Page 144 of Shame the Devil
After she was sitting down with a bottle of Gatorade in her hand, he said, “OK. Tell me.” And braced himself to hear it.
It would be Annabelle. It had to be Annabelle. Except that if it was Annabelle, why was she here? She would have stayed with Annabelle.
One of his other sisters. Something. Something bad.
She said, “Your dad’s accepted a plea deal. He’s confessed, and he wants to talk to you. And they’ve released your mother’s body.”
* * *
Annabelle and Dymawere waiting at the airport. Waiting on the jet, in fact, because Jennifer had chartered it. When he came through the door, Annabelle jumped up and ran. He caught her midair, held her hard, and said into her hair, “Hey. Hey, now, Bug. Hey. It’s OK.”
She said, “Mom. Dad. I just …”
“Shh,” he said. “I know. We’re going.”
It took a while, but finally, he was sitting across from Jennifer again. Dyma and Annabelle were sitting on the couch behind them, watching the same movie, Dyma holding Annabelle’s hand like the good friend she was.
An hour and a half to Bismarck. It was time to figure things out. He took a breath and said, “OK. Next steps.”
Jennifer said, “Three things. Logistics of the trip, your mom, and your dad.” Composed again, and efficient always. She went on, “I’ve already done the logistics. I got us all places at the Residence Inn. Two two-bedroom suites, and one one-bedroom for Vanessa, all close to each other. It has kitchens, and a gym and pool, because you’ll need to work out, and so will Annabelle. It’ll make you both feel better. I put it all on your card, and the flight, too. Normally, I wouldn’t have run up charges this big without asking you, but I went ahead anyway.”
He said, “Of course you should’ve done that. That’s why I put your name on it. I told you, anything you need. And that’s good, about the pool. It’s hot, and you’re achy. You need to be able to swim.”
She smiled, a little watery, maybe, reached across the table to take his hand, and said, “If I haven’t said it enough—I love you. You are such a good man. You make me proud to … to know you.”
He said, “I want to marry you.”
He didn’t mean to. It just came out. Because what he’d wanted her to say was, “You make me proud to be your wife.”
She said, “Oh,” then almost visibly set it aside and said, “We can talk about it later, don’t you think? It’s kind of an … emotional time right now.” Then smiled, just a twist of her mouth. “Areallyemotional time. This is as bad as it gets.”
“We can talk about it later,” he said, “but I’m not changing my mind.” It was right there in front of him, so clear that he couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it sooner.
“OK,” she said, “but I’m going to tell you the other things now, because we don’t have that long before we land.”
“Right. Go.”
“I arranged for Alison and the family to fly over, because I can’t imagine six hours in the car with two little kids, facing this. They’ll be there by the time we arrive. I hope that’s all right.”
“Sure. How about Vanessa?”
“She was working a flight, but she’ll get here as fast as she can. Probably tonight. And I called your grandparents and arranged their tickets and their room, too. They’re coming tomorrow evening. I thought …” She took a breath. “That they’d want to be here with you right now, and that you’d want to bury your mom as soon as you can. She’s been alone long enough.”
That was it. He tried, but … he lost it.
Jennifer was beside him in the aisle. On her knees, her arms around him. He managed to say, “You need to … get back in your seat. Seat belt. And … Bug. I shouldn’t …”
“Yes,” she said, her voice fierce, and so tender, too. “You should. Annabelle needs to know that this hurts everybody, that it’s safe to hurt this badly, to let herself feel it. And you all need to say goodbye to your mom. You need to tell her you love her. You need to grieve, and you need to do it together.”
He shook his head, his hand over his face, still crying like he couldn’t stop. That place that was numb—the anesthetic had worn off, and it hurt.
Ithurt.
She was still holding him. “Harlan,” she said. “Go on and cry. The grief doesn’t go away, otherwise. It just sits like a hard ball in your chest until you can’t breathe around it. You need to feel it.”
No chance of doing anything else. Finally, though, he was mopping up, and she was back in her seat. He took a few more deep, shuddering breaths, got himself back under control, and said, “Right. Next.”
She hesitated, then said, “I didn’t make final arrangements for the funeral. I wasn’t sure if you’d want her to be buried there, or maybe with your grandparents. Or even out in Portland, near you and Annabelle. I figured you all could talk about it tonight. I made some preliminary choices in case you wanted to do it in Bismarck, but I can cancel them. Or change them.”
