted with twenty-eight horns and I counted at least three fingers. William was gripping the wheel like he was afraid it would escape. “I will have you to the hospital in a reasonable amount of time.”
“I see your skills have improved,” said Aunt Miriam.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Excellent.”
I shifted in my seat and looked back. “So what are we—”
“Shush,” she said. “William is driving.”
I turned back around, so William could concentrate on being at a red light, and tried to figure out what to do. I could call Chuck. He was working on Kansas, at least where it pertained to Missouri. I doubted he had enough pull to get me off the list, but there was also Morley and Harwood, formerly known as Hatchett Nose and Toupee back when I hated them. They were higher up the food chain in the FBI than the rookies. Maybe they could do it. But there was a better than average chance that they’d want something in exchange, like a trip out to Hunt. I didn’t want to go to Greece that bad.
William pulled up at SLU’s main building and breathed a sigh of relief. “Here you go, Sister Miriam. Have a nice day.”
“Very well done, William,” said Aunt Miriam. “I will be ordering you later.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She got out and I said, “Okay. I need to go a few more blocks, close to Hawthorne Avenue.”
Aunt Miriam rapped her cane on my window.
“I don’t think so,” said William.
“No, really. I’m not going into the hospital.”
“The cane says you are. I don’t argue with the cane.”
I rolled down my window. “What’s up? Is this the wrong hospital?”
“No,” she said.
“What are you waiting for?”
She heaved an exasperated sigh and said, “Oh, fine. I give up, you can come with me.”
“Er…no, really I’m good.”
“That’s debatable. Get out of the car, Mercy. You may accompany me on this one occasion.”
“What occasion is it?” I asked.
She gave me the stink eye and it was my turn to heave an exasperated sigh. “I guess you’re right, William.”
“I’m starting to know her pretty well,” he said, “and I’m a little afraid for you.”
“Me, too,” I said. “I suggest you go on break about three-thirty.”
William grinned. “Thanks for the tip, but it’s okay. She scares the crap out of me, but she tips well and gives me a good review every single ride.”
“Really?”
“I know, right?”
“Well, good luck and God bless.”
He gave me a thumbs-up and I got out to follow Aunt Miriam into the hospital. She could really move when she wanted to and I practically had to jog to keep up. I thought we’d be going to the volunteer section where she bullied people into doing the right thing on a daily basis, but instead, we ended up in the doctor’s building on the third floor going into Dr. Amed Harrison’s office, an obstetrician and gynecologist.
Aunt Miriam marched up to the reception desk and barked, “We’re late.”
The poor receptionist jumped a foot and hastily said, “It’s fine. It’s fine. He’s free. He had a cancelation.” The poor woman ran to get some paperwork, but Aunt Miriam held up hand. “We don’t need that.”
“Okay,” said the receptionist. “Right this way.”
I went to sit down in the waiting area, but Aunt Miriam pointed at me.
What was happening? Was I seeing a gyno? Had I had my own stroke and completely forgotten that I needed one?
“I really don’t think—”
“Quiet,” said Aunt Miriam and I followed her back to Dr. Harrison’s office, a spartan affair with Danish design elements.
The doctor jumped up and showed us a pair of blond wood chairs in front of his desk, like we couldn’t have found them on our own. He had also been trained.
“Sister Miriam, it’s good to see you.” Dr. Harrison smiled, but he didn’t mean it.
“I’m sure it is,” she said. “You have a living to make.”
“Er…yes, I do and I see you’ve brought someone along today.” He leaned over the desk and extended his hand. “Miss Watts, a pleasure.”
I shook his hand that was disturbingly moist. “Thanks.”
He squeezed my hand and said with his large dark eyes intense, “I’m a huge fan. I’m very happy to meet you.”
That was more worrying than the brick in Aunt Miriam’s bag. “Oh. Okay.”
I sat down and so did the doctor. Aunt Miriam folded her hands on top of her purse and sat ramrod straight.
“So…may I ask what brings you along today, Miss Watts?” His eyes were pleading.
“I have no idea,” I said.
“You’re not here to help your aunt with her—”
Aunt Miriam coughed.
“Um…difficulty?”
“I didn’t know she had a difficulty,” I said.
“You’re a nurse?”
“Yep.”
Dr. Harrison sat back in his chair and frowned. “She hasn’t told you?”
“Tell me what? Is something wrong?” I asked.
“I assume so,” he said.
“You assume?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t know? You’re the doctor.”
Dr. Harrison kindly explained to me that this was Aunt Miriam’s third visit to see him and she had yet to tell him what was wrong with her.
I turned to her and said, “Are you serious? Tell him.”
“It’s private,” said Aunt Miriam.
“He’s a doctor. Your doctor.”
“I will.”
“When? The next millennium?” I asked. “If you have an issue, let’s have it.”
Aunt Miriam wouldn’t look at me and she sure wasn’t looking at Dr. Harrison. “I told you I will. I have to get comfortable first.”
“I hate to break it to you, but gynecologists’ offices don’t get more comfortable than this,” I said. “And he’s the number one gyno in the city. You’re taking up his valuable time.”
“He’s well paid.”
“Not enough to just sit there.”
Dr. Harrison shifted in his chair nervously. “No, no. It’s perfectly fine. Really. As long as it takes.”
I stood up. “This is crazy. Just tell him.”
Aunt Miriam stood up and said, “I will. Thursday at ten.”
The doctor glanced at his calendar. “Yes. I will see you then, Sister Miriam.”
“No,” I said. “You will not see him then. You’re seeing him now.”
“It’s fine, Miss Watts,” said Dr. Harrison.
“No, it’s not. Cancel that appointment. This is why I and all the normal people can’t get appointments when we need them.”
Aunt Miriam booked it out the door, calling over her shoulder, “Thursday.”
“You have to cut her off,” I said. “This is nutty, even for her.”
“I can’t,” he said, resigned and not at all like you’d think the top gyno in St. Louis should look.
“Why not?”
“Have you ever heard of Dr. John Mills?”
“No.”
“He was one of my partners. He’s now living in Micronesia, foraging for fruit in the jungle.”
“I don’t follow.”
Dr. Harrison explained and it pained him to do it. Five years ago, Aunt Miriam discovered Dr. Mills had the habit of soliciting teenaged prostitutes. Being who she was, Aunt Miriam wasn’t content to warn him off or even just call the cops. She wrecked him. I’m not saying Dr. Mills didn’t have it coming. He did. One of the girls was fourteen. But when my Aunt Miriam decides to come after you, you know you’ve been gone after. His wife was informed. The police and his partners, the hospital, the AMA, every professional organization he belonged to, not to mention his homeowners organization and the neighborhood watch. She told his accountant and stockbroker, for crying out loud. Somehow he didn’t go to jail. There was a plea bargain with some ridiculous time served crap, but Dr. Mills completely freaked and when he got out of a cushy mental health facility, he fled the country to hunt bananas with orangutans.
“Wow,” I said.
“Yeah.”
I squinted at him. “You haven’t been…”
“Or course not. I haven’t done anything,” said Dr. Harrison. “But Sister Miriam makes me think I did and just don’t remember, so I’m taking no chances. Understand?”
“Alright, but I think it’s crazy to waste your time,” I said.
He came around the desk, peeked out the door, and said, “See if you can get her to talk to me. Something is definitely wrong. She’s in pain. I can tell, but I can’t do anything if I can’t examine her.”
“I’ll try, but you know how she is.”
“I do, but I’m very concerned.”
I shook his hand that was happily less moist and went out to find Aunt Miriam in the waiting room.
“Well, I hope he can help you, Mercy,” she said, loudly. “These things can get serious.”
“What the—”
She whacked me with her cane until I left the office.
“Mercy, I’m going to my office. I will see you on Thursday at ten,” said Aunt Miriam.
“No, you won’t.” I did an about-face and went for the stairs.
She came after me, waving her cane and hopping mad. I grabbed the cane, twisted it out of her hand, and brandished it myself. “I’m not going to another useless appointment.”
Hands went to bony hips and faded ginger hair curled around her face, having escaped from her veil. “We will go to my office to discuss this.”
“You go to the office,” I said. “I’m going home to contemplate the error of my ways.”
“Excellent. Then I will see you on Thursday.”
“Not that error. It’s not an error.”
She got squinty. “What error then?”
“Getting up this morning and thinking something could possibly go right for me,” I said.
“Don’t exaggerate,” she said. “You were always dramatic, even as a child.”
“Oh, yeah? Because you refused to identify your friend’s medal, I got strip-searched by Patricia and Eloise at the airport and they are not nearly as gentle as they sound. Strip-searched. Naked.”
“Mercy, please,” said Aunt Miriam. “This is a medical facility. People are ill.”
“Yeah, me. I’m sick and tired and I want to go to Greece and have umbrella drinks for free.” I whipped open the door to the stairs and tossed her cane down the hall. “Do not call me unless you want to help me.”
“I need you to come to the doctor,” she said.
“For what?”
“You’re a nurse.”
“I’m not a mind reader.”
“I’m family.”
“Great,” I said. “If family is what you require, I’ll call the family. How about my mother? She’s almost got the drooling under control. Or my dad. No? You don’t want to take my dad to the gyno. How about this? I’ll call your brother. Grandad surely wants to sit in an office with Dr. Harrison and think about what all those speculums do.”
“You wouldn’t,” she said, blushing more red than her hair.
“Before today? No. Absolutely not. After Patricia and Eloise? You bet.” I went into the stairwell and ran down the stairs. I did not have on the right bra for that and it hurt, but I didn’t care.
“Mercy! Mercy!” There was a pleading to Aunt Miriam’s voice and Dr. Harrison said there was something wrong. She was old and family and old.
I stopped. “What?”
“Mrs. Haas called. You have to go take down your mother’s Halloween decor. Tommy didn’t do it.”
I am so over family.