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Elizabeth had managed to get through the loss of her husband with the help of her kids. Albert and Isabel, and, at least for a while, Brie.
With the kids married and out on their own, and now without a husband, Elizabeth had no need for a big house, and keeping it going on a reduced income was going to present some challenges, although she did make a few extra bucks doing some freelance editing. As newspapers and magazines started cutting back—staff editors getting the cut before reporters, in most cases—Elizabeth found her expertise in occasional demand. She did a lot of work for a glossy real estate magazine that was distributed throughout parts of the state. It didn’t pay much, but it was nice to keep her hand in.
Still, she hardly needed a house, so she sold the place and moved into an apartment not far from the Post Mall so she’d be handy to everything she might need.
Her children came to visit when they could. Albert had always been the most attentive, taking her to lunch every week, often popping in unannounced to see her. Izzy and Brie came by less frequently, but tried to make up for that with weekly phone calls. And it was always nice to have a visit with the grandkids. Andrew and Brie had no children, but Albert and his wife, Deirdre, had two—Randy and Lyla—and Izzy and her husband, Norman, had two in their teens, who were a handful but good-hearted.
Too bad about Albert and Dierdre, going through a trial separation. Elizabeth sometimes wondered whether she herself was partly to blame. Allowing Albert to tend to her so dutifully over the years had undoubtedly led to some resentment on Dierdre’s part. When Elizabeth’s husband died, Albert had insisted on taking her on a trip to Europe—without Dierdre—to help ease her grief. When Elizabeth’s cat passed, Albert was there the next day with a kitten. Elizabeth had always thought it was a mother’s role to ease a child’s suffering, but with Albert, it was the other way around.
It weighed heavily on her that both Albert and Isabel had troubled marriages. At least Isabel and Norman hadn’t separated. God knows she and Jackson had tried to set a good example. They’d been devoted to one another, always faithful. Even when Jackson had been on the road, back when he drove for a shipping company, she was certain he had never strayed.
Some things you just knew.
She’d made it a point not to pry into her children’s lives, but that didn’t mean you didn’t worry about them. What was that phrase? “I’m only as happy as my saddest child.” She knew Brie and Andrew had gone through some tough times. And when Deirdre wasn’t annoyed by Albert’s devotion to his mother, she had to resent the fact that he’d rather spend time on his theatrical projects than with her. Writing and directing plays was his passion. Who could blame him? Elizabeth thought. It had to be so boring, working in a bank.
And as for Izzy and Norman, well, if Elizabeth was honest with herself, it was Norman she felt sorry for. Izzy could be a handful. A complainer, a nitpicker, a proverbial dog with a bone on any number of issues. Relentlessly critical of her husband. She didn’t seem to understand that she had a good man in Norman and ran the risk of losing him if she didn’t change her ways. What kind of woman left a Post-it note over the toilet to remind her husband to pee straight?
After losing Jackson, she joined some clubs, attended lectures, took an online course in early American history, occasionally went into New York for an overnighter to see a show or tour a museum. (Albert was always buying her tickets to something.) There was even a man there for a while, a widower dentist who had retired and wanted her to tour New England with him. He had an Airstream trailer that he towed behind a Chevy Suburban big enough to have its own zip code. They went out on a couple of dates, but she took a pass on the New England adventure. She couldn’t stop comparing him to Jackson, and he came up short.
Life was more or less okay.
And then Brie disappeared.
As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, with no clue as to what had happened to her, Elizabeth came to envy Jackson. She wished she could have gone when he did. Jackson had been spared the anguish of Brie’s disappearance, the agony of not knowing.
Heartbreak, she believed, was worse than just about any disease you could think of.
Was there ever a day when she didn’t wonder what had become of Brie? Of course not. And who did she blame? Izzy had always been certain Andrew had killed Brie and disposed of her body somewhere. Elizabeth was less sure about that. But she thought it highly unlikely that Brie was still among the living.
Had she been alive, she’d surely have found a way to get in touch.
But then came today’s developments. Elizabeth didn’t know what to think, but she felt her natural inclination to skepticism being challenged.
That picture on Max’s phone.
Admittedly, not a very good image. Not sharp enough to say it was Brie, but not sharp enough to say it wasn’t. But it did look like her daughter. It was but a tiny sliver of hope. Nice to have at least that, when there was so little time left.
The cancer had continued its assault, tentacling its way to the far corners of her body. It wouldn’t surprise her, she thought, if she had cancer of the big toe. Staring at the ceiling of her darkened room, she chuckled. You found your laughs where you could.
Elizabeth closed her eyes, tried to get back to sleep. There were mercifully few noises at three in the morning. The occasional nurse walking in on her soft-soled shoes to check that she hadn’t fallen out of bed or gotten tangled up in her sheets. Sometimes soft chatter could be heard in the hallway.
She was aware, through her eyelids, of a brief flash of light. Probably the door opening. This was usually followed, within a minute, by a second flash of light, as one of Elizabeth’s uniformed nocturnal visitors departed.
But the second flash didn’t come. Slowly, Elizabeth began to sense that she was not alone in the room. She opened her eyes, which didn’t need time to adjust to the darkness.
There was someone there.
Standing over by the door. A darker figure silhouetted against a darkened wall.
“Who is it?” Elizabeth asked.
The person—Elizabeth was pretty sure it was a woman, given her height and shape—did not move.
She wondered whether she might be dreaming. Or maybe she was awake, but was hallucinating. A side effect from one of the many painkillers they’d given her. God knows they had her on enough meds these days.
She gave her arm a pinch.
I’m awake.
