stable. Also, Mark Kaplan did attack her, and I knew it.
So I said nothing.
But a little over a year and a half later, I got into a dispute with Torrance over my tree, from which he arrogantly trimmed some branches. Every time I looked out my kitchen window, the tree looked worse. So I did something I’m not proud of. I waited till the Rideouts were both out of town, and I went over in the night and dug where I’d seen Torrance dig many months before. It took me three nights, since I am an old woman, but I reached the skull. I removed it and brought it home with me. And I left the hole open, to be sure Torrance knew someone had the head, someone knew.
I am truly not proud of this. Now I am too sick to put the skull back, and I am too afraid of Torrance to just give it to him. And I have been thinking of Mike Osland; he disappeared before Mark Kaplan was killed, and I remember seeing him look at Marcia at parties. I think now that Marcia, just a little eccentric on the surface, is actually quite disturbed, and I think Torrance knows this; and yet he goes on with his life as though by denying she needs special care, she will get better.
I am too close to my own death to worry about this anymore. If my lawyer finds this, he must do as he thinks best: I don’t care what people say about me when I am gone. If Roe finds this, she must do as pleases her. The skull is in the window seat.
Jane Engle
I looked down at the paper in my hands, then refolded it. Without really considering it, I began shredding the letter, first in halves, then quarters, then thirds, until finally I had a little pile of confetti on the counter. I gathered it all up and dropped it down the sink, running the water and starting the disposal. After it had rumbled for a moment, I turned off the water and carefully checked all the other letters in the rack. They were exactly what they seemed.
I looked at Jane’s calendar, still turned to two months before. I took it down and flipped it to the right page and hung it back up. It was perfectly blank. The strangest thing about not having a job was that it made the whole week so shapeless. I wasn’t even taking a day off from anything. Suddenly emptiness spread out in front of me like a slippery ramp. Surely there was something I had to do?
Sure there was. I shook my head in horror. I’d almost forgotten that today was the day I was supposed to pick up my altered bridesmaid’s dress.
Miss Joe Nell would have had a fit if I’d forgotten.
And then I knew what I’d do tomorrow.
I’d start looking for my own house.
I detoured by the cemetery on my way to Great Day. I walked up the little hill to Jane’s headstone, already in place. If Bubba Sewell could get things done that fast, perhaps he was worth voting for. Feeling stupid and sentimental, I stared at the headstone for a few seconds. This had been a dumb idea. Finally, I said, “Okay, I’m going to enjoy it.”
I hadn’t come out to the cemetery to do this. I could’ve talked to Jane from anywhere. A trickle of sweat tickled my spine. “Thanks a lot,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound sarcastic. “But don’t do me any more favors,” I told the stone, and began laughing.
I got back in my car and went to pick up the bridesmaid’s dress.
Charlaine Harris
