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After Mrs. DaCosta had been shepherded away by her husband, Les had stood there numbly. She didn’t know for how long, but eventually she’d noticed the rabbit. As she’d bent to pick it up, Agatha was talking to her. But when she reached for Les, Les backed away, shaking her head. Then she’d bolted.
On the way to the park, Les had pulled the toy out of her suitcase. During one of the days she’d been at Brick’s, she’d found it in her glove compartment and put it with the other items she’d brought back here. She’d intended to leave it in her room at the condo, but after seeing Agatha and receiving Raeni’s note, she’d tucked it into the suitcase.
Now she removed it from the pocket of her light jacket. She placed it beside Mrs. DaCosta’s laced hands. The mother stared at it. Her fingers opened stiffly, collecting the rabbit so it was sandwiched between her palms.
“The day I examined him, he didn’t let it go, not once.”
“Yes. It was…originally, it was a pet toy. My sister had come to have dinner with us, and brought her dog. Llanzo wanted that bunny. A few days later, my sister brought him a new one. My husband took the squeaker out, to remove the choking hazard, and to keep us from losing our minds.”
A faint smile, tortured though it was, touched her lips. The rabbit was a fleecy white. Blue and pink embroidery provided the eyes and nose.
“He offered to let me hold it.” Though it hurt to say it, Les added, “He wanted me to listen to the rabbit’s heart after I listened to his.”
“And you did.” The mother turned it over and over, stroking the fur. Raeni seemed to want her to continue, to speak of a shared memory of her child, so Les did.
“He felt so crappy, but he smiled when I smiled at him. When they’re babies, they say that’s a reflex, that they’re just mimicking us, learning. But you can see when it becomes real.”
“Yes.”
Raeni’s eyes lifted to Les’s, locking. It was that gun sight look again, which made her stomach pitch. “I saw you that night. In the garden. Sitting against the wall.”
“Oh.” Les wasn’t sure what to say to that. She’d put her hands back in her lap, fingers tightly knotted. But after a long pause, Raeni continued.
“My husband was taking me…somewhere. I can’t remember, just that we were going across the courtyard to get there. Something was blooming, maybe roses. The colors were so vivid, even in the rain. It’s odd, isn’t it, how everything is the same but looks so different…right after. I saw you. Wet to the skin, crouched against the wall, crying as if you were about to split in two. It made me even more furious with you. How dare you think you have a right to cry? To grieve my child, after you killed him? I would have attacked you again, but Henrique had a firm grip on me.”
Les flinched at the harsh tone, but stayed quiet. Raeni’s voice became flat again. “They gave me a sedative, a prescription for more. He filled it, but he holds onto them. He won’t put them on the bathroom counter or even in a drawer. He keeps them with him.”
Her eyes, broken brown glass, met Les’s. “He’s afraid I’ll take too many, succumb to the desire to be lost to darkness, to dreams, where my Llanzo might still play, or be in my arms. I’m glad caring for me keeps his mind off his own grief. It’s the only purpose I can see it having. But purpose is defined as accomplishing something, moving toward a desired outcome. And what does that mean to us anymore?”
A chill rippled over Les’s skin. She thought of Rufus and Bobbi. Then she thought of her mother. For the first time in her life, she understood why her mother sought prayer for difficult circumstances. Not just for ritual comfort, but as a fervent call for action, focused intent. Some things you couldn’t reach in another person. Only something bigger than all of them could go that deep and bring them back.
Raeni brought the toy to her forehead, beat a light tattoo against it. Then she stopped, held it there, her face creasing like crumpled paper. “It smells like him. Everything does. I’m not sure I can ever forgive any of you for sending my child home when his heart was so vulnerable. But I know it wasn’t carelessness that caused it.”
Her gaze flicked to Les. “I mean a lack of caring. That’s the true meaning, right? I saw you sobbing and knew, no matter my anger, your pain was real. Not guilt. Not fear of losing your chance to be a doctor. You grieved for my child. Your anguish, your repentance, was real. When I look in your eyes, I loathe it, but I see some of the same deadness that’s in mine, that comes from the shattering of purpose and direction, meaning. An internal car crash you can’t figure out how to walk away from, no 911 to call.”
Her lips twisted again, an ugly near snarl. “This took something vital from you. I want to be glad for that, that you’re being punished for it, but…”
She shook her head, her face smoothing to blankness again. “They say tears don't change or fix anything. Maybe so. I can’t feel or think anything on it. But many years ago, my mother told me tears are like water cleansing a wound, allowing it to start to heal, though some wounds take far more tears than others.”
Abruptly, Mrs. DaCosta pocketed the unused recorder and rose. She held the rabbit. “What I said that night, about you not being a doctor… I can’t forgive, but I can remember. I remember how careful you were, checking your notes. And how you connected to Llanzo, paid attention, took time. How you suggested I take him for a follow up with his doctor on Monday, and said you’d call them yourself, make sure they worked him in.”
Her face crumpled again. “They did, you know. Called and left a message, telling me they had an opening early that day. Then called and left another, after they got the update from the hospital. Saying how sorry they were.”
She took a breath. “Anyhow, I wanted you to know.”
She turned away. Les rose, hitting her knee on the cross piece under the table. She ignored the jolt of pain. “Mrs. DaCosta—Raeni—may I say something to you?”
“You’ve said you’re sorry. I don’t want to hear it again. I don’t want to hear anything from any of you again.” Her gaze landed on the cross around Les’s neck. “Tell God you’re sorry. Tell Llanzo you’re sorry. What penance, what forgiveness you seek, seek your answers from God. I have no answers to give.”
The words Les wanted to say froze in her throat. But as Mrs. DaCosta began to walk away, she managed to get them out. “I won’t forget him. Not now, not ever.”
Raeni didn’t turn around. But she did pause long enough to nod her head. Once. Les watched her get in her vehicle, back out and drive away. She entered the neighborhood entrance behind the park. Les hoped her husband and daughter were at the house waiting for her.
Les turned to watch the kids on the playground. One mother was commenting on the leaf her son had brought to show her. The mother closest to them smiled, even as she had that distracted air of mothers everywhere, updating her mental to-do list and handling as much of it on her phone as she could, while keeping an eye on her own child.
Raeni was right. The world was the same but so different. Too bright, too sharp. Too heartbreaking. Mrs. DaCosta’s numbness now was a way to mute and buffer it, to make the loss survivable.
Brick was standing at the passenger door when she moved in that direction. Beyond a steadying hand as she pulled herself into the passenger seat, he didn’t touch her. She took it as an act of caring, his awareness that the lightest touch would shatter her.
