Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
When Henry stepped through the front door early on Wednesday morning, Glory had just put the bacon on. She stood at the stove, prim in her turtleneck, wielding a spatula like a baton, while Frank nursed his mug of coffee at the head of the table.
“Smells great, Mom,” Henry said, taking a seat beside his father, as if he hadn’t been away. Across the table, Marlowe cracked open a can of seltzer and winced at the sound. She had woken up with dry skin and chapped lips. Winter air and heaters had always plagued her.
“An old friend from the DA reached out to a contact in Poughkeepsie,” Henry said, stirring milk into his coffee.
“They’re pursuing Harmon’s harebrained intimidation schemes, but they have other suspects.
Harmon was tied up with some dodgy people and owed money.
They’re tracking down alibis, following protocol. ”
“As I thought,” Frank said.
“My friend couldn’t get any details, but looks like it’ll blow over soon enough,” Henry said.
“Did he say anything about Ariel or Ben?” Marlowe wanted to know the detectives’ reputation. If they were good, or at least better than Brierley.
“They’re lightweights, eager to prove themselves,” Henry said and shrugged.
“Well, they can prove themselves by wrapping this up quickly so we can enjoy the holidays,” Glory said. “I was thinking of getting a tree this week and decorating when the kids are all here.”
Marlowe was happy to excuse herself from the empty conversation about Christmas and children and gifts to help Henry carry breakfast up to Enzo.
Clutching his mug of coffee, she leaned against the doorframe of Enzo’s bedroom while he smiled up at the surprise visitor.
Henry fussed over propping him up with pillows.
If anyone would be willing to talk about Nora, it would be Henry. He had felt it deeply when Nora disappeared. For over a month, Marlowe had seen him tearing up over breakfast while their mother patted his back.
“The detectives think it could be connected to Nora,” Marlowe murmured. “Did your friend hear anything about that?”
Henry turned to Marlowe with an expression she knew all too well: pity.
“What could they possibly find?” Henry asked. “It was so long ago.”
“They could find lots of things.” Marlowe heard how she sounded like a defensive child. “Ariel Mintz said they can find things just by asking around; you know Brierley didn’t question a ton of people besides us. And they have better technology now.”
Henry shrugged. “The sergeant will only entertain an investigation like this for so long. He’s not going to waste resources on a wild-goose chase.”
“What if Damen said something misleading to them?”
“Marlowe.” Henry sighed and then seemed to lose his train of thought.
“Maybe it’s worth hearing him out.”
“Leave that poor man alone,” Henry said firmly. “After all this time, I’m sure he just wants some closure, like we all do. But I don’t suspect it’s coming.”
He sat in the chair beside Enzo’s bed and watched as the old man lifted a spoonful of eggs to his mouth. Henry was beginning to sound like Nate—playacting as the voice of reason.
“It’s not about him,” Marlowe said. “It’s about Nora, who deserves closure.”
“You’re generous to her in memory,” Henry said. A faint smile came to him then. “Don’t you remember how it bothered you that she always had to be the center of attention? You were like her sidekick, helping her get ready for dates, going along with all her plans.”
“You’re oversimplifying things, as usual.”
“Come on, Marlowe. She always went after what she wanted. She was—bolder.”
“And I was more cautious, fine. But that doesn’t mean we weren’t equals.”
“I remember homecoming. You spent hours doing her hair,” Henry said.
“And I remember Nora praising me when she looked in the mirror. The way her body relaxed, and how grateful she was to have me with her.”
“You didn’t even go to the dance.”
“I don’t expect you to know what that time is like for a teenage girl,” Marlowe said with some defiance.
“So you don’t think she was more concerned about making a good impression on Sean Hastings?”
“He was just a casual boyfriend. I was her best friend. She came running home to tell me about the dance afterward. Honestly, I think she enjoyed telling me about homecoming more than the dance itself.”
“You really believe that?” His tone was not accusatory; it had an air of genuine curiosity.
“We had different personalities,” Marlowe said. “That didn’t lessen our friendship.”
“You were different; you were never nasty, Mar, but she could be.” Henry frowned. “Cruel, almost.”
Marlowe was puzzled as to why he would bring this up. Nora was gone, but it seemed like he was still harboring a grudge.
“Not to you, never to you,” Henry said. “But she used to tease me.”
“We all teased you, Henry.”
“Not like her.” Henry’s brows drew together, and despite the hint of gray in his hair, Marlowe saw the little boy again, crying over his cereal.
“Her words always had a bite to them. She made me feel like she wanted to push me out and replace me. I always thought she was envious. Because I was a Fisher, and she wasn’t. ”
“I remember how she teased,” Marlowe said. “But I also remember other things. She listened to you when Nate and I brushed you aside. You used to hug her all the time when you were younger.”
Henry swallowed. The grooves on his forehead were as deep as tire tracks in spring mud. Marlowe couldn’t believe this had once been that chubby-cheeked boy.
“I think you loved her just as much as I did,” Marlowe whispered. “I think you were as heartbroken as me when she was gone. And you thought of all her flaws over and over to get through the pain.”
Marlowe had nearly forgotten that Enzo was in the room with them, struggling over his plate of eggs.
He seemed tuned out of their conversation, but even in his old age, he was still alert to the tension between them.
Henry adjusted his blanket, and Enzo blinked his watery blue eyes and peered up at the siblings.
“You must take care of each other,” Enzo said. “Out in those woods, collecting stones.”
Marlowe bit her lip as Henry’s shoulders slumped lower.
Enzo was parroting phrases of the past, thinking about that last summer they had all been together.
Their father had envisioned the stone wall built over on the newly purchased Gallagher property.
He wanted it to line the northern edge of the Flats, where the river emerged from the swamp.
And Enzo announced that they would be the ones to build it.
Nate lit up at the idea and instantly started musing about where they would find the best rocks.
“It is not easy to build a stone wall; it takes much time,” Enzo said.
And it did take a lot of time. Marlowe couldn’t say for certain, but it felt like the whole summer had been dedicated to that stone wall. It was still there, serving no real purpose, but vaguely marking the far side of the Flats.
Marlowe glanced over at Enzo’s pale, shriveled face, wondering if he would talk more about their project.
He just blinked a few times, heaved a tremendous sigh, and then slouched back into his pillows.
Marlowe watched as Henry reached out and patted Enzo’s hand.
She dreaded the day when breathing would become a labor.
Like Marlowe, Enzo was surrounded by a family, old friends, but he was alone in the way that mattered most. He had no partner.
No love. The hair on the back of Marlowe’s neck stood up, and she turned toward the window above the bed, the one that faced the road.
The Gallagher brothers had each other, but that hadn’t been enough.
Not even for Tom. Beneath his cheerful facade, his soul had lived in isolation.
Maybe they hadn’t died of suicide or sickness. They had simply died of loneliness.