Chapter 18
CHAPTER
I ’m fine all by myself.” Mom swats my hand away.
I push the walker in front of her again. “The doctor said you need to use it. You might be out of the woods for now, but it’s going to take some time to get your strength back.”
She reaches for it like she’s going to take it, then lifts and flings it across the hospital room.
Guess he misjudged your strength. Whatever.
The one thing my mother taught me that’s been valuable in my life is you can’t help people who don’t want to be helped.
So instead of hovering as she makes her way to the bathroom, I decide to pack up her stuff.
It’s been a long six days since she was admitted, four since she woke up.
The nurse comes in as I’m zipping the duffel. She looks around and smiles. “Mrs. Davis make an early escape?”
“She’s in the bathroom. Wouldn’t let me help her, of course.”
“She’s an independent woman with a beautiful soul.”
I have to turn away so the nice nurse won’t see me rolling my eyes. My mother swings open the bathroom door.
“Elizabeth, you better . . .” She stops short when she realizes someone else is in the room. God forbid anyone see how she treats her own flesh and blood.
The nurse rushes over and grabs Mom’s elbow. “Mrs. Davis, you shouldn’t be walking unattended.”
Of course, my mother doesn’t tell her where to stick it. She even plays into the role of a dying woman. She hunches her back and shuffles her steps like she didn’t just have the strength to toss a piece of medical equipment across the room.
The nurse helps Mom into bed and tucks her in. “I just started working on your discharge paperwork,” she says. “We should have you out of here within an hour.”
“Take your time, dear.” Mom pats the nurse’s hand. “I know how busy you are. I’m just grateful for all you’ve done.”
As soon as the woman leaves the room, my mother’s face changes. It contorts back to the miserable one reserved just for me. I’ll never understand what I’ve done to deserve so much hatred. Then again, I suppose, my being born was enough of a burden on her.
“Did you even bring me clean underwear? I can’t be going into God’s house without my privates covered.”
“You almost died a few days ago. You were on life support. Don’t you think maybe you should just go home and rest?”
“The Lord doesn’t rest. Besides, it’s Sunday. Where else would I go after my life has been spared but to thank our maker? I’m walking out of here on my own. It’s a miracle.”
“Or,” I mumble under my breath, “it’s antibiotics.”
“I heard that .”
Forty-five minutes later, we’re in my car and on our way. My mother looks over as I merge onto the highway. “It’s disrespectful to wear dirty sneakers to church.”
“Your shoes don’t look dirty.”
Her eyes narrow. “I meant yours . Do you have a change of shoes in this fancy rental car somewhere?”
I smile and keep my eyes forward, focusing on the road in front of me. “Not planning on going in, Mother. I’ll take you, if that’s what you really want. And I’ll happily help you inside. But after that, I’ll be waiting in the car.”
Mom purses her lips. Though at least she keeps quiet the rest of the drive.
I arrive at Saint Matthew’s fifteen minutes before mass starts.
Father Preston is already at the door, all smiles and handshakes, greeting the early congregants as they arrive.
I pull to the curb and shift the car into park.
“Would you like me to help you out, or are you just going to smack my hand away again?”
Mom ignores me and reaches for the door handle.
Considering she was almost dead only a week ago, she really has a good amount of pep in her step when she wants to.
She disappears inside the church. I sit watching the locals gather, dressed in their Sunday best. After a few minutes, I grow bored and start to fiddle with my phone—at least until a family crossing the street catches my attention.
Ivy. A child holds each of her hands—boy with a collared dress shirt on one side, girl in a blue dress on the other.
Seven or eight years old, at best. I know there must be one younger, too, because she bought diapers that time I saw her, but there is no baby today.
The man next to her must be her husband.
He’s wearing a suit, but I can still tell the shirt underneath is too tight.
His potbelly is testing the limits of some bulging buttons.
Church could be dangerous today—a parishioner might lose an eye.
Behind them trails a third child, a teenage boy looking down at whatever gaming device is in his hands.
He doesn’t even look up as they cross the street, same as every Gen Z with a cell phone on the streets of Manhattan.
Father Preston’s face lights up as they approach.
Looks trustworthy, doesn’t he?
A man who will lull you into telling him anything. My mother. Ivy.
I tap my fingernails on the steering wheel as I watch. But what does he do with it?
I’m still tossing that question around when Ivy and her family disappear inside. Right behind them is a man I didn’t even notice coming. Chief Unger. Dressed in his uniform. He nods at the priest and walks on in. A few minutes later, a man I don’t expect turns up.
Noah.
He’s shoulder to shoulder with Little Miss Sundress from the other night. Her blond hair is pulled back, and the sundress is pink today, but it’s definitely her. Noah says something and she laughs, grabbing his bicep as they cross the street. Minnie? Was that her name? No, Ginny. Definitely Ginny.
“She’s just a friend,” he said.
They reach the door, and Noah’s hand goes to the small of her back in a familiar way. Looks like more than friendship to me.
Another few minutes go by. Father Preston waits for a family jogging to the door before he reaches up, releases the mechanism holding the door open, and begins to shut it.
As he does, he looks around once more for stragglers.
But his eyes catch mine. He nods and waits.
When I don’t offer anything in return, he frowns and disappears inside.
I stare at the closed door for a long time.
The entire cast of characters is at church today, isn’t it?
My mother, Ivy, Father Preston, Chief Unger, Noah.
There’s a niggle, reminding me there’s another person, too—one who might not be a suspect, but her presence irks me in a different way. Noah’s companion. We’re just friends .
I run my tongue along my bottom lip, remembering the way I did that to Noah last night, right before sinking my teeth in. He liked it, said I was different from the women from these parts. I can’t help but wonder if Little Miss Sundress does things like that for him.
My mind bounces around among all the people I’ve seen in the last ten minutes . . . so many questions, so few answers.
What does Father Preston know?
Did I start Noah’s engine running and Little Miss Sundress got the ride?
Why is Chief Unger so many places that I am?
How does he always appear without me seeing him approach?
Will Ivy’s husband’s buttons give way? And who watches the child still in diapers when they all come here?
Curiosity gets the best of me, and before I can think it through, I’m turning off the ignition, getting out of the car, and opening the door to the church.
Inside, I slip into the empty back row. My eyes scan the pews one by one.
Noah sits the closest to me. Eight rows from the rear, last seat from the aisle, Blondie sitting dutifully beside him.
I briefly wonder again if she might be his ex, the one who wanted marriage and kids, even though he said she was just a friend.
She looks like the type. Noah’s arm is stretched out along the back of the pew behind her, but his hand isn’t touching her shoulder.
One row up, diagonally across from Noah, is Ivy and her family.
Her little girl is sitting next to her, picking her nose.
Ivy notices and pushes her hand away. The older boy’s head is down—probably sneaking to play his game, shooting people and blowing up cars in church.
Bulging Buttons and the other boy are at the end of the row.
Her husband’s eyes look closed, though I’m pretty sure he’s not praying, but falling asleep. Can’t say I blame the poor guy.
My eyes ping-pong between Noah’s row and Ivy’s. Do they know each other? Have they met? They’re sitting less than ten feet apart. If he’s Hannah, he must have plans for her, too.
Chief Unger sits closer to the front, one row behind my mother.
What’s he up to? I’ve run into him a little too often. Could he be colluding with the authorities in New York?
I scan the rest of the church. As my eyes cross from one aisle to the next, the little hairs on the back of my neck rise as the sensation of being watched comes over me. I look up and realize I am being watched—by Father Preston. Our eyes meet, and he smiles and continues preaching.
A few minutes later, everyone stands for a prayer. The good father walks to his pulpit and opens a Bible. He says something about forgiveness and marriage. It’s not until I hear the word harlot that he snags my attention again.
“‘I will not punish your daughters when they play the harlot, nor your brides when they commit adultery; for the men themselves go aside with the harlots . . .’”
I blink a few times. Is this really in the Bible?
I hear bits and pieces of what he’s saying—it’s almost like certain words are spoken more clearly than others. “Murmur, murmur, murmur— sexual deviants . Blah blah blah— infidelity .”
And . . . is he looking at Ivy right now? Preaching directly to her? Or am I imagining it?
Maybe I’m losing my mind. Being in this place is enough to make me question my sanity.
But when everyone drops to their knees for the Eucharistic prayer, I can’t do it.
I look at Ivy. She’s kneeling, just like the rest of them.
My eyes slant to the big, new statue on the other side of the church.
Saint Agnes. The patron saint of virgins and victims of sex abuse .
I can’t take it anymore. My head spins. It feels like my throat is closing, and I’m pretty sure another panic attack is on its way.
I stand, suddenly in desperate need of fresh air.
But as I rush out of the pew, I trip over my own feet and land with a loud umph .
A few heads turn—including Noah’s.
But I ignore them all, climb to my feet, make a beeline for the door.
Outside, I bend over, hands on knees, and gulp a few deep breaths. Once I’m capable of walking, I lock myself into the safety of my rental car. I need to go home. Today, if possible. Being here is too much. Maybe distance will bring me clarity, at least soothe my paranoia.
Mass seems to take forever to let out after that, but in reality it’s probably only fifteen or twenty minutes more.
Mom walks to the car. I can’t tell if she’s acting for the benefit of her flock, or she’s just tired, but she doesn’t look very sturdy on her feet now.
So I get out and take her arm. Surprisingly, she doesn’t shoo me away this time.
Though maybe she wants me to look the part of doting daughter.
Whatever. I’m just glad to help her in whatever little way I can.
I’m closing her car door when Noah jogs over, sans Miss Sundress.
“Hey,” he says.
I walk around the car, not slowing my pace to chat.
He brushes a wayward hair from his face. “I’m glad you’re still in town.”
“Not for long,” I say and reach for the driver’s-side door. “I’m heading home to pack now.”
“You’re going back to New York?”
“My mother is out of the hospital. I need to get back to work.”
“Can I have your number, at least?”
I smile sadly. “I don’t think so.”
“Are you coming back?”
My eyes slant to my mother inside the car and return to his without saying anything.
He looks at me for a long time. “I really enjoyed meeting you, Elizabeth.”
Did you?
He looks sincere. But what the hell do I know anymore?
I blow out a heavy breath and climb into the car. “Take care, Noah.”
As I pull away, I glance in the rearview mirror. Noah’s still standing there. Just watching.