The Murder Rule(50)

From anyone else the words would have seemed hostile, confrontational, but Abbie gave off a different vibe. Like she wanted a tough, but mutual y respectful debate and assumed Hannah would want to give it to her. Stil , Hannah was thoroughly thrown. She stared back at the other woman, aware of the flush in her cheeks, feeling that her wineglass was suddenly too heavy. She put it down on the coffee table. “It’s complicated,” she said.

“I think I’m a pretty smart person,” Abbie said. “Why don’t you try me?”

“Wel , why does Sean work there?”

“Oh, Sean’s easy. He’s a romantic. He believes that he can save the world. Righting one wrong at a time.”

Hannah raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t believe me?” Abbie said.

“No, I do. I mean, I could see that about him. I just think . . . I mean, Sean’s so smart . . .”

“You think smart people can’t be romantic, or idealistic? Sean’s the best kind of romantic. He has a romantic’s soul and the mind of a pragmatist. He wastes no one’s time with fantasies, least of al his own. He sees the world as it real y is and then he sets out to make it better.”

Hannah studied Abbie. “You make him sound like a saint.”

Abbie laughed. “God no, far from that. Just a boy. Just a good and decent boy.”

Sean arrived back in the living room just in time to hear the end of Abbie’s comment. “Who’s a good and decent boy, Mom?” he asked, smiling.

“I was talking about the dog,” Abbie said. She leaned forward and rubbed the sleeping retriever behind the ears. “He’s the only one who gives me any love in this house.”

Sean rol ed his eyes and Hannah smiled politely. She was feeling the effects of the wine, but more than that she was feeling as if she had just been very thoroughly smacked down.

“More, Hannah?” Sean asked, gesturing to her glass, which was stil a quarter ful .

“No, thank you,” Hannah said. “I think the day has just caught up with me. Do you mind if I go to bed? I’m exhausted.”

Hannah sat on the bed and pul ed out her phone. She cal ed Laura’s number. It rang for a while before Laura answered.

“Hannah? It’s so late.”

Hannah glanced at her screen and started guiltily. It was after eleven P.M. “I’m sorry, I lost track of time. I’l let you go, cal you tomorrow.”

“No, no.” Laura yawned. “It’s fine. It’s just . . . I’m exhausted.”

“Of course you are. You’ve had a hard day.”

“Yes. It’s always hard without you.”

“I know, Mom. I’m sorry. Why don’t you tel me what you did today, and then you can go to sleep while I stay on the line for a while. That wil make it a bit better, right?”

Hannah lay back on the pil ow and closed her eyes and listened to her mother tel her about her day spent at home, reading, taking a walk in the garden and a long bath, while Jan cleaned and cooked.

She told herself she was glad that Laura was safe and cared for. She told herself that she and her mother had a strong, healthy, loving relationship. She told herself a lot of things. And then she slept.





LAURA

DIARY ENTRY #9

Wednesday, November 16, 1994, 1:40 p.m.

I’ve decided to have the baby. Jenna doesn’t understand. I can’t real y blame her for that. She doesn’t know everything that happened and that’s made things hard between us. We don’t see each other as much anymore. I’m five months pregnant now and I’ve been tired and sick, but I’ve been working as much as I can, saving. I know it’s not going to be enough money and I’m not raising our baby in a dump. That’s why I’m on a bus to Virginia. I should have fought harder for Tom back on the island, but I’ve realized that it’s not too late.

At least I know exactly where I’m going. I stil have a book of Tom’s that has his name and address printed on the inside cover.

The bus I’m on now goes direct to Washington, D.C. When I get to D.C., I have to walk to Farragut West Station (that’s only going to take a few minutes) and then I can get another bus on to McLean.

From there I’l have to get a cab to the house. I left just before eight this morning, and I should be at the house by seven tonight. Right now, I’m real y scared.

I miss my mom. I always felt safe when she was alive. I never realized how much that was worth until it was taken away. I keep thinking about what life was like before she died. I was going through that bratty teenage stage where you realize your perfect parent is actual y a human being with flaws just like everyone else and you decide to punish them for it. We were fighting a lot. I was such a bitch, because there was so much she had to deal with and I didn’t help with any of it. I just watched her try, and criticized her. But even with the stupid fighting, life was so good when I had my mom.

Despite everything, until she died I could stil be a kid. I would give anything to be able to go back, to do it al again but do it right this time. I’d show her every day how much I love her, how much I appreciate her.

My mom died on a Monday morning, at ten-fifteen. She’d been sick for a year by then. I was at school. I found out later that the hospice cal ed my dad at seven and told him that she would likely pass soon, that we should come in. He couldn’t deal with it, apparently, so he just hung up the phone, didn’t go in to see her, didn’t tel me about the cal . I went to the hospice for a visit after school that day, same as I had every day for the three weeks Mom had been there. The hospice director had to take me into her office to tel me that Mom was dead.