handed the phone to the nurse and slumped to the floor of the nurses’ station, her arms over her head, eyes closed, rocking with every sob. The nurse talked to her father for a moment and then hung up the phone, helping Caroline to her feet. They walked to the end of the hall and to a patio overlooking the city. They stood until Caroline felt the control returning, stopped crying and took a breath.
“I need to call my brother,” Caroline said.
“Not now. There’ll be time.”
Caroline nodded.
“I’m going to go in and have the doctor look at your mother,” the nurse said.
“Can I stay out here?” The nurse said yes and when she was gone Caroline walked to the edge of the balcony and leaned out over the railing into the blackness, feeling the cool wind on her face, stinging where her tears were left to dry in the creases of her eyes. A few cars trickled along the freeway and the streets of downtown, people going home from bars, trudging off with strangers, going to bay at the windows of old flames. Traffic at two-thirty in the morning is the flow of desperation.
Beyond the freeway was the river, a seam through the city, coming straight into downtown, then splitting and curling around Canada Island and Riverfront Park, through the falls and the dam, then beginning its slow meander west. Caroline thought about Burn, still out there somewhere, and remembered the way their hands had connected in the split second before he died. She opened and closed her hand, stared at it. She felt more connected to the young drug dealer, and wondered if she’d done as much to save her mother. The tears came again, silently this time, curling over her cheeks and falling.
And then Caroline understood that death did have a specific feeling and why she hadn’t recognized it before. It was actually familiar, something revealed every day in glimpses of strangers, in solitary walks along the river, in moments of quiet, the realization that, for all the people we surround ourselves with, in the end, we go over alone.
11
I N L OVING M EMORY
Theresa Marie Mabry
Born: August 9, 1942
Passed on: April 30, 2001
Beloved Mother and Friend
“Behold, I show you a mystery;
We shall not all sleep,
but we shall all be changed,
In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye…
and the dead shall be raised
incorruptible,
and we shall be changed.”
—I Corinthians 15:51–52
Private graveside service to follow. No reception.
MAY
A Game of Chess
12
The chair she sat in was a throne of leather and dark-stained oak, more imposing than the person encased by it, a plump, dark-haired white woman who tapped a pen on the frame of her bifocals as she peered at the form Caroline had filled out. At the end of each page Vicki Ewing looked over her glasses, and then back to the next page.
“You left the emergency contact line blank.”
Caroline had stared at that line and thought about her mother. Dupree flashed in her mind too. But she said, “I have a boyfriend. Joel Belanger. Same address.”
Dr. Ewing scribbled in the line and then removed her glasses and looked up at Caroline. “You left this whole section blank, too. Where you were supposed to describe the problem…your anxiety…”
Caroline stood and removed a paperback medical textbook from the bookcase near the door. She checked the worn spine, then held it up. “Looks like you’ve read some of these.”
“Some of them. We were talking about your problem.”
“I don’t think I have one.”
“Oh, good. Makes it an easy day for me, then. But, since we’ve got another forty minutes, why don’t we talk about why you’re here.”
Caroline thought a moment. “I’m here because my sergeant doesn’t think a woman can handle the pressure of being a detective.”
“Can you?”
“I smacked a guy’s face into his fireplace. I guess that was uncalled for.”
“And that was last month? The day your mother died?”
Caroline nodded.
“I need to call my brother,” Caroline said.
“Not now. There’ll be time.”
Caroline nodded.
“I’m going to go in and have the doctor look at your mother,” the nurse said.
“Can I stay out here?” The nurse said yes and when she was gone Caroline walked to the edge of the balcony and leaned out over the railing into the blackness, feeling the cool wind on her face, stinging where her tears were left to dry in the creases of her eyes. A few cars trickled along the freeway and the streets of downtown, people going home from bars, trudging off with strangers, going to bay at the windows of old flames. Traffic at two-thirty in the morning is the flow of desperation.
Beyond the freeway was the river, a seam through the city, coming straight into downtown, then splitting and curling around Canada Island and Riverfront Park, through the falls and the dam, then beginning its slow meander west. Caroline thought about Burn, still out there somewhere, and remembered the way their hands had connected in the split second before he died. She opened and closed her hand, stared at it. She felt more connected to the young drug dealer, and wondered if she’d done as much to save her mother. The tears came again, silently this time, curling over her cheeks and falling.
And then Caroline understood that death did have a specific feeling and why she hadn’t recognized it before. It was actually familiar, something revealed every day in glimpses of strangers, in solitary walks along the river, in moments of quiet, the realization that, for all the people we surround ourselves with, in the end, we go over alone.
11
I N L OVING M EMORY
Theresa Marie Mabry
Born: August 9, 1942
Passed on: April 30, 2001
Beloved Mother and Friend
“Behold, I show you a mystery;
We shall not all sleep,
but we shall all be changed,
In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye…
and the dead shall be raised
incorruptible,
and we shall be changed.”
—I Corinthians 15:51–52
Private graveside service to follow. No reception.
MAY
A Game of Chess
12
The chair she sat in was a throne of leather and dark-stained oak, more imposing than the person encased by it, a plump, dark-haired white woman who tapped a pen on the frame of her bifocals as she peered at the form Caroline had filled out. At the end of each page Vicki Ewing looked over her glasses, and then back to the next page.
“You left the emergency contact line blank.”
Caroline had stared at that line and thought about her mother. Dupree flashed in her mind too. But she said, “I have a boyfriend. Joel Belanger. Same address.”
Dr. Ewing scribbled in the line and then removed her glasses and looked up at Caroline. “You left this whole section blank, too. Where you were supposed to describe the problem…your anxiety…”
Caroline stood and removed a paperback medical textbook from the bookcase near the door. She checked the worn spine, then held it up. “Looks like you’ve read some of these.”
“Some of them. We were talking about your problem.”
“I don’t think I have one.”
“Oh, good. Makes it an easy day for me, then. But, since we’ve got another forty minutes, why don’t we talk about why you’re here.”
Caroline thought a moment. “I’m here because my sergeant doesn’t think a woman can handle the pressure of being a detective.”
“Can you?”
“I smacked a guy’s face into his fireplace. I guess that was uncalled for.”
“And that was last month? The day your mother died?”
Caroline nodded.
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