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As promised, it was. But Charlie wasn’t returning.
She sobbed. Her knees went weak. Glenda took her arm and led her into the living room and over to a wide, upholstered chair. She collapsed into it like a rag doll.
From the perspective of that chair, she spied one of Charlie’s sneakers underneath the sofa across the room. The sneaker had gone missing several days ago. She had looked for it everywhere except, apparently, under the sofa.
She must remember to get it later, but for now, all she had the wherewithal to do was sit and look at the small, empty shoe through eyes that filled with fresh tears.
Glenda knelt in front of her. “Do you want something?”
“Yes. I want to wake up and discover that this has been an ungodly dream.”
“What can I do for you, Elle?”
“Turn back time?”
“I wish with all my heart that I could. But I can’t.”
“Then there’s nothing. Besides, you’ve done enough already. You must be exhausted. Go home.”
“Not a chance.”
“You don’t have to stay.”
“I’m here, and I’m staying.”
She stood and went over to the sofa, where she sat down and tugged off her cowboy boots. Her fringed jacket came off next; then she began unwinding the ropes of beads from around her neck.
Glenda was wearing the same clothes she’d had on when she’d arrived at the fair. At some point in the past twelve hours—Elle couldn’t remember precisely when—someone, whom she didn’t recall, either, had provided her with a set of scrubs and a pair of rubber flip-flops to exchange for her clothes and shoes, which were stained with blood. That of the older man she’d chatted with, and Charlie’s.
Her healthy son had had a sturdy little body. She’d often teased him about it as she playfully poked him in the belly. But he had felt very small, defenseless, and fragile when she’d clutched him to her, screaming prayers that he would take a breath, make a sound, that she would feel a heartbeat. His sweet body, the one that had chugged around so energetically and industriously, had remained unmoving and limp. Lifeless.
She gave another harsh sob.
Glenda dumped the strands of beads on the coffee table and went back to Elle’s chair. “You’re taking a shower while I scramble some eggs. After you’re fed, I’m giving you one of the sedatives you refused to take earlier and putting you to bed.”
Glenda hauled her up out of the chair. When Glenda was in managerial mode, it was easier to go along than to balk, so Elle didn’t argue or put up any resistance as she was propelled out of the living room and down the hall.
“Do you need help with that?” Glenda pointed to the cold pack on Elle’s right elbow.
“It’s just Velcro. I’ll manage.”
“Okay. Undress. I’ll get the water going.”
Glenda left her standing in the center of her bedroom, where everything was so familiar, but nothing would ever be the same. She removed the cold pack and laid it on the end of the bed, then mechanically began to take off the scrubs.
When Glenda returned from the bathroom, Elle was down to her panties. Her bra had been too bloodstained to salvage. “It’s ready for you,” her friend said. “Take as long as you like. I’ll be in the kitchen.” She pulled the door closed behind her when she went out.
Although Elle longed for the restoration a hot shower could provide, she was reluctant to wash off the last physical vestiges of her son. His scent, the sticky imprint of his hand on her cheek, the smear of drool that had dried on her neck.
Knowing it had to be done, she stepped into the shower stall and stood directly beneath the spray, head bowed. She let it beat down on her for a full minute before opening her eyes. The water swirling around her feet toward the drain was tinged pink with her child’s blood.
Not until the water ran clear did she reach for the soap and begin to wash.
Glenda forced her to eat some of the breakfast she’d cooked, then gave her a pill, strapped a fresh cold pack to her arm, and tucked her in. The sedative was effective. She went almost instantly to sleep. When she woke up, she enjoyed a few precious seconds of forgetfulness before memory blasted in.
Gauging by the slant of the sun coming through her bedroom window, it was late afternoon. Still a bit fuzzy from the medication, she dressed and left her bedroom.
In the living room, Glenda had her large leather-bound day planner lying open on her lap. She was talking on her cell phone, confirming a two o’clock appointment for the following day.
