another hour, day, week with me in which to have it.
And in the meantime, Claire was failing. Not just her body, but her spirit. Dr. Wu told me every day that she was stable, but I saw changes. She didn't want me to read from Teen People. She didn't want to watch television. She lay on her side, staring at a blank wall.
'Claire,' I said one afternoon, 'want to play cards?'
'No.'
'How about Scrabble.'
'No thanks.' She turned away. 'I'm tired.'
I smoothed her hair back from her face. 'I know, baby.'
'No,' she said. 'I mean I'm tired, Mom. I don't want to do this anymore.'
'Well, we can take a walk-I mean, I can take a walk and push you in a wheelchair. You don't have to stay in bed-'
'I'm going to die in here. You and I both know it. Why can't I just go home and do it there, instead of hooked up to all of this stuff?'
I stared at her. Where was the child in that sentence, the one who had believed in fairies and ghosts and all sorts of impossible things? But we're so close to fixing that, I started to say, and then I realized that if I did, I would have to tell her about the heart that might or might not be coming.
And whose it was.
'I want to sleep in my own bed,' Claire said, 'instead of one with stupid plastic sheets and a pillow that crackles every time I move my head. I want to eat meat loaf, instead of chicken soup in a blue plastic cup and Jell-O-'
'You hate when I serve meat loaf.'
'I know, and I want to get mad at you for cooking it again.' She flopped onto her back and looked at me. 'I want to drink from the orange juice container. I want to throw a tennis ball for my dog.'
I hesitated. 'Maybe I can talk to Dr. Wu,' I said. 'We can get your own sheets and pillow, I b e t... '
Something in Claire's eyes dimmed. 'Just forget it,' she said, and that was how I realized she'd already begun to die, before I had a chance to save her.
As soon as Claire fell asleep that afternoon, I left her in the capable hands of the nursing staff and exited the hospital for the first time in a week. I was stunned to see how much the world had changed.
There was a nip in the air that whispered of winter; the trees had begun to turn color, sugar maples first, their bright heads like torches that would light the rest of the woods on fire. My car felt unfamiliar, as if I were driving a rental. And most shocking-the road that led past the state prison had been rerouted with policemen on traffic detail. I inched through the cones, gaping at the crowds that had been cordoned off by police tape: SHAY BOURNE
WILL BURN IN HELL, read one sign. Another banner said SATAN IS
ALIVE AND KICKING ON I-TIER.
Once, when Claire was tiny, she'd raised the blackout shade in her bedroom window when she woke up. At the sight of the sunrise, with its outstretched crimson fingers, she'd gasped. Did I do that?
Now, looking at the signs, I had to wonder: Could you believe something so fiercely that it actually happened? Could your thoughts change the minds of others?
Keeping my eyes on the road, I passed the prison gates and continued toward my house. But my car had other intentions-it turned right, and then left, and into the cemetery where Elizabeth and Kurt were buried.
I parked and started walking to their shared grave. It was underneath an ash tree; in the light wind, the leaves shimmered like golden coins. I knelt on the grass and traced my finger over the lettering on the headstone:
Kurt had bought his plot after we'd been married for a year.
That's macabre, I had said, and he had just shrugged it off; he saw the business of death and dying every day. Here's the thing, though, he had said. There's room for you, if you want.
He had not wanted to impose, because he didn't know if I'd want to be buried near my first husband. Even that tiny bit of consideration-the fact that he wanted me to choose, instead of making an assumption-had made me realize why I loved him. I want to be with you, I had told him. I wanted to be where my heart was.
After the murders, I would sleepwalk. I'd find myself the next morning in the gardening shed, holding a spade. In the garage, with my face pressed against the metal cheek of a shovel. In my subconscious, I was making plans to join them; it was only when I was awake and alert and felt Claire kicking me from within that I realized I had to stay.
Would she be the next one I'd bury here? And once I did, what would keep me from carrying things through to their natural conclusion, from putting my family back together in one place?
I lay down for a minute, prone on the grass. I pressed my face into the stubbled moss at the edge of the headstone and pretended
I was cheek-to-cheek with my husband; I felt the dandelions twine through my fingers and pretended I was holding my daughter's hand.
In the elevator of the hospital, the duffel bag started to move itself across the floor. I crouched down, unzipped the top of it. 'Good boy,' I said, and patted the top of Dudley's head. I'd retrieved him from my neighbor, who had been kind enough to play foster parent while Claire was sick. Dudley had fallen asleep in the car, but now he was alert and wondering why I had zipped him into a piece of luggage. The doors opened and I hoisted him up, approaching the nurse's desk near Claire's room. I tried to smile normally.
'Everything all right?'
'She's been sleeping like a baby.'
Just then, Dudley barked.
The nurse's eyes flew up to mine, and I pretended to sneeze.
'Wow,' I said, shaking my head. 'Is that pollen count something or what?'
Before she could respond, I hurried into Claire's room and closed the door behind me. Then I unzipped the bag and Dudley shot out like a rocket. He ran a lap around the room, nearly knocking over Claire's IV pole.
There was a reason dogs weren't allowed in hospitals, but if
Claire wanted normal, then she was going to get it. I wrapped my arms around Dudley and hoisted him onto Claire's bed, where he sniffed the cotton blanket and began to lick her hand.
Her eyes fluttered open, and when she saw the dog, a smile split her face. 'He's not allowed in here,' she whispered, burying her hands in the fur at his neck.
'Are you going to tell on me?'
Claire pushed herself to a sitting position and let the dog crawl into her lap. She scratched behind his ears while he tried to chew on the wire that ran from beneath Claire's hospital gown to the heart monitor.
'We won't have a lot of time,' I said quickly. 'Someone's going to-'
Just then, a nurse walked in holding a digital thermometer.
'Rise and shine, missy,' she began, and then she saw the dog on the bed. 'What is that doing in here?'
I looked at Claire, and then back at the nurse. 'Visiting?' I suggested.
'Mrs. Nealon, not even service dogs are allowed onto this ward without a letter from the vet stating that the vaccinations are up to date and the stool's tested negative for parasites-'
'I was just trying to make Claire feel better. He won't leave this room, I swear.'
