“Aunt Susan,” said Ophelia, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Do you mind dropping me off at my car this morning? It’s back at the police station.”
“Yes, of course, honey. Whenever you’re ready.”
“Thank you.” Ophelia had received news from the police that morning that the house was cleared for re-entry.
“And if it’s okay with you,” Ophelia continued, “I want to go back to the Pine House. I just feel like being there. I’ll try to tidy up some. I promise I won’t touch or take any valuables. I just…I just want to be there.”
“That’s fine, dear,” her aunt said dully.
“I can’t believe you want to go back there,” said Jack, perturbed by her interest in returning. Ophelia shrugged in response and hung her head.
Ophelia wasthe first back inside the Pine House once it had been cleared. It somehow looked the same. If she kept staring at it, maybe some change would indicate the loss of its owner, but nothing. She wondered if revisiting the house would make her feel something. Make it feel more real. She had yet to cry.
So she walked through the front door. The foyer was dark, but there were clear signs that the police had been there—leftover tape marking removed evidence, dirty shoe prints in the foyer, the living room put back in a way that no longer made sense. Ophelia touched her hand to the back of her Mawmaw’s worn-in recliner. The place where she played Candy Crush, watched trash TV, and relaxed in the comfort and safety of her home.
Ophelia pressed her palm deeper into the chair. She wondered if she crawled in it, she would feel her Mawmaw’s arms wrap around her.
After she’d called the police, she went into shock, sitting stiff in her car, unsure of what was happening and how to process her feelings. She mindlessly drove to the police station that she realized she could see from the pizza parlor parking lot. Ophelia sat in a police office for several hours, answering questions, fillingout the paperwork that she could. Most of it needed to be filled out by Aunt Susan.
That night at Aunt Susan’s, she heard the cries of her aunt in the living room and the hushed phone calls with relatives and police. She listened to her aunt’s pain in paralysis, unable to express her own.
Ophelia moved into the treating parlor and stood in front of the gold altar. The words were still on the wall, and she turned her head away from them in disgust. Instead, she stretched out her arms on the smooth surface of the altar and lay her head down, letting the coolness of the gold soothe her.
Ophelia couldn’t make sense of anything. All the information she held about the Cutthroat Killer and its victims swam in her head in unconnected pieces.
She wanted to make sense of it, but it wasn’t time for her to figure this out. How could she even figure this out? There were supposed to be cops, detectives, investigators all over this. Why hadn’t they solved this yet?
Ophelia pulled out the cognac from the cabinet in the altar and walked to the back porch. She sat in the rocking chair, looking out into the pine forest of her childhood. She felt like her Mawmaw would walk through the porch doors at any moment. None of this should be real.
Despair sank deep into her bones as she wondered if all of this was somehow her fault. She tipped her head back and drained what was left in the decanter. The rest could wait until tomorrow.
PART III
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
Astream of endless silent tears rolled down Ophelia’s face for the entirety of Mawmaw’s funeral service. The front of her dress was soaked, and it took effort for Ophelia not to break into a loud and unending sob. She wished she had the courage and wherewithal to express herself to the congregation, but she didn’t, and she hated herself for it.
Jade sat with Ophelia and her family during the ceremony, since she desperately needed someone who wasn’t breaking to hold her hand. At one point, Theo ended up in her arms, and she buried her face into the rolls of his neck and pressed kisses to his round belly. His sweet baby scent brought her comfort.
Etienne and his grandfather, Brutus, were there. Ophelia thought she spoke to both of them after the ceremony as people filed out of the church, but she couldn’t be certain. She barely remembered what happened that day.
After the funeral, she went home and didn’t move from her bed. It was all too much. The weight of life was crushing.
She had long dismissed the theory that she was immune to bad things. That notion flew out the window during the attack in New York. However, she missed that carefree, invincible feeling when she was younger. The feeling of hearing about a tragedy and being sad for the victim, and then moving on withlife. Not anymore. When Ophelia heard of something bad, she now thought, “Oh, that will probably happen to me.” It was unhealthy and statistically untrue, but what were the odds that her life revolved around a serial killer who killed her neighborandher grandmother?
There was too much loss. Mawmaw, Delphine, her own self-confidence, her sense of safety at home, and in New Orleans. She named the losses in her head. Repeated them ad nauseam, determined to never forget.
Work gaveOphelia two weeks off for bereavement. During that time, she received several well-meaning texts from friends and colleagues, even a kind text from Etienne, which surprised her. It was a long message about her Mawmaw and how much she meant to his grandfather and the community. His message included a story about his grandfather, Brutus, asking Mawmaw out on a date a decade or so ago. Her response was that she was “too much woman for him to handle.” Mawmaw never dated after Ophelia’s grandfather passed away before she was even born. She could so distinctly hear her sassy voice say those words.
The anecdote left Ophelia sobbing on the floor. But she was thankful for the message. She needed to hear those things. She needed people to remember her Mawmaw.
For the first couple of days after the funeral, Jade and Jolie left Ophelia alone, but then they started showing up uninvited. Jade was the most welcome. She came to Ophelia’s home, tidied up the place, brought in some groceries, and simply sat with her. Whereas Jolie was an annoying ball of frenetic energy. Jolie wanted Ophelia to stop “moping” around. She was constantly saying things like…We should go to Audubon Park. The fresh air willhelp. You need to eat real food, Ophelia. Not just cereal. Your bed is getting tired of you. Trust me. The smell says it all.
And on the last day of her bereavement period, the Sunday before she had to return to work, Ophelia had had enough of her sister.
At noon, Jolie burst through her house and waltzed into her bedroom, flicking on all of the lights. Anger flared in Ophelia. Why couldn’t her sister leave her alone?
“Get up. We’re going for a run,” announced Jo.
