“Do something … you have to do something … don’t stop … please don’t stop …” She was sobbing. “Please don’t …”
“He’s gone … I’m sorry …”
“He’s not gone … he’s not gone …” She sobbed, bending down and clutching Jack to her. Her bathrobe was stained red by then, but she could feel him lifeless in her arms, and the oxygen mask was hissing. And then they pulled her away from him and someone led her into the hospital, sat her down, and wrapped her in a blanket, and there were strange voices all around her. They brought the gurney into the hospital then, and when she looked up, she saw that they had covered him with a blanket, and his face was covered. She wanted to take the blanket off his face so he could breathe, but they rolled him past her. She didn’t know where they were taking him, and she couldn’t move. She couldn’t do anything. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t speak. There was nothing she could do now, and she didn’t know where Jack was.
“Mrs. Sutherland?” A nurse was standing in front of her and spoke to her finally. “I’m very sorry about your husband. Is there someone who can come and get you?”
“I don’t know … I … where is he?”
“We’ve taken him downstairs.” It had an ominous sound to it Liz hated. “Do you know where you’d like him taken?”
“Taken?” Liz looked at her blankly, as though she were speaking in a foreign language.
“You’re going to have to make arrangements.”
“Arrangements?” All Liz could do was echo her words. She couldn’t think or speak like a normal person. What had they done with Jack? And what had happened? He had been shot. Where was he?
“Is there someone you’d like me to call?”
Liz didn’t even know what to answer. Who could she call? What was she supposed to do now? How had this happened? He was only going to the office for a few minutes to pick up a file, and he had to make the stuffing. And as she tried to make sense of it, one of the officers approached her.
“We’ll take you home whenever you’re ready.” Liz looked at him blankly, as he and the nurse exchanged a glance. “Will there be someone at home when you get there?”
“My children,” Liz said hoarsely, as she tried to stand up, but her legs were shaking and would hardly hold her, as the officer put an arm around her to support her.
“Is there someone else you’d like me to call?”
“I don’t know.” Who did you call when your husband was shot? Their secretary, Jean? Carole? Her mother in Connecticut? Without thinking, she gave them Jean’s and Carole’s numbers.
“We’ll tell them to meet you at the house.” Liz nodded, as another officer went off to make the calls, and the nurse offered her a clean hospital robe to go home with, and helped her out of the robe she was wearing that was bright red with Jack’s blood now. Her nightgown was soaked with it too, but she didn’t change it. She knew there were friends she could call, but she couldn’t think who they were now. She couldn’t think of anything except Jack, lying there, and whispering to her that he loved her. She thanked the nurse for the robe and promised to send it back, and then she walked barefoot through the hospital hallway and outside to the police officers waiting for her in the squad car. The nurse at the desk told her to call them when she had made arrangements. Even the word sounded ugly to her.
Liz made no sound as she got in the back of the squad car, and she didn’t even know she was crying as tears rolled down her cheeks and she stared through the grille ahead of her at the backs of the two officers driving her home. They opened the car door for her, and helped her out when they got there, and offered to come in with her. But she shook her head, and began to sob as Carole walked down the driveway toward her, and Jean drove in at exactly the same moment. And suddenly both women were holding her, and all three of them were sobbing. It was beyond belief, this hadn’t happened to them. It couldn’t have. It was too hideous to be true. She was trapped in a nightmare. It wasn’t possible that Jack was gone. Things like this just didn’t happen to real people.
“He killed Amanda too,” Jean said through tears as they stood there holding each other. The officer who’d called her had given her the details. “The kids are all right, or alive at least. They saw him do it. But he didn’t hurt them.” Phillip Parker had killed Amanda and Jack, and then himself. It was a wave of destruction that had hit them all. The Parker children were orphans. But all Liz could think of now was what she was going to say to her own children, and she knew that the moment they laid eyes on her they would know that something terrible had happened. There was blood in her hair, the blood-soaked nightgown had stained through the cotton bathrobe she’d gotten at the hospital, and she looked like she’d been in an accident herself. She looked like a wild woman as she stood there, staring blankly at the other two women.
“How bad do I look?” Liz asked Carole, as she blew her nose, trying to regain her composure for her children.
“Like Jackie Kennedy in Dallas,” Carole said bluntly, and Liz cringed at the image.
She looked down at the gray cotton robe with the bloodstains still spreading on it. “Can you get me a clean robe? I’ll wait in the garage … and a comb …” She stood sobbing in Jean’s arms as she waited, trying to make sense of it, trying to get a grip on herself, and thinking of what she would tell the children. There was nothing she could tell them but the truth, but she knew that whatever she said now, and however she said it to them, would affect them for their entire lifetimes. It was an awesome burden. And she was still sobbing uncontrollably as Carole returned with the comb and a clean pink terry cloth bathrobe. She put it on over the gray cotton one, and combed her hair without looking.
“How do I look now?” she asked them, she didn’t want to terrify her children before she even spoke to them.
“Honestly? You look like shit, but you’re not going to scare them by the way you look. Do you want us to come in with you?” Liz nodded, and they followed her into the house from the garage, directly into the kitchen. They could hear the children in the living room, some of them at least, and she asked the two women to wait in the kitchen, until after she told the children. She felt she owed it to them to be alone with them, but she had no idea how to do this.
Peter and Jamie were playing on the couch when she walked in, roughhousing and teasing and laughing, and Jamie looked up at her before Peter did, and his whole being seemed to stop when he saw her.
“Where’s Daddy?” he asked, as though he knew. But sometimes Jamie saw things the others didn’t.
