A Stillness of Chimes (40 page)

On Saturday afternoon, Laura walked Tigger and Cassie out to the lobby of the hospital. After giving them quick hugs, Laura stepped back and tried to smile.

“Tig, did Cassie ever buy you a new hair clip?”

“Hair clip?”

“To replace the glittery pink one you lost in the berry patch.”

Tig shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It was a blessing that Tig didn’t remember much about that day, and Cassie had never learned the worst of it. She never would.

“Never mind,” Laura said. “Thanks for stopping by.”

“We’ll be back,” Cassie said. “Keep your chin up, sis.”

Almost in unison, she and Tigger waved and headed for the bright sunshine outdoors.

Cassie’s phone rang just then and she whipped it out of her pocket. Laura couldn’t hear the conversation, but she knew from the happiness in Cassie’s voice that Drew had called. Again. They’d been on the phone almost constantly since the shooting.

Laura turned and began her trek back to Sean’s bedside. She was glad Gary hadn’t come today. She didn’t have the emotional energy. It wouldn’t be awkward forever, though.

Maybe he and Ardelle would be all right too.

Poor Ardelle. She’d admitted to Gary that she’d suspected his infidelity thirty years before. She’d found one smudge of peach lipstick on his collar, and she’d recognized the scent of Jean Naté on his shirts. Her suspicions had flared again, six weeks ago, when he cried at the funeral. Then she’d read between the lines in some of the journals she’d boxed up. But until she’d compared the dog tag and the Red Cross cards, she hadn’t been sure Laura was his child. Ardelle must have known the significance of the daylilies too, or she wouldn’t have pulled the garden marker out of the dirt. She was a lot smarter than some people gave her credit for.

The plants from the funeral, massed around the fireplace … had she wanted to rub Gary’s nose in the fact that Jess had died? Or maybe all of it was like picking at a scab, like Cassie had said.

A set of big automatic doors slid open, farther down the corridor. A tall man came through, walking slowly, keeping his eyes on the floor. Gibby Sprague was seventy if he was a day but still strikingly handsome. He was dressed all in black. Silver hair curled over his collar. A gold watch chain shone against his vest. He didn’t notice Laura.

“I forgive you, Gibby,” she whispered, mostly to remind herself she’d made that choice.

But she still wanted the truth. The closer he came, the more she wanted it.

He looked up and opened his arms. “Laura. I can’t believe—any of it.”

She stepped into his hug. “I can’t either.”

“How’s Sean?”

“He’s hanging in there. There’s not much change.”

“God love ’im,” Gibby said. “You all right, honey?”

“I’m as all right as I can be.”

He draped his arm around her shoulders and they continued walking. “Is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all?”

“Yes. You can answer one question. Did you and my mom …?”

“Now, now. You know I love the ladies, but a gentleman never tells.”

Laura’s lofty notions about forgiveness evaporated in an instant. She stopped walking, pulling herself out of his reach. “How could you? My dad trusted you. He
loved
you, and you and my mom betrayed him. That’s why he left, Gibby.”

“What are you talking about?” Gibby’s bewildered expression slowly changed to one of comprehension. “You’ve got a little knot in your timeline, baby. Whatever did or didn’t happen between your mother and me, it wasn’t until about two years ago. It wasn’t for lack of trying on my part, but she wouldn’t give me the time of day as long as she held out hope that your daddy might come back.”

“What? She believed he was alive? And—and she told you?”

“She believed it, up to a point, but she finally decided to move on. Don’t fault her for it.”

“I … I … no, of course not. But I can’t believe she told you. She never told me.”

“She may have had her reasons,” he said with a shrewd smile. “She was an original, God love her. And I think He did. Does.” He pulled a gold watch from his vest pocket. “I had to stop by to ask how Sean’s doing, but I’m playing on the main stage in half an hour.”

“You’d better get going, then.”

“Call me sometime, you hear? Let me know about Sean.”

“I will.”

“No hard feelings between us?”

“Of course not, Gibby. I’m sorry I thought …”

“It’s all right.” Always the gentleman, he bent over and kissed her hand. He turned and walked away.

Her heart should have been lighter as she continued walking toward the ICU.

If Sean made it, maybe he’d live to play with Gibby someday—and to teach some young Hallorans how to play guitar and mando and banjo. If he didn’t make it, she wouldn’t care about anything, ever again.

Women, talking. One, young and angry. One, old and crotchety. Loud.

“Life hurts, honey,” the old one said. “You don’t get over life until you die.”

Bright lights pounded his eyelids. Nasty smells. Irritating noises, like … like supermarket scanners.

Where was he?

He tried to open his eyes but the lids were too heavy.

A sharp memory flashed into his mind. Something about a gun. Half his chest had blown up.

Then he was walking across the church grounds. No, he was floating. Trying to stay on the right side, the side with picnics and weddings. Trying to stay away from graves and darkness.

He fought, finding his way back to an old house. A house that breathed. A swing on the porch, lilies in the yard. A red-haired girl hugging a skinny cat …

The pain grew and faded. Grew and faded.

Now, the light brightened. No, dimmed. The women kept talking.

Now he heard men. Keith. Gary. Grown men, crying. Gary, saying something about an auction.

“I didn’t plan it that way,” Gary choked out.

It’s okay
, Sean tried to say. He couldn’t make his lips move.

Morning. Had to be. The light was different now, even on his closed eyelids. How many mornings had come and gone?

The old lady, talking. Talking too loud, like she was deaf and thought everybody else was too.

Then the sweet one. The angel. Laura?

He tried to hold on to her voice, but it faded. In and out. Coming and going. She said something about quenching a smoking wick.

“God said He wouldn’t do that, but He did, and if He ever does it again, He’ll hear about it.”

That was Laura, all right. Mad at God. Trying to tell Him how to run the world. But God could handle her.

“What’s that you say?” the old lady shouted. “Speak up, baby. God, you say? No, God didn’t pull no trigger. That was Dale.”

Another memory. A tiny, familiar handgun, aimed at …

No. Don’t … don’t …

The women ceased chattering for a moment, then resumed.

A light exploded in his head. Then he remembered. A shot. Another one. Incredible agony. The smell of something burning.

Screams. Sirens. Pain.

It was all coming back. He didn’t want it to.

If the nurses and that mumble-mouthed doctor would leave him alone, he’d have time to think. Time to grasp what couldn’t be grasped.

The official-sounding voices receded toward the door. Grew fainter. Faded away.

Peace. Quiet. Now he could think.

Behind closed eyelids, Sean pictured the train pounding past the berry patch where a happy little girl loved to pick berries. Two men saw her there alone. A good man and an evil one.

Now the evil one was dead. So was the good one.

Everybody would die one day.

I don’t want to die
.

Nobody answered.

Sean tried again.
Lord, I’m not finished yet. I have to take fiddle lessons. Sell a house. Marry Laura
.

A gasp from across the room. “Did he try to say something, Granny?”

He tried to nod his head. A lump of lead. Heavy.

“Sean?” A hand touched his. Clasped his. Squeezed.

He squeezed back.

A sharp intake of breath. “Sean? You in there?”

Where else would I be, woman?

The words refused to come out of his mouth.

With intense effort, he fought to open his eyes. There she was. A blurry slice of Laura, bending over him, her hair haloed by a light behind her. His angel. The sad angel he’d seen at the funeral. No tongue of fire on her head today.

He was hallucinating. Dying, maybe.

“Sean.” She was crying. “Oh, Sean, you’re back.”

“Elliott,” he whispered, finally managing to make a sound. “He’s …”

Her smile dimmed. “He didn’t make it, Sean. I’m so sorry. He’s gone.”

Gone? He just came home. And he’d said something important. Something Laura needed to know, but it had faded away to the edges of Sean’s memory. He might never remember.

“He took a bullet for Gary,” she said. “Dad walked right into that bullet, and then you took the next one. For me. For all of us.”

He remembered now.

Elliott, heading straight into trouble instead of running away from it. He’d rescued his buddy. Gary.

Like at the Pentagon. People had run into hell to rescue friends and strangers. They’d gone in after them. Elliott had been at the front of the pack—

No. Elliott hadn’t been at the Pentagon … or the Twin Towers … but if he’d been there, he would have run in the right direction. A hero.

Sean closed his eyes. Fatherless. It hurt. He was still hungry, so hungry, for a father who wouldn’t hurt him. Wouldn’t betray him. Wouldn’t disappear.

His angel’s voice faded.

Then, another nurse. He hated nurses. Always prodding and poking and talking about vital signs.

He pretended not to hear her. She left.

He opened his eyes again. Laura leaned over him, deep grief written all over her face. Then she smiled, the corners of her mouth wobbling up and down, up and down, and her chin quivering.

He tried to breathe deeply. It hurt too much. “Gary okay?”

“He’s fine. He and Ardelle have a tough row to hoe, though.”

It took a moment for that to sink in. Jess and Gary. Incredible.

“Dale?”

“He’s behind bars.”

“Good.” Sean fought to find the courage to speak the truth. The words came out rough and broken, the way he felt inside. “My … father murdered your father. With the pansy gun. I was stupid … to let him keep it. Laura, I’m so sorry.”