The Face of Death

The painting faced the foot of her bed, just as it had in her old bedroom. Sarah couldn't take her eyes off it.

'Your mother was talented, Sarah. It's really beautiful.'

'She used to make something for me every year, for my birthday. This one was my favorite.' She turned her head to Ned. 'Thank you for helping bring it back to me.'

Ned smiled and averted his eyes. He was shy about praise. Sarah could tell he was happy.

'You're welcome. You should really thank Cathy.' He frowned, coughed once. 'And, uh, thanks for . . . you know. Letting us adopt you.' His eyes came up to meet hers. 'I want you to know that it's something we both wanted. It means as much to me as it does to Desiree.'

Sarah studied the scruffy, kindhearted truck driver. She knew he'd always be awkward about expressing his love, but she also knew that it was something she could be certain of.

'I'm glad,' she said. 'Because I feel the same way. I love Desiree, Ned. But I love you too.'

A spark jumped in his gray eyes at her words. He looked both wounded and joyful.

'You miss your baby more than Desiree does, don't you?'

Ned stared at her. Blinked once and looked away. His eyes found the painting. He continued to look at it as he spoke.

'After Diana died, I almost quit living. I couldn't move. Couldn't think. Couldn't work. I felt like the world had ended for me.' He frowned. 'My dad was a drunk, and I promised myself that I'd never touch the stuff. But after a month of trying to stop hurting, I went out and bought a bottle of scotch.' He looked at Sarah, smiled one of his gentle smiles. 'It was Desiree that came to the rescue. Grabbed the bottle, broke it in the sink, and then pushed me and yelled at me until I broke down and did what I needed to do all along.'

'She made you cry,' Sarah said.

'That's right. And I did. I cried and I cried, and then I cried some more. And the next morning, I started living again.' He spread his hands. 'Desiree loved me enough to save me even when she was hurting too. So the answer to your question is no. Desiree misses Diana more than I do, not less. Because she's got more ability to love than anyone I've ever known.' He looked uncomfortable and awkward again. 'Anyway, I guess it's time for you to go to bed.'

'Ned?'

'What is it, honey?'

'Do you love me back?'

The moment hung in silence. Ned smiled, a beautiful, brilliant smile that swept his awkwardness away.

That's Mommy's smile, Sarah marveled. Sun on the roses. He walked over and gave Sarah a fierce hug, filled with his strength and his softness and a father's roaring promise to protect.

'You bet I do.'

A loud 'woof ' broke the hug. Sarah looked down and laughed. Pumpkin was there, staring up at them.

'Yeah, it's bedtime, puppyhead,' she said.

Ned gave the dog a faux-scowl. 'Still a traitor, I see,' he said. Pumpkin used to sleep in Ned and Desiree's room. He'd slept in Sarah's bed from the first night.

Sarah helped the dog up onto her bed. She climbed under the covers. Ned gazed down at her.

'Want me to get Desiree to tuck you in?' he asked.

'No, that's okay. You can do it.'

Sarah knew that Ned would like these words. She liked meaning them. She loved him, he loved her back. Him tucking her in was just fine. At home, it had usually been Daddy who'd said good night. She missed this ritual.

'Door open a crack?' he asked.

'Yes, please.'

'Good night, Sarah.'

'Good night, Ned.'

He took one last look at the painting he'd hung for her, and shook his head.

'That's really something.'

Sarah was dreaming of her father. There were no words in the dream, just him, her, and smiles. The dream was filled with a simple happiness. The air trembled, filled by a perfect note stroked from a handmade violin. The note was an impossibility of perfection, a dead-on expression of all the things the heart could contain, and it could only be heard in a dream. Sarah didn't know who it was that played it, and she didn't care. She looked into her father's eyes and smiled, and he looked back and smiled and the note became the wind and the sun and the rain. The music ended when her father spoke. You couldn't speak and hear the note. It had to stand alone.

'Did you hear that?' he asked.

'What, Daddy?'

'Sounds like . . . growling.'

Sarah frowned. 'Growling?' She cocked her head and strained to hear, and yes, she could hear it now, a low rumble, like a muscle car idling at a stoplight. 'What do you think it is?'

But he was gone, along with the wind and the sun and the rain. No more smiles, now. This was dark clouds and thunder. She looked up at the sky in her dream and the clouds growled, louder this time, so loud they shook her bones and--

Sarah woke up to Pumpkin, who stared at the door of her room and growled. Sarah stroked the dog's head.

'What is it, Pumpkin?'

The dog's ears twitched at the sound of her voice, but its eyes remained focused on the door. The rumble was becoming louder, a roar in the making.

The next sound Sarah heard sent the cold of space spiking through her, a cold that froze on touch, that took the warmth at her core and turned it into a glacier.

' 'I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself . . .' ' the voice said. And the door to her room flew open.

And Pumpkin roared.

'Happy birthday, Sarah.'

I made myself tell it all when it came to my mom and dad. They de- served that. It's where things began, after all. I can't do it with Desiree and Ned. I can't. Not even in third person. I think it's enough that you know who they were, the kind of people they were, the goodness in them.

He killed them, that's all you need to know. He shot Ned dead and he beat Desiree to death in front of me and he did it all because I loved them and they loved me back and because my pain is his justice, whatever that means.

If you really want to know what it looked like, what it felt like, then do this: Think of something ugly, the ugliest thing you can think of--like roasting a baby on an open fire--and then chuckle about it. Then real- ize what you're chuckling at, and what that means, and you've taken a turn into what I felt like then.

He did it to open up a big blackness inside of me, to kill hope and to show me how dangerous it is for me to love someone. It worked. For a minute, while I was with Desiree and Ned, I thought I might get to be part of a family. I've never felt that way again. But God . . . Desiree fought him. She fought him for me, for all the good it did her.

God . . .

I really need to stop saying that. I mean, come on, that's one thing I learned for sure, that night.

There is no God.

He killed them and I watched and I died with them, but I didn't really die, I lived and wished that I'd died, but life went on and I did the only thing left to do.

I called Cathy Jones.

I called her and she came. She was the only one who always came. She also believed me after that night, and she was the only one who ever did that too.

I love Cathy, by the way. I always will. She did the best she could.