prove 1) that the foster parents are the crazies and 2) that Griselda has withdrawn because she has niether stability nor love in her life. She needs her grandmother.”
“Will there be someone to believe you?” I asked cautiously.
“One always hopes,” he said. “There’ll be some heavy batteries drawn up against us, because bureaucracies are certainly not happy about being wrong, which is why they’re playing games with us about the court hearing.” He drank the last of his coffee and put the cup down. “Are you finished yet? We’ve got a long list of things to do today, Amelia.”
“Right,” I said, and swallowed the last of my toast. “Death certificate first, or obituaries?”
“I think death certificate first,” Joe said. “After all, if it turns out that Hannah died in a hospital of pneumonia, or collapsed of a heart attack in full view of a crowd of people, then we might as well go sightseeing.”
“Joe, you don’t really think—”
“Verify, Amelia, verify,” he said with a grin. “Don’t forget I have a lawyer for a father, and some of his legal mind has rubbed off on me. Verify
everything.
”
It was a shabby diner, with an eroded mirror behind the counter. While Joe paid the bill and asked directions to the courthouse I studied its dreary decorations, which consisted mainly of signs pasted over the scars across the huge mirror: IN GOD WE TRUST BUT NOT IN CREDIT ; A SMILE COSTS NOTHING , TRY IT , and the same ubiquitous political posters, which this time I read in depth: FOR U.S. SENATOR ELECT ANGUS TUTTLE ,
four years State Senator, a man of experience, a man of vision.
This poster carried a photograph of him wearing tweeds and sitting in an armchair looking like a manin a toothpaste ad. He had prematurely white hair, handsome brows, a young face, and that broad, dazzling white smile.
The other poster read VOTE FOR SILAS WHITNEY FOR U.S. SENATE ,
a man of the people, a new voice, a man of judgment.
There was a picture of him, too; he looked as if his face had been carved out of granite, long and thin, with long thin lines running from nose to mouth, steady black eyes and a lantern jaw. Silas Whitney looked as if he really did have judgment and was a man of the people but I guessed he was already doomed. I didn’t think he had a chance against that enormous toothy smile.
“What on earth are you doing?” asked Joe, seeing my lips moving silently.
“Counting teeth,” I said, pointing to Tuttle’s political poster. “His smile shows twelve upper teeth, it’s unbelievable.”
“So are you,” he said, reaching for my hand, and as we walked out into the sunshine Joe looked down and smiled at me. It was a lovely smile, made up of all that we’d shared together since we awoke at six that morning in each other’s arms, and I couldn’t help wondering if I’d ever be so happy again. I think I realized even then that it was real, but that it wasn’t real like work and morning and eating and sleeping, and that enchanted moments come seldom, like beads on a long string with spaces in between. But this made it all the more precious; I had never been cherished before, or truly and utterly happy.
The courthouse stood on a side street, a very old building with Corinthian columns and a fine frieze set into the inverted V over the entrance. We had to ask, and then look for the City Clerk’s office, and then it was necessary to buy a copy of the death certificate inorder to see it. “It’s how they make a little money,” Joe pointed out, amused at my indignation.
But I wasn’t really indignant at buying it. I was trembling with suspense and angry at the wait. This was the moment of truth: if, as Joe had pointed out, Hannah had died of pneumonia or a heart attack, then how was I going to reconcile it with the note in the hurdy-gurdy? Was I about to discover that I had been a fool to take the note so seriously, after all I’d gone through to find Hannah?
The copy of the death
“Will there be someone to believe you?” I asked cautiously.
“One always hopes,” he said. “There’ll be some heavy batteries drawn up against us, because bureaucracies are certainly not happy about being wrong, which is why they’re playing games with us about the court hearing.” He drank the last of his coffee and put the cup down. “Are you finished yet? We’ve got a long list of things to do today, Amelia.”
“Right,” I said, and swallowed the last of my toast. “Death certificate first, or obituaries?”
“I think death certificate first,” Joe said. “After all, if it turns out that Hannah died in a hospital of pneumonia, or collapsed of a heart attack in full view of a crowd of people, then we might as well go sightseeing.”
“Joe, you don’t really think—”
“Verify, Amelia, verify,” he said with a grin. “Don’t forget I have a lawyer for a father, and some of his legal mind has rubbed off on me. Verify
everything.
”
It was a shabby diner, with an eroded mirror behind the counter. While Joe paid the bill and asked directions to the courthouse I studied its dreary decorations, which consisted mainly of signs pasted over the scars across the huge mirror: IN GOD WE TRUST BUT NOT IN CREDIT ; A SMILE COSTS NOTHING , TRY IT , and the same ubiquitous political posters, which this time I read in depth: FOR U.S. SENATOR ELECT ANGUS TUTTLE ,
four years State Senator, a man of experience, a man of vision.
This poster carried a photograph of him wearing tweeds and sitting in an armchair looking like a manin a toothpaste ad. He had prematurely white hair, handsome brows, a young face, and that broad, dazzling white smile.
The other poster read VOTE FOR SILAS WHITNEY FOR U.S. SENATE ,
a man of the people, a new voice, a man of judgment.
There was a picture of him, too; he looked as if his face had been carved out of granite, long and thin, with long thin lines running from nose to mouth, steady black eyes and a lantern jaw. Silas Whitney looked as if he really did have judgment and was a man of the people but I guessed he was already doomed. I didn’t think he had a chance against that enormous toothy smile.
“What on earth are you doing?” asked Joe, seeing my lips moving silently.
“Counting teeth,” I said, pointing to Tuttle’s political poster. “His smile shows twelve upper teeth, it’s unbelievable.”
“So are you,” he said, reaching for my hand, and as we walked out into the sunshine Joe looked down and smiled at me. It was a lovely smile, made up of all that we’d shared together since we awoke at six that morning in each other’s arms, and I couldn’t help wondering if I’d ever be so happy again. I think I realized even then that it was real, but that it wasn’t real like work and morning and eating and sleeping, and that enchanted moments come seldom, like beads on a long string with spaces in between. But this made it all the more precious; I had never been cherished before, or truly and utterly happy.
The courthouse stood on a side street, a very old building with Corinthian columns and a fine frieze set into the inverted V over the entrance. We had to ask, and then look for the City Clerk’s office, and then it was necessary to buy a copy of the death certificate inorder to see it. “It’s how they make a little money,” Joe pointed out, amused at my indignation.
But I wasn’t really indignant at buying it. I was trembling with suspense and angry at the wait. This was the moment of truth: if, as Joe had pointed out, Hannah had died of pneumonia or a heart attack, then how was I going to reconcile it with the note in the hurdy-gurdy? Was I about to discover that I had been a fool to take the note so seriously, after all I’d gone through to find Hannah?
The copy of the death
Similar Books
