Chương 10
That version of him was one of the reasons I had stayed so long.
A person capable of tenderness is harder to label as dangerous.
“It can wait,” I said.
Alex nodded.
“Okay.”
This time his okay did not irritate me.
When the wheelchair attendant finally pushed me toward the hospital entrance, morning had become full daylight.
Alex walked beside me carrying the discharge folder and the remains of his terrible coffee.
His phone rang.
He glanced at the screen.
“Nora.”
My stomach tightened.
He looked at me.
“Do you want me to answer?”
“Yes.”
He put it on speaker.
“Nora?”
Her breathing was fast.
“Is Claire there?”
“I’m here.”
“Oh my God.”
Her voice broke.
“I’m sorry.”
I closed my eyes.
“For what?”
“For everything.”
“Nora, what happened?”
“I need to tell you something before the police come back.”
Alex stopped walking.
The attendant stopped too.
Nora whispered, “They found the gun.”
I gripped the armrest.
“Where?”
There was a long pause.
Then Nora said, “In my mother’s suitcase.”
For a second none of us spoke.
The hospital entrance doors opened behind us and let in a burst of warm air, car exhaust, and the sound of somebody arguing with a valet.
Alex took the phone off speaker.
“Nora, slow down.”
“I am trying.”
Her voice shook harder.
“Mom says it isn’t hers.”
I gripped the wheelchair arm.
“Was it loaded?”
Nora inhaled sharply.
“I don’t know.”
Alex said, “Don’t touch anything.”
“I didn’t.”
“Who found it?”
“One of the officers.”
“Why were they searching her suitcase?”
“They weren’t at first.”
Nora’s words came faster.
“Dad started saying Mom wanted to leave and that her things needed to be packed before anyone took more property, and she got weird about the suitcase.”
I looked at Alex.
He was already listening differently.
Not as my brother now.
As someone assembling pieces.
“What do you mean weird?”
I asked.
“She kept telling Dad not to touch the blue one.”
“What blue one?”
“The hard-shell suitcase.”
I could see it immediately.
Helena’s expensive navy suitcase with the gold zipper pulls she had complained Victor scratched while carrying it upstairs.
“Then what?”
I asked.
“Dad opened it anyway.”
Nora’s voice dropped.
“Mom tried to stop him.”
My chest tightened.
“The gun was under her clothes?”
“In a shoe bag.”
Alex’s face changed.
“Was anyone recording when it was found?”
“I don’t know.”
“Nora.”
“What?”
“Stay away from your mother until police sort it out.”
“She’s my mother.”
“That doesn’t make her safe.”
The sentence hit me harder than I expected.
Nora went quiet.
Then she said, “Victor says she put it there after he got arrested.”
I looked at Alex.
“How is Victor talking to her?”
Nora hesitated.
“Dad got a call.”
“From Victor?”
“I think so.”
Alex’s expression sharpened.
“How?”
“I don’t know, Alex.”
“Was he released?”
“No.”
“I’m not sure.”
Her panic returned.
“They separated everyone and I’m sitting in Dad’s truck and nobody will tell me anything.”
The wheelchair attendant glanced at us, then politely looked away.
I said, “Nora, are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Doors locked?”
There was a small pause.
Then the click of a lock came through the phone.
“Now they are.”
“Good.”
Alex crouched beside me.
“Ask her if Helena has a key to the truck.”
I did.
Nora said yes.
Alex swore softly.
“Can you go inside somewhere public?”
“There’s a coffee place down the block.”
“Go there.”
“I don’t want to leave Dad.”
“Your dad is with police.”
“He’s not arrested.”
“I didn’t say he was.”
Nora breathed unevenly.
Then she said, “Okay.”
I could hear a truck door open.
Traffic noise rose.
“Keep us on the phone.”
She crossed a parking lot, muttering when a horn sounded nearby.
For half a minute, all I heard was her breathing and the scrape of my own hospital bracelet against the wheelchair arm.
Then a bell chimed.
“Inside.”
“Sit near the counter,” Alex said.
“God, you’re bossy.”
“Yeah.”
Nora almost laughed.
The sound broke something open in me.
For the first time since the morning began, she sounded like herself.
Not Victor’s sister.
Not Helena’s daughter.
Just Nora.
“I’ll call you back,” she said.
“If you don’t answer, I’m calling police.”
“I know.”
She hung up.
Alex stared at his phone.
I said, “Victor knew.”
“What?”
“He knew where the gun was.”
“You don’t know that.”
“He had to.”
“No.”
Alex stood.
“Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Decide the ending before we have the middle.”
I frowned.
“That sounds like therapist language again.”
“It probably is.”
The wheelchair attendant cleared his throat.
“Are we still going to the pickup area?”
I looked at him.
He was young, maybe twenty, with a name badge that said MARCUS and the exhausted patience of someone whose shift had started too early.
“Sorry.”
“No problem.”
He began pushing again.
Alex walked beside us.
At the curb, he went to get his truck while Marcus waited with me.
Cars came and went.
People stepped out carrying overnight bags, flowers, fast-food cups, and infant car seats.
A woman in pink slippers cried into a man’s shoulder near the automatic doors.
Nobody looked at me for more than a second.
I was grateful for that.
Marcus tapped one sneaker against the curb.
“You okay with the temperature?”
“Yes.”
“You want to wait inside?”
“No.”
He nodded.
Then, after a moment, he said, “My wife hated that wheelchair after she had our son.”
I looked at him.
“She said everybody pushed too fast.”
He smiled.
“I got yelled at for three days.”
“How old is he?”
“Five months.”
His entire face softened.
“Doesn’t sleep.”
“I hear that’s common.”
“People keep telling me that like it helps.”
I laughed quietly.
A black pickup pulled around the corner.
Alex parked badly, jumped out, and opened the passenger door.
Marcus helped me stand.
Pain shot down my thigh.
I sucked in air.
Alex reached for me and then stopped himself.
“Can I?”
“Yes.”
May you like
He supported my elbow.
I climbed in slowly.
