Ink and Bone(102)

Then came the pounding on the door. She put the pillow back over her head and clung to it, even as he tried to tug it away from her. He finally succeeded.

“Today’s the day, sis,” said Alfie, loudly snapping the shade open. The light was blinding. What time was it? “You’ve done enough wallowing. This morning, you rejoin the living.”

“Go away, Alfie,” she said.

“No,” he said. “Enough’s enough.”

He gleefully stripped the covers off her bed, leaving her in only a tank top and underpants in the harsh cold of an old house in the morning.

“Go away,” she roared. He ran off laughing, clutching at her blankets. She felt the energy of a laugh, but she tamped it down hard.

“Kids,” said Amanda mildly, walking into the room. Finley’s mother offered the soft chenille robe that was hanging over the chair. Finley took it grudgingly, got up, then sank into the chair by the window, looking out at the oak tree in Eloise’s yard. It was the oldest oak tree in The Hollows. Today, the branches were bare and black, a stark relief against the blue-gray sky.

“I think you should try to go back to class today,” said Amanda. Her straw-colored hair pulled back into a ponytail, she wore no makeup. She looked as pale and young as the pictures hanging on the wall downstairs. She was small like Eloise, careful in her movements.

Alfie had returned with the covers, and Amanda busied herself making the bed. Then she moved to the dresser, neatly arranging everything there—the phone Finley wouldn’t turn on, the brush she refused to pull through her hair, her wallet with no money, keys she hadn’t touched since Eloise’s memorial.

“I’ll drive you,” said Alfie.

“I’m not ready,” she said.

“You’re never going to be ready,” said Amanda, sitting on the edge of the bed. She folded her hands in her lap, seemed to steel herself. “You have to ready yourself to return to life. Trust me. There’s no magic doorway through grief. Sometimes you just have to bust out.”

Any anger Finley usually had for her mother had drained the night Eloise left. That’s how Finley saw it. Eloise made a choice and left her. Anger and sadness were one ugly mass in her stomach.

“I can’t.”

Amanda didn’t say anything for a moment, just regarded Finley with eyes ringed with fatigue. Finley got a glimpse of her own selfishness; Eloise had been Amanda’s mother. Amanda had been here within twenty-four hours and handled everything from phone calls, to funeral arrangements, to reception details. She handled it all with her usual steely panache. She cried at night when she thought everyone else was sleeping.

Your mother is a stoic, Eloise had said. She holds everything in. I don’t think she trusts anyone to take care of her when she’s vulnerable.

“Let’s at least try for breakfast at the table.”

When Finley had come home that first night, alone except for Jones, who slept on the couch and stayed until Amanda arrived, they’d found the letters on the kitchen table. One for Jones, for Finley, for Amanda, Alfie, and Ray. Finley’s sat unopened on her dresser. Everyone else had read his, but no one but Ray had talked about it. It seemed that everyone knew Eloise was sick, except for Finley. It was a big secret that everyone kept.

“It’s what she wanted,” Amanda had said when Finley confronted her. “A person has a right to choose how she lives.”

“And how she dies?” asked Finley bitterly.

“Well, yes,” said Amanda, her face going tight with sadness. “Don’t you agree that we deserve that dignity if we can have it?”

“How the hell should I know what we deserve?”

Finley had wished that her father were here. But as usual when he was needed, he was nowhere to be found. He’d called, of course. But when it came to getting on a plane and dealing with the reality of everyone’s grief—that was more than he could do. He’d made excuses about work, his new girlfriend, sent flowers.

“Okay,” said Amanda, lifting her palms. “Okay.”

“She was the only one who understood what I am,” said Finley.

Amanda hung her head. “I know,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t mean—” started Finley.

“No, I get it,” she said. “I screwed up and I’m sorry. Just know, please know, that I was just trying to keep you from having the kind of life she had. That’s all. I’m so sorry.”

A rare embrace had followed, one which went on for hours and in which Finley got her first good sleep since Eloise left.


*

Now, in the kitchen, Finley ate. She started off refusing, then nibbling, then scarfing down everything on her plate. Amanda and Alfie ate, too. Alfie was going home soon. Amanda was going to stay on for a while, so Finley could decide what to do.

“I never thought I’d be back in this house for any period of time,” said Amanda, clearing the dishes. “But I guess The Hollows gets what it wants.”

After breakfast, Finley took a shower, letting the near-scalding hot water turn her skin pink and fill the shower with steam. What was notable was the silence. For the first time in her life, Finley was alone. Everyone was gone—even Faith and The Three Sisters. The Whispers had been completely quiet. Eloise was right; they finally got what they wanted. There was nothing left to say.