“I wish with all my heart that I could. But I can’t.”
“Then there’s nothing. Besides, you’ve done enough already. You must be exhausted. Go home.”
“Not a chance.”
“You don’t have to stay.”
“I’m here, and I’m staying.”
She stood and went over to the sofa, where she sat down and tugged off her cowboy boots. Her fringed jacket came off next; then she began unwinding the ropes of beads from around her neck.
Glenda was wearing the same clothes she’d had on when she’d arrived at the fair. At some point in the past twelve hours—Elle couldn’t remember precisely when—someone, whom she didn’t recall, either, had provided her with a set of scrubs and a pair of rubber flip-flops to exchange for her clothes and shoes, which were stained with blood. That of the older man she’d chatted with, and Charlie’s.
Her healthy son had had a sturdy little body. She’d often teased him about it as she playfully poked him in the belly. But he had felt very small, defenseless, and fragile when she’d clutched him to her, screaming prayers that he would take a breath, make a sound, that she would feel a heartbeat. His sweet body, the one that had chugged around so energetically and industriously, had remained unmoving and limp. Lifeless.
She gave another harsh sob.
Glenda dumped the strands of beads on the coffee table and went back to Elle’s chair. “You’re taking a shower while I scramble some eggs. After you’re fed, I’m giving you one of the sedatives you refused to take earlier and putting you to bed.”
Glenda hauled her up out of the chair. When Glenda was in managerial mode, it was easier to go along than to balk, so Elle didn’t argue or put up any resistance as she was propelled out of the living room and down the hall.
“Do you need help with that?” Glenda pointed to the cold pack on Elle’s right elbow.
“It’s just Velcro. I’ll manage.”
“Okay. Undress. I’ll get the water going.”
Glenda left her standing in the center of her bedroom, where everything was so familiar, but nothing would ever be the same. She removed the cold pack and laid it on the end of the bed, then mechanically began to take off the scrubs.
When Glenda returned from the bathroom, Elle was down to her panties. Her bra had been too bloodstained to salvage. “It’s ready for you,” her friend said. “Take as long as you like. I’ll be in the kitchen.” She pulled the door closed behind her when she went out.
Although Elle longed for the restoration a hot shower could provide, she was reluctant to wash off the last physical vestiges of her son. His scent, the sticky imprint of his hand on her cheek, the smear of drool that had dried on her neck.
Knowing it had to be done, she stepped into the shower stall and stood directly beneath the spray, head bowed. She let it beat down on her for a full minute before opening her eyes. The water swirling around her feet toward the drain was tinged pink with her child’s blood.
Not until the water ran clear did she reach for the soap and begin to wash.
Glenda forced her to eat some of the breakfast she’d cooked, then gave her a pill, strapped a fresh cold pack to her arm, and tucked her in. The sedative was effective. She went almost instantly to sleep. When she woke up, she enjoyed a few precious seconds of forgetfulness before memory blasted in.
Gauging by the slant of the sun coming through her bedroom window, it was late afternoon. Still a bit fuzzy from the medication, she dressed and left her bedroom.
In the living room, Glenda had her large leather-bound day planner lying open on her lap. She was talking on her cell phone, confirming a two o’clock appointment for the following day.
“Thank you. We’ll be there.” She clicked off and set her phone and calendar aside. “I took the liberty of scheduling you an appointment with the funeral director.”
“I appreciate that, but I don’t know when they’ll release his… his body. I was told it could be several days.”
“When they do, you’ll have the preparations already behind you.”
Elle sat down, leaned back in her chair, and gazed up at the ceiling, thinking of all the arrangements she needed to attend to, how exhausting those chores would be, and how unmotivated she was to do a damn thing.
After a lengthy pause, Glenda tentatively resumed. “Your parents are due in at eight-thirty this evening. I scheduled a car to pick them up at the airport, bring them here, and then wait until they’re ready to go to the hotel, where I’ve reserved them a room.”
At Elle’s request, Glenda had called them from the morgue to deliver the news. It was an impersonal and insensitive way to inform them of their only grandchild’s death, but, at the time, Charlie had looked so cold and pale that to leave him alone would have felt like abandonment.
Glenda had reported that her parents, who lived in Michigan, had heard of the mass shooting on CNN, but, of course, they never would have dreamed that Charlie and she were victims.
It had been the middle of the night when Glenda had called them, but they’d told her they would book themselves on the next available flight and would text her their itinerary.
Glenda said now, “Of course you have the option of having them stay here with you.”
“I suppose I should extend the offer.”
“Do you want them here?”
She gave a feeble smile. “Not really.”
“Then don’t offer, Elle.” Glenda leaned forward and said with earnestness, “Get this straight. You don’t have to cater to anyone except yourself. You don’t have to be stoic or an example of how to grieve elegantly. You don’t have to do or be anything you don’t want to.”
“Except to go on living.”
“You don’t mean that,” Glenda said softly. “I know you don’t. Think of the awful legacy that would lay on your precious Charlie.”
When Elle didn’t respond, Glenda took a deep breath and continued with the practical matters. “I also notified Laura.”
Laura Musgrave was Elle’s literary agent.
“At first, she was in shock; then she became distraught. She wanted to speak to you immediately. I told her you were sleeping but that I was certain you would contact her soon. She plans to fly down for the funeral. We’re to send her the details when we have them.”
“I’ll call her in a while. There are so many people I need to notify.”
“Taken care of,” Glenda said. “I got into the contacts on your phone and made a list of first-tier friends and acquaintances, people I thought you would want notified sooner rather than later. I sent all the info to my staff. They’re making those calls on your behalf.”
“What about Jeff?” Elle asked.
“I didn’t know how you’d feel about that, so I left him out.”
“He’s my ex-husband. Word will get around to him.”
“Which, to my mind, relieves you of an awkward conversation.”
Elle extended her hand in a gesture of gratitude. “You’ve been busy while I was knocked out. Did you get any rest?”
“I took a nap.”
“Thank you for handling things.”
“Don’t thank me yet.”