Chapter 4
On Monday, October 27, Deborah came to my hospital room.
She came alone. She wore a black cardigan over a black dress, and she carried a small pot of grocery-store violets, purple and white, the kind she would never have put in the viewing parlor. She set them on the windowsill and pulled the chair close to my bed.
A nurse was in the room, checking my IV. Deborah waited until she was finished, then smiled at her. “Could we have a moment, sweetheart?”
The nurse looked at me. I shook my head.
“She can stay,” I said.
Deborah’s smile did not flicker. “Of course.”
She folded her hands in her lap. Howard’s watch slid down her wrist. “Laney, I know you’re frightened. You’re thirty weeks pregnant. You’ve had a terrible fall. You’re on pain medication. It’s natural that your memory would be confused.”
“I’m not confused.”
“You think I pushed you.”
“I know you did.”
She let that sit. She did not argue. That was her way. She never argued when she could wait.
“I’m here to help you,” she said. “Caleb is torn apart. The town is talking. Rae is a mess, and Milo is with me, and the funeral home is holding itself together on prayer and casseroles. What do you think is going to happen if you keep saying this?”
“I think people will know the truth.”
“No. They’ll know a pregnant woman fell during a difficult time and blamed her mother-in-law.” She said it kindly, like she was explaining a bill. “They’ll know you’re from Tennessee. They’ll know you don’t have family here. They’ll know you’re on medication. They’ll know Caleb is the one who saw Rae over you with blood on her hands.”
I put my hand on my belly. The baby was still. Too still. I hated that she could see my fear.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“I want you to sign a statement saying you fell. You were dizzy. It was an accident. Rae panicked. You don’t remember much after that.” She reached into her purse and took out a folded piece of paper. “I’ve already written it. It’s very simple.”
“No.”
“Laney.”
“No.”
The nurse looked up from the monitor. Deborah did not glance at her. She tucked the paper back into her purse and stood. She smoothed the front of her dress, then straightened the violets on the sill.
“You’ll be discharged tomorrow,” she said. “The doctor says bed rest. You can’t go back to the apartment above the garage. Caleb and I decided it’s better if you stay somewhere quiet. The locks have been changed for your safety.”
“Where am I supposed to go?”
“That’s up to you.”
She was at the door when she turned back. Her face was calm and sad and absolutely untouchable.
“Rae’s boy is staying with me,” she said. “He’s such a good sleeper.”
She left.
I did not go to Howard’s funeral. It was Tuesday at eleven. I watched the livestream from my hospital bed while a nurse adjusted my fetal monitor. Deborah wore a black hat and stood with Caleb at the front of the church. Rae was not there. Milo was not there. The whole town came. The flowers were enormous. The choir sang “It Is Well with My Soul.”
I was discharged that afternoon to bed rest in a rented room above the hardware store on Main Street, paid for with the last of my savings. Caleb carried my bag to the door and did not come in. He said he would call. He did not say when.
The room had a twin bed, a hot plate, and a window that looked down at the wet leaves on Bell Street. It was two blocks from Whitfield & Sons. Close enough to hear the traffic. Close enough to know when the lights went out.