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Neither of them spoke. I gasped and tottered.
The shorter officer put his arm around my waist. “Hey, you’d better sit down.”
“Yes, thank you,” I said, and let him help me to the sofa, where the soft light had remained on. He went to get me a glass of water.
When the detective arrived, they told him what I had said, and then he asked to speak with Sylvia.
“My sister was born prematurely and had early development problems,” I explained. “She’s never been to a formal school, and she’s what they call mentally challenged.”
He nodded. He looked like he knew about us. When they had removed Arden’s body, I went up to get Sylvia. Adelle was asleep again, so I asked the detective to come up. I thought it would be better anyway to have her questioned away from the stairway.
“Sorry to bother you,” he told Sylvia, “but can you remember what happened to your . . .”
“Brother-in-law,” I interjected quickly. “She’s not clear on relationships.”
He nodded. “Sure. Can you remember anything, Sylvia?”
“I remember things,” she said with what sounded like indignation.
“On the stairway. What happened to him?”
“He fell backward,” she said. “I tried to help him like I helped Papa, but I couldn’t reach him . . . I was right behind Papa. I didn’t have to reach him.”
“She once kept my father from falling,” I explained. “We made a big deal of it. I’m sure you understand.”
“Yeah, sure.” He looked at Sylvia again and realized she wasn’t going to be much of a witness. “Okay. There’ll be an autopsy, and we’ll be in touch. My deepest sympathies, Mrs. Lowe.”
“Thank you.”
He nodded at Sylvia.
“Adelle is sleeping,” she told him, as if she expected he would want to ask the baby questions, too.
He looked at me, his eyes like exclamation points.
“It’s how she is,” I said.
“Right. I’ll call you,” he told me, and left.
The silence that followed after everyone had left was the deepest silence in Whitefern that I could remember. I didn’t imagine I would be able to fall asleep, so I didn’t go to our bedroom, and I didn’t lie beside Sylvia on her bed.
Instead, I returned to Momma’s sofa, where I sat until the wee hours of the morning. Sometime before the sun rose, I did fall asleep. Sylvia woke me to tell me it was time for breakfast. She stood there holding the baby and looking at me.
“Yes,” I said. I rose slowly, telling myself it was best to eat something. There would be so much to do now, so many people to talk to and repeat the same explanation.
“Is Arden coming back for breakfast?” she asked.
“No, Sylvia,” I said. “Arden’s never coming back.”
She nodded, looking like she just wanted to hear it confirmed.
“Arden has passed away, just like Papa did,” I said.
“I know,” she said. “Papa told me.”
Epilogue
It was a day without clouds when we buried Arden next to his mother, Billie, in the Whitefern Cemetery, exactly the wrong weather for a funeral. Everyone and everything looked too bright and alive. Arden’s and Billie’s graves weren’t far from my parents’ graves and those of Aunt Ellsbeth and Vera. Many of our company’s clients and all the employees attended the service. Mrs. Crown looked devastated, as devastated as a lover of the deceased might. She cried harder than I did and needed more comfort than I did.
