Bones

hadn’t been worrying about keeping him away from me, you wouldn’t have even been near him. And I know you were worn out because of—”

“Stop it! If you want the truth, that’s the reason I never told you about what Parrish did that morning. I knew you’d feel this ridiculous sense of guilt, as if you could have done anything about it, as if it were your fault that it happened, instead of Parrish’s.”

“Oh?” he said. “You mean, I’d feel the way you do about my having to undergo an amputation?”

I was dumbfounded. “I don’t feel that way,” I said at last.

“Bullshit. You hide it better than you did at first, but you still blame yourself.”

I started to deny it, then changed my mind and rushed headlong into the fray. “As a matter of fact, I do! Talk about shielding! You know it’s my fault.”

“What? I know no such thing. I know Parrish shot me. I painted that bull’s-eye on myself, as I recall — in fact, I distinctly remember that you called out to me, tried to prevent me from running into that meadow.”

“Yes, yes,” I said impatiently. “But who took forever to find you out there? Who didn’t know how to properly care for the wound? Who didn’t give you enough Keflex?”

He stared at me incredulously and said, “Keflex?”

“Don’t try to lie to me! At the hospital, they said that was the drug they were giving you to try to stop the infection. Only it was too late. And the whole time, I had Earl’s pills, and if I had given you more—”

“Wait! Do you mean — do you think — don’t tell me that you’ve spent all these months believing that!”

“It’s true,” I said.

“Irene, the bullet damaged the artery. That’s why they amputated. Not because of infection.”

“But they gave you—”

“Yes, they gave me something to fight the infection, but do me a favor and ask Dr. Riley to tell you what sort of intravenous megadose of that drug they were talking about. That infection was beyond anything that could be stopped by tablet form doses. Earl’s entire prescription couldn’t have stopped it.”

“Then why did you bother taking any of it?”

He looked pointedly at his left leg and said, “You do what you can with what you have.”

I couldn’t speak.

“As for getting to me in time, we both know you did the safe, smart thing and waited until Parrish was gone.”

“But maybe I could have—”

“Irene! You damned idiot! Listen to yourself.”

I shut up.

“Tell you what,” he said. “If you reveal to me now that you have a medical degree, that you had surgical tools in your backpack, and that we were actually very close to a sterile operating room up there in the mountains, I will start heaping blame upon you for not saving my leg. Otherwise, stop feeling bad about your role in all of this. You’re the person who allowed me to keep my life, not the person who caused me to lose part of my leg.”

I felt tears rolling down my face. “God damn,” I said, wiping them away. “I never used to do this. I really hate it.”

“Are you saying that so I’ll know you’re more macho than I am?”

“What?”

“You’ve seen me cry.”

“You went through a lot.”

He laughed. “Just me, and all by myself, right?”

“No, but—”

He made a T of his hands — the “time out” sign.

“Yes?”

“We, the jury, find the defendant, Irene Kelly, not guilty. Not guilty for trusting that Gillian Sayre was telling her the truth. Not guilty in the matter of the deaths of her friends and companions. Not guilty in the loss of Ben Sheridan’s leg. Not guilty for any other thing that went wrong because she was human, or didn’t know everything that could possibly be known about the universe and its inhabitants.”

I blew my nose.

“Thank you, your honor,” he said. “Court is adjourned. You are now free to forgive yourself.”

I went back to Jo Robinson, and I told her that I knew what was wrong with me. I stopped fighting the process of taking a look at my way of thinking about things, and before long, I was back at work and not seeing her anymore. Just as I was starting to enjoy it.

Gillian Sayre is still awaiting trial. Phil Newly, cleared of all suspicion, once toyed with the idea of defending her, but decided to stick with his retirement plan. Lately he has sent e-mail to me about once a week, telling me about his new life. He says he might do a little pro bono work now and then, but is enjoying the slower pace.

Jason Sayre sends e-mail, too. He’s living with his grandmother. He likes to write to me, he says, because Jack and I are the only ones who will talk to him about what happened. Jack, who has all but asked if he can adopt him, visits him fairly often; they still talk on the tin telephone.

Giles Sayre sold his business and moved with his new wife to a town not far from the one where Jason lives, but seldom visits his son.