The Last Thing She Ever Did(93)

Whoever had put them there—could it have been Dr. Miller?—had spent hours and hours doing so. Seeing it all brought tears to her eyes. It was a very sad labor of love. The family chronicled in that massive array was gone.

She ran her fingers over the images. The photographs were stapled to the paneling, forming a nearly seamless collage. One photo stood out from the others because it was attached with brass thumbtacks and was crooked, as if it had been hastily added. It was a picture of Seth and his father standing in front of the boat. Father and son stood grinning as Dr. Miller playfully mussed his boy’s hair.

She couldn’t be sure, but it appeared to have been taken the morning of the accident. Seth was wearing his Have a Nice Day T-shirt with the smiley face. The image of that shirt had been burned in her memory. It was the last thing she saw when Seth let her out of the vehicle ahead of him.

Saving her life.

Sealing his fate.

Suddenly, Liz wanted to get out of there. Just as she reached the bottom step, Dr. Miller appeared. He wore his customary khakis, Hawaiian shirt, and flip-flops. His white hair was uncombed and his eyes looked sleepy, as though he’d just awakened from a nap. He didn’t say anything. He just stared at her, standing very still with his hands behind his back.

“What are you doing in my house?” he finally asked.

Liz didn’t move. She was an intruder. A concerned one, but nonetheless an uninvited guest. “I’m sorry,” she said. “No one has seen you in a while. I thought something might have happened to you.”

His eyes narrowed. “You can see that I’m fine,” he said.

“Right.” She looked past him. The TV cast light on the side of the basement that was windowless. A rumpled crocheted afghan with zigzag multicolor stripes lay on the sofa.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Liz said. “I was worried.”

“That’s almost funny, you caring about anyone,” he said. “You of all people.”

She studied his face. What was he getting at?

“Do you need something?” she asked.

“I need you to leave,” he said. “I need you to get out of my sight. You make me sick. You and your revolting husband and those miserable neighbors, the Franklins. . . . You all make me want to puke. Now, get the hell out of my house.”

“Sorry. I was just trying to help.”

“You can help by going right now.”

“Fine,” she said, turning to make her way back up the basement stairs. Just as she took the first step, she heard a soft cry coming from behind her. She spun around. “What was that?”

Dr. Miller pushed her away. “I said get the hell out of my house! Do you want me to throw you out? Because I will. Just try me. I will do it and be glad to.”

The cry again.

Liz cocked her head. The cry was coming from behind the door that sealed off the room where Seth and his siblings had kept their kayaks and bikes in the winter.

“What’s going on here?” she asked.

The old man blocked her from coming into the basement.

“Get out,” he said. “The sight of you—all of you—sickens me. But especially you, Lizzie. Every time I see you, I’m reminded of that day.”

Liz moved down one step, defying him. They were now eye to eye.

This was a conversation that she’d imagined they would have had after the flash flood.

“It should have been you,” he said. “I’ve held that in a long time. I just wanted to say it to you and say it to everyone in this godforsaken town. Seth should be here. Not you.”

“I know,” she said. “I know. He saved me. Seth saved me. He shouldn’t have and I wish that he hadn’t, because he was good and I’m not good.”

“You are despicable,” Dr. Miller said. “You and your husband. What you did. I know.”

Liz felt the air leave the room. She looked at the old man’s face. His eyes were penetrating, cold. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His eyes stayed on hers. “I saw everything that night,” he finally said. “I saw what you did.”

Liz knew what he was getting at, but, even so, the look on her face was one of disbelief, questioning.

“The boy,” he said.

“I don’t understand.”

“I followed you,” he said. “You treated that boy like he was trash. You people have no morals. No sense whatsoever of what’s right and wrong. You disgust me, Lizzie.”

The cry once more.

Liz could feel those shifting sands under her feet again. “What is that?”

She didn’t want to use the word who because she already knew.

He didn’t say a word.

“What are you doing down here, Dr. Miller? What kind of craziness is this?”

“Really?” he asked. “You’re going to say something like that to me? After what you did? You know what I did. You know who I have. Who I saved.”

She did. The room shrank and the walls closed in. Liz could hardly breathe.

The old man was speaking. Liz watched his lips move, nearly in slow motion, but could not begin to follow what he was saying.

It just couldn’t be true.

“No,” she said, sucking in a gulp of air.

Suddenly, Dan Miller brandished a scalpel that he’d held behind his back. It shimmered in the light from the television set.