girl was not sleeping or reading or knitting, but stared straight ahead. She had the inward-focused look of a monk. Her lips curved in a smile, so eerily tranquil Libby wondered if she was blind. She knew that diabetes sometimes caused loss of vision. Or maybe she had been drugged, which wasnât such a bad idea, come to think of it. Why hadnât she asked Carlotta about that? Some magical pill that would put her beyond anxiety or fear.
Who did the girl look like? Why did she seem familiar? It nagged at Libby and she studied the girlâs thin face. It was utterly without expression, yet there was about her an aura of peacefulness. The terrible frailness and halo of hair reminded Libby of a medieval martyr. As she studied her, Libby felt the unearthly serenity flow from the girl across the bay to where she lay. It bathed her, calmed her. For the first time that morning, her breath came normally. When she finally pulled her gaze away from the girl and checked the clock, a full forty minutes had passed. Maybe she would be able to get through this after all.
The man in the wheelchair was sleeping. So was the Jesus Christ woman in the next chaise, her eyes flickering beneath their lids, as if in her dreams someone were chasing her. Her knitting lay in her lap. Turquoise and purple yarns, so bright they were practically neon. Colors only a child would wear. A memory stirred. Colors. Bands of color. Green, red, purple, turquoise, yellow, and pink. With ivory bone heart-shaped buttons. The sweater her grandmother made for her the Christmas she was twelve. It had been years since Libby thought of that sweater. Sam had a matching one.
Sam.
It took her by surprise, this longing for her sister. It lodged in her chest, beneath her heart, her heart that beat on and on, pumping blood out of her body and into the machine.
The peace she had felt moments before evaporated. She wanted to get up, rip the tubes from her chest. She wanted to go home.
Her motherâs voice spoke out.
You think youâre so smart, young lady.
You think youâre getting away with something, but sooner or later youâll have
to pay the piper.
Pay the piper. As Matthew would say, life bites you in the ass.
Iâve done nothing to deserve this, she whispered, but the protest was weak.
Was this the price she had to pay for her sins? For the harm she had caused.
Over the machine, the green light flicked off and the yellow light flashed. Kelly was there at once.
âWhatâs wrong?â Libby asked.
âNot to worry,â Kelly said, checking the monitor. âYour blood pressure elevated.â She adjusted a dial on the machine. âItâs not unusual the first time. Just try and relax.â
Libby concentrated on slowing her breath. She looked across at the saintly girl, concentrated on the serene face, tried to feel again the girlâs peace flow across to her. On the machine, the yellow light blinked off. The green light glowed on.
âThere you go,â Kelly said. âLike I said, youâre just a little nervous. Itâs not unusual the first time.â
âYes,â Libby said.
âYour husband said to let you know heâs out in the waiting room. Heâll be there reading. He said to let him know if you canât sleep and want him to come back.â
She felt a weight beneath her breast, a burden she knew was guilt. And grief. She didnât want Richard.
She wanted . . .
She wanted to be forgiven.
She wanted Sam.
Sam
Just before four, Sam woke. The room held the soft lavender shadows of predawn. Lee was still asleep and she snuggled closer, inhaled the scent of him. He smelled to her of the sea. The distinctive smell of ocean air. Of salt.
Salt preserves and cures.
She had learned this from a baking instructor when she was enrolled at Johnson & Wales. The instructor had also told their class that ages ago salt had been so valuable it had been used for currency, that its Latin name
Who did the girl look like? Why did she seem familiar? It nagged at Libby and she studied the girlâs thin face. It was utterly without expression, yet there was about her an aura of peacefulness. The terrible frailness and halo of hair reminded Libby of a medieval martyr. As she studied her, Libby felt the unearthly serenity flow from the girl across the bay to where she lay. It bathed her, calmed her. For the first time that morning, her breath came normally. When she finally pulled her gaze away from the girl and checked the clock, a full forty minutes had passed. Maybe she would be able to get through this after all.
The man in the wheelchair was sleeping. So was the Jesus Christ woman in the next chaise, her eyes flickering beneath their lids, as if in her dreams someone were chasing her. Her knitting lay in her lap. Turquoise and purple yarns, so bright they were practically neon. Colors only a child would wear. A memory stirred. Colors. Bands of color. Green, red, purple, turquoise, yellow, and pink. With ivory bone heart-shaped buttons. The sweater her grandmother made for her the Christmas she was twelve. It had been years since Libby thought of that sweater. Sam had a matching one.
Sam.
It took her by surprise, this longing for her sister. It lodged in her chest, beneath her heart, her heart that beat on and on, pumping blood out of her body and into the machine.
The peace she had felt moments before evaporated. She wanted to get up, rip the tubes from her chest. She wanted to go home.
Her motherâs voice spoke out.
You think youâre so smart, young lady.
You think youâre getting away with something, but sooner or later youâll have
to pay the piper.
Pay the piper. As Matthew would say, life bites you in the ass.
Iâve done nothing to deserve this, she whispered, but the protest was weak.
Was this the price she had to pay for her sins? For the harm she had caused.
Over the machine, the green light flicked off and the yellow light flashed. Kelly was there at once.
âWhatâs wrong?â Libby asked.
âNot to worry,â Kelly said, checking the monitor. âYour blood pressure elevated.â She adjusted a dial on the machine. âItâs not unusual the first time. Just try and relax.â
Libby concentrated on slowing her breath. She looked across at the saintly girl, concentrated on the serene face, tried to feel again the girlâs peace flow across to her. On the machine, the yellow light blinked off. The green light glowed on.
âThere you go,â Kelly said. âLike I said, youâre just a little nervous. Itâs not unusual the first time.â
âYes,â Libby said.
âYour husband said to let you know heâs out in the waiting room. Heâll be there reading. He said to let him know if you canât sleep and want him to come back.â
She felt a weight beneath her breast, a burden she knew was guilt. And grief. She didnât want Richard.
She wanted . . .
She wanted to be forgiven.
She wanted Sam.
Sam
Just before four, Sam woke. The room held the soft lavender shadows of predawn. Lee was still asleep and she snuggled closer, inhaled the scent of him. He smelled to her of the sea. The distinctive smell of ocean air. Of salt.
Salt preserves and cures.
She had learned this from a baking instructor when she was enrolled at Johnson & Wales. The instructor had also told their class that ages ago salt had been so valuable it had been used for currency, that its Latin name
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