Through the Darkness by Marcia Talley Page A

like dry sandpaper. In spite of all the caffeine I’d consumed in the previous twenty-four hours, I felt I could fall asleep on this bench, uncushioned hardwood and all. I could sleep here for days and days and days. Yet I had to keep going, do whatever it took, for Timmy’s sake.
    â€œHannah?” Eva’s voice spiraled down, as if through a tunnel, to wherever it was I had gone. “Hannah, it’s Eva.”
    I felt a hand on my shoulder and dragged myself into consciousness. “Eva, I’m sorry. I was somewhere in La-La Land.” I rubbed at a crick in the back of my neck.
    â€œI hated to wake you.”
    I managed a weak smile. “It’s so peaceful here in the garden. Sitting here, a gal could almost pretend she didn’t have a care in the world.”
    â€œWould you like some coffee? I just put on a fresh pot.”
    â€œThank you, yes. Although I’m pretty wired.”
    â€œCome.”
    Although Eva wore black slacks and a rose-colored short-sleeved silk blouse with a clerical collar, something about the way she stood there with her arms extended, palms up, reminded me of a picture in a book of Bible stories I’d had as a child. Suffer the little children to come unto me . My head swimming, I rose from the bench, staggered, and grabbed her hands for support. “He’s just a little boy,” I sobbed. “He’s only ten months old. How could anybody…?” Eva folded me into her arms, and I began to weep, refusing to be comforted. I threw back my head and screamed to the sky, “Why, God, why?”
    Eva shook me gently, peering deep into my eyes as if searching there for my lost faith. “It’s all right to be angry. Yell at God if you need to. God is not afraid of you , Hannah Ives.”
    Quietly, holding me close, Pastor Eva waited me out.
    â€œI don’t think I have any more tears left.” I pulled a tissue out of a fresh packet in my handbag and blew my nose. “And damn, now I’ve got the hiccups.”
    â€œRoger told me about Timmy,” Eva said. “And of course, we heard it on the news.”
    â€œI kept the TV turned off.” I scrunched the tissue into a ball and stuffed it into the pocket of my jeans. “We watched Finding Nemo instead. My grandchildren are staying with me,” I added by way of explanation.
    â€œYou know,” I said as we strolled side by side down the path toward her office, “Finding Nemo used to be one of my favorite cheer-up flicks, but last night while I was watching it with the kids, every time I laughed, I was faking it.”
    â€œRoger took me to see the movie when it first came out,” Eva said, smiling slightly. “And he bought the DVD when it came out, for St. Catherine’s nursery, or so he said. Roger’s particularly fond of the seagulls going ‘mine, mine, mine.’ ”
    â€œI used to think it was hysterical, too, until last night, and it hit me like a ton of bricks. Finding Nemo is all about a kidnapped child! Think about it. Marlin watches helplessly as a diver scoops up his son, Nemo, who ends up held captive in the aquarium of a sadistic dentist.”
    â€œI never thought of it like that, but you’re right.” Eva held the door open for me, and waited until I stepped inside. “But it has a happy ending, doesn’t it? Marlin and his friends rescue Nemo. Perhaps we should focus on that.” She took a deep breath. “How’s your daughter?”
    â€œNot good. Dante said she’d taken a handful of pills from a bottle in the medicine cabinet, then when the police showed up to search Timmy’s bedroom, she took a handful of something else. He thought he might have to take her to the emergency room to get her stomach pumped, but then she threw it all up.
    â€œThey couldn’t stay in the house,” I continued, “and if they stayed with us, it would be too upsetting for the children. Paul