Chương 8
For once, she did not fight me.
Benton stood.
"We'll need handwriting samples and access to any financial records you control."
"Take everything."
Ruiz spoke gently.
"Don't make decisions about everything right now."
I laughed bitterly.
"That's suddenly my specialty."
After they left, Mara went downstairs to find coffee.
She returned with two paper cups and a packet of crackers she claimed to have stolen from a family waiting area.
"They were free."
"Then you didn't steal them."
"I stole the spirit of ownership."
She handed me a cup.
I smelled it before drinking.
Mara noticed.
Neither of us mentioned why.
The coffee was bad.
I drank it anyway.
That afternoon, physical therapy arrived.
Her name was Denise, and she had a blunt gray bob and the forearms of someone who had spent twenty years preventing adults from falling.
"We're going to sit you up."
"I am sitting up."
"More up."
"I hate you already."
"Excellent."
She adjusted the bed and explained what she was going to do.
I listened carefully, then pretended I had not.
The first attempt lasted nine seconds.
My blood pressure dropped.
My vision narrowed.
Denise lowered me back before I could protest.
"Again later."
"I can do it now."
"No."
"I barely tried."
"That's not how bodies work."
"My body apparently works however it feels like."
Denise folded the gait belt across one arm.
"Your body has been injured."
The word injured caught me.
Not weak.
Not anxious.
Not difficult.
Injured.
"When can I walk?"
"When you can walk."
"That's useless."
"Correct."
I looked at her.
She smiled.
"I don't sell miracles."
"Good business model."
"Pays terribly."
She came back two hours later.
This time I stayed upright for almost a minute.
My legs hung from the side of the bed like someone else's.
Denise touched my thigh.
"Anything?"
"Pressure."
"Good."
"Is it?"
"It's more than nothing."
I stared at my toes.
"Move."
Nothing.
"Come on."
Denise said nothing.
"Move."
My right big toe twitched.
So slightly I thought I imagined it.
Denise crouched.
"Again."
I tried.
Nothing.
"Again."
The toe moved.
Mara made a sound behind me that was half laugh, half sob.
"Did you see that?"
"Yes," Denise said.
"Did you?"
"Yes."
"Judith."
"I saw it."
Mara clapped both hands over her mouth.
I started crying.
Not gracefully.
My whole chest shook.
Denise kept one hand on my shoulder so I would not tip sideways.
For the first time since the driveway, my body had done something I asked.
One toe.
A ridiculous, stubborn fraction of an inch.
It felt enormous.
By evening, Leo had still not called again.
His silence should have relieved me.
Instead, I checked my phone every few minutes.
At seven twelve, a message came from an unknown number.
Mrs. Hale, this is Thomas Keene, counsel for Leo Hale.
I read no further.
My stomach tightened.
Mara leaned over from the chair.
"What?"
"His lawyer."
"Don't answer."
"I'm not."
"Good."
I kept reading.
Mr. Hale has been advised to have no direct communication with you while the investigation is ongoing.
Any necessary logistical matters concerning the residence, property, or shared accounts may be directed through my office.
The message ended with a phone number.
No apology.
No mention of my health.
No question about whether I could move my legs.
Only logistics.
Property.
Accounts.
Mara watched my face.
"What does it say?"
"He can't talk to me."
"Good."
I put the phone down.
"Stop saying good."
She blinked.
"Okay."
"I mean it."
"Okay."
"He was my husband yesterday."
"He was your husband this morning too."
"I know."
My voice broke.
"That's the problem."
Mara looked away.
She pulled at a loose thread on her jeans.
"I'm sorry."
I pressed my palms into my eyes.
"I want him arrested."
"I know."
"And I want him to call me."
Mara nodded.
"I know."
"I hate myself for that."
"Don't."
"Don't tell me what not to feel."
"Fine."
She sat back.
"Hate yourself for five minutes."
I lowered my hands.
"What?"
"Five minutes."
"That's stupid."
"Then three."
I laughed despite myself.
She shrugged.
"I'm negotiating."
That night I slept for forty minutes at a time.
Hospital noises traveled strangely after midnight.
Wheels.
Muted alarms.
A man coughing somewhere down the hall.
At two seventeen, I woke from a dream in which I was standing in our kitchen and could not remember which mug belonged to me.
At three, Camille came in to check my vitals.
"Want something for sleep?"
"No."
"You sure?"
"I want my brain working."
"Sleep helps with that."
"I don't trust anything that makes me groggy."
She paused.
"Fair."
I hated the word fair.
Nothing about the room was fair.
Nothing about my legs was fair.
Nothing about having to distrust medication because my husband had turned a nightly ritual into a weapon was fair.
Camille adjusted the blanket over my feet.
"I can show you the package before you take anything."
I looked at her.
"The label?"
"The sealed package."
I swallowed.
"Okay."
She brought it.
I read every word.
Then I asked what the pill looked like.
She showed me.
Then I asked what dose.
She answered.
Then I asked again.
She did not get impatient.
I took it with water from a fresh bottle I opened myself.
In the morning, Ruiz arrived carrying a paper cup and a face that told me she had slept less than I had.
"Your sister here?"
"Getting breakfast."
"Good."
She closed the door.
I sat higher against the pillows.
"Did Freya confess?"
"No."
"Did Leo?"
"No."
"Then what?"
Ruiz took the chair.
"We got preliminary results from the tea residue."
My hands went cold.
"It matches?"
"Yes."
"How much?"
"Enough to concern the lab."
I looked at my feet beneath the blanket.
"Was it in the tin?"
"Trace contamination was found inside the tin."
My breath caught.
"So all the tea was poisoned?"
"Not necessarily."
"What does that mean?"
"The distribution isn't uniform."
May you like
"English."
"It looks like the compound may have been added to individual servings or small portions rather than mixed through the entire tin."
