Chapter 39 Nancy
THIRTY-NINE
NANCY
Ginny sat by the window overlooking the grounds, her hands limp in her lap. The light caught what was left of her hair, cropped ragged and thin. She didn’t hum any more. Didn’t whisper. Didn’t laugh.
The lobotomy had stolen all of her shine.
The Ginny I had obsessed over was dead. Every touch, every smile and every horrible sin was nothing but a memory.
Her body lived on. Breathing and blinking. Heart beating and lungs expanding. Yet, behind all the vitality was an absence that pained me.
I stepped closer, cradling a weighted doll in my arms. Its eyes stared up glassy and bright, its cloth limbs sagging. I’d dressed it in matching pyjamas to the ones we’d buried Alice in. Placing it gently in her arms, I stopped to touch her warm cheek.
Ginny ignored the doll, her gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the window.
My hand trembled as I reached into my pocket, drawing out a perfect pink ribbon. The same one I had unwound from the baby’s cold neck. Dark stains still marred the satin, but the bow tied neatly enough.
I slipped it around the doll’s neck and pulled it tight in a pretty bow.
When Ginny’s eyes caught the colour, something shifted. Just a flicker. She lifted the doll slowly before clutching it to her chest. Her hand patted its little bottom in a steady rhythm.
I swallowed the sickness in my throat.
“Good girl,” I whispered.
Before leaving, I reached into my bag and pulled out the bottle of aftershave. Robert’s scent. Elijah’s scent. I sprayed it lightly into the air, the sharp peppery spice visible against the sunlight.
Ginny’s shoulders eased and her head tilted as though listening to a voice only she could hear.
I closed the door behind me, leaving her rocking with her doll.