“Wait a minute,” he said. “Lena’s going to be there, too.”
Sara turned around, shaking her head. “No way. I’m not going to give a blow-by-blow of Sibyl’s death in front of her sister.”
“She has to be there, Sara. Trust me on this.” He must have gathered her thoughts from the look she gave him. He said, “She wants the details. It’s how she deals with things. She’s a cop.”
“It’s not going to be good for her.”
“She’s made her decision,” he repeated. “She’ll get the facts one way or another, Sara. It’s better she gets the truth from us than read whatever lies they put in the paper.” He paused, probably seeing he still had not changed her mind. “If it was Tessa, you would want to know what happened.”
“Jeffrey,” Sara said, feeling herself relent despite her better judgment. “She doesn’t need to remember her sister this way.”
He shrugged. “Maybe she does.”
At a quarter till eight in the morning, Grant County was just waking up. A sudden overnight rain had washed the pollen out of the streets, and though it was still cool out, Sara drove her BMW Z3 with the top down. The car had been purchased during a postdivorce crisis when Sara had needed something to make herself feel better. It had worked for about two weeks, then the stares and the comments about the flashy car had made her feel a bit ridiculous. This was not the kind of car to drive in a small town, especially since Sara was a doctor, and not just a doctor but a pediatrician. Had she not been born and raised in Grant, Sara suspected she would have been forced to sell the car or lose half her patients at the clinic. As it was, she had to put up with the constant comments from her mother about how ridiculous it was for a person who barely managed to coordinate her wardrobe to drive a flashy sports car.
Sara tossed a wave to Steve Mann, the owner of the hardware store, as she drove toward the clinic. He waved back, a surprised smile on his face. Steve was married with three kids now, but Sara knew he still had a crush on her in that way that first loves tend to hold on. As her first real boyfriend, Sara had a fondness for him, but nothing more than that. She remembered those awkward moments she spent as a teenager, being groped in the back of Steve’s car. How she was too embarrassed to look him in the eye the day after they had first had sex.
Steve was the kind of guy who was happy to set his roots down in Grant, who cheerfully went from being the star quarterback at Robert E. Lee High School to working with his father in the hardware store. At that age, Sara had wanted nothing more than to get out of Grant, to go to Atlanta and live a life that was more exciting, more challenging, than what her hometown could offer. How she ended up back here was as much a mystery to Sara as anyone else.
She kept her eyes straight ahead as she passed the diner, not wanting to be reminded of yesterday afternoon. She was so intent on avoiding that side of the street that she nearly ran into Jeb McGuire as he walked in front of the pharmacy.
Sara pulled alongside him, apologizing, “I’m sorry.”
Jeb laughed good-naturedly as he jogged over to her car. “Trying to get out of our date tomorrow?”
“Of course not,” Sara managed, forcing a smile onto her face. With all that had happened yesterday, she had completely forgotten about agreeing to go out with him. She had dated Jeb off and on when he first moved to Grant eleven years ago and bought the town’s pharmacy. Nothing serious had ever developed between them, and things had pretty much cooled between them by the time Jeffrey came along. Why she had agreed to start dating him again after all this time, Sara could not say.
Jeb pushed his hair back off his forehead. He was a lanky man with a runner’s build. Tessa had once compared his body to Sara’s greyhounds. He was good-looking, though, and certainly did not have to look far to find a woman who would go out with him.
He leaned on Sara’s car, asking, “Have you thought about what you want for dinner?”
Sara gave a shrug. “I can’t decide,” she lied. “Surprise me.”
Jeb raised an eyebrow. Cathy Linton was right. She was a horrible liar.
“I know you got caught up in all that yesterday,” he began, waving toward the diner. “I totally understand if you want to cancel.”
Sara felt her heart flip at the offer. Jeb McGuire was a nice man. As the town’s pharmacist, he engendered a certain amount of trust and respect from the people he served. On top of that, he was pretty good-looking. The only problem was he was too nice, too agreeable. They had never argued because he was too laid back to care. If anything, this made Sara think of him more as she would a brother rather than a potential lover.
“I don’t want to cancel,” she said, and oddly enough, she didn’t. Maybe it would be good for her to get out more. Maybe Tessa was right. Maybe it was time.
Jeb’s face lit up. “If it’s not too cool, I can bring my boat and take you out on the lake.”
She gave him a teasing look. “I thought you weren’t going to get one until next year?”
“Patience has never been a strong suit,” he answered, though the fact that he was talking to Sara proved that point to the contrary. He jabbed his thumb toward the pharmacy, indicating he needed to go. “I’ll see you around six, okay?”
“Six,” Sara confirmed, feeling some of his excitement rub off on her. She put the car in gear as he trotted over to the pharmacy. Marty Ringo, the woman who did checkout at the pharmacy, was standing at the entrance, and he put his arm around her shoulder as he unlocked the door.
Sara coasted into the clinic’s parking lot. The Heartsdale Children’s Clinic was rectangular in shape with an octagonal room made of glass brick swelling out at the front. This was the waiting area for patients. Fortunately, Dr. Barney, who had designed the building himself, was a better doctor than he was an architect. The front room had a southern exposure, and the glass bricks turned the place into an oven in the summer and a freezer in the winter. Patients had been known to have their fevers break while waiting to see a doctor.
The waiting room was cool and empty when Sara opened the door. She looked around the dark room, thinking not for the first time that she should redecorate. Chairs that could hardly be called anything but utilitarian were set out for patients and their parents. Sara and Tessa had spent many a day sitting in those chairs, Cathy beside them, waiting for their names to be called. In the corner was a play area with three tables so children who felt like it could draw or read while they waited. Issues of Highlights sat beside People magazine and House & Garden. Crayons were stacked neatly in their trays, paper beside them.
Looking back, Sara wondered if she had decided in this room to become a doctor. Unlike Tessa, the prospect of going to Dr. Barney never frightened Sara, probably because Sara was rarely sick as a child. She liked the part when they were called back and got to go into the places that only the doctors were allowed to go. In seventh grade, when Sara had shown an interest in science, Eddie had found a biology professor at the college who needed his main water line replaced. The professor tutored Sara in exchange for the work. Two years later, a chemistry professor needed his whole house replumbed, and Sara was performing experiments alongside college students.
The lights came on and Sara blinked to adjust her eyes. Nelly opened the door separating the exam rooms from the waiting room.
“Good morning, Dr. Linton,” Nelly said, handing Sara a stack of pink messages, taking Sara’s briefcase. “I got your message this morning about the meeting at the station. I’ve already moved around your appointments. You don’t mind working a little late?”
Sara shook her head, going through the messages.
“The Powells will be here in about five minutes, and there’s a fax on your desk.”
Sara looked up to thank her, but she was already off, probably running down Elliot Felteau’s schedule. Sara had hired Elliot straight out of his residency at Augusta Hospital. He was eager to learn what he could and eventually buy a partnership in the practice. While Sara wasn’t sure how she felt about havin
g a partner, she also knew Elliot was at least ten years away from being in a position to make an offer.
Molly Stoddard, Sara’s nurse, met her in the hallway. “Ninety-five percent blast on the Powell kid,” she said, citing the lab results.
Sara nodded. “They’ll be here any minute.”
Molly offered Sara a smile that said she did not envy Sara the task ahead of her. The Powells were good people. They had divorced a couple of years ago but showed surprising solidarity where their children were concerned.
Sara said, “Can you pull a phone number for me? I want to send them to a man I know at Emory. He’s doing some interesting trials with early-stage AML.”
Sara gave the name as she slid open her office door. Nelly had put Sara’s briefcase by her chair and a cup of coffee on her desk. Beside this was the fax she had mentioned. It was the GBI report on Sibyl Adams’s blood work. Nick had scribbled an apology at the top, saying he would be in meetings most of the day and knew Sara would want to know the results as soon as possible. Sara read the report twice, feeling a cold ache in her stomach as she digested it.
She sat back in her chair, looking around her office. Her first month on the job had been hectic, but nothing like Grady. Maybe three months passed before Sara got used to the slower pace. Earaches and sore throats were plentiful, but not many kids came in with critical cases. Those went to the hospital over in Augusta.
Darryl Harp’s mother was the first parent to give Sara a picture of her child. More parents followed suit, and pretty soon she started taping them to the walls of her office. Twelve years had passed since that first picture, and photographs of kids wallpapered her office wall and spilled into the bathroom. She could glance at any one of them and remember the kid’s name and most of the time his or her medical history. Already she was seeing them come back to the clinic as young adults, telling them at nineteen years old they should probably consider seeing a general practitioner. Some of them actually cried. Sara had gotten choked up on a couple of occasions. Since she wasn’t able to have children, she often found she developed strong attachments to her patients.
Sara opened her briefcase to find a chart, stopping at the sight of the postcard she had gotten in the mail. She stared at the photograph of Emory University’s entrance gates. Sara remembered the day the acceptance letter had come from Emory. She had been offered scholarships to schools up north with more recognizable names, but Emory had always been a dream of hers. Real medicine took place there, and Sara could not imagine herself living anywhere else but the South.
She flipped the card over, tracing her finger along the neatly typed address. Every year since Sara had left Atlanta, around the middle of April, she got a postcard like this one. Last year’s had been from The World of Coke, the message stating, “He’s got the whole world in His hands.”
She started when Nelly’s voice came through the speaker on the phone.
“Dr. Linton?” Nelly said. “The Powells are here.”
Sara let her finger rest just above the red reply button. She dropped the card back in her briefcase, saying, “I’ll be right out to get them.”
8
When Sibyl and Lena were in the seventh grade, an older boy named Boyd Little thought it was funny to sneak up on Sibyl and snap his fingers in her ear. Lena followed him off the school bus one day and jumped on his back. Lena was small and quick, but Boyd was one year older and about fifty pounds heavier. He beat her to a pulp before the bus driver could break them up.
Keeping this episode in mind, Lena Adams could honestly say that she had never felt so physically ravaged as she did the morning after her sister’s death. She finally understood why they called it “hung over” because her entire body felt hung over her bones, and it took a good half hour under a hot shower before she could stand up straight. Her head felt ready to crack open from the stress in her brain. No amount of toothpaste could take the horrendous taste out of her mouth, and her stomach felt as if someone had wrapped it tightly into a ball and tied a couple of strings of dental floss around it.
She sat at the back of the briefing room of the station house, willing herself not to throw up again. Not that there was much left she could vomit. Her insides felt so vacant that her stomach was actually concave.
Jeffrey walked over to her, offering a cup of coffee. “Drink some of this,” he ordered.
She didn’t argue. At the house this morning, Hank had told her the same thing. She had been too embarrassed to take anything from him, let alone advice, so she had suggested a different place for him to put the coffee.
As soon as she put the cup down, Jeffrey said, “It’s not too late, Lena.”
“I want to be here,” she countered. “I have to know.”
He held her gaze for what seemed like an eternity. Despite the fact that any source of light was like needles in her eyes, she was not the first to break contact. Lena waited until he had left the room to sit back in her chair. She leaned the bottom of the cup on her knee as she closed her eyes.
Lena did not remember how she got home last night. The thirty-minute trip from Reece was still a blur. She did know that Hank had driven her car, because when she got into it this morning to drive to the station, the seat was pushed all the way back and the mirror was adjusted at an odd angle. The last thing Lena remembered was looking at her reflection in the plate glass window of the Stop ’n’ Save. The next memory was the blaring ring of the telephone when Jeffrey had called to tell her about the briefing, practically begging her not to come. Everything else was lost to her.
Getting dressed this morning had been the hardest part. After the long shower, Lena wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed, tucked into a ball. She would have been perfectly happy doing this for the rest of the day, but she couldn’t give in to that weakness. Last night had been a mistake, but a necessary one. Obviously, she had needed to let herself go, to grieve as much as she could without falling apart.
This morning was a different story. Lena had forced herself to put on slacks and a nice jacket, the kind of outfit she wore every day on the job. Strapping on her holster, checking her gun, Lena had felt herself slipping back into being a cop instead of the victim’s sister. Still, her head ached and her thoughts seemed to be stuck like glue on the inside of her brain. With an unprecedented sympathy, she understood how alcoholics got started. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she couldn’t help thinking that a stiff drink would do her a world of good.
The door to the briefing room squeaked open, and Lena looked up in time to see Sara Linton standing in the hallway, her back to Lena. Sara was saying something to Jeffrey, and it did not look polite. Lena felt a pang of guilt for the way she treated Sara the night before. Despite what Lena had said, she knew that Sara was a good doctor. From all accounts, Linton had given up a very promising career in Atlanta to come back to Grant. She was owed an apology, something Lena did not even want to think about at this point in time. If records had been kept on the matter, Lena’s outburst-to-apology ratio would be heavily weighted in the outburst department.
“Lena,” Sara said. “Come on back with me.”
Lena blinked, wondering when Sara had crossed the room. She was standing at the door to the supply closet.
Lena scooted up in her chair to stand, forgetting about the coffee. Some of it spilled on her pants, but she didn’t care. She set the cup on the floor and followed Sara’s orders. The supply closet was large enough to be called a room, but the sign on the door had given it this designation years ago, and nobody had bothered to make a clarification. Among other things stored here were evidence, dummies for the CPR classes the police gave in the fall, and the emergency supply kit.
“Here,” Sara said, pulling up a chair. “Sit.”
Again, Lena did as she was told. She watched as Sara rolled out a tank of oxygen.
Sara hooked up a mask to the tank, saying, “Your head is hurting because the alcohol depletes oxygen in your blood.” She flexed the rubber band around
the mask, holding it out to Lena. “Take slow, deep breaths and it should start to feel better.”
Lena took the mask, not actually trusting Sara, but at this point she would have sucked the ass end of a skunk if someone had told her it would make her head stop pounding.
After a few more breaths, Sara asked, “Better?”
Lena nodded, because it was better. She wasn’t feeling up to her usual self, but at least she could open her eyes all the way.
“Lena,” Sara said, taking the mask back. “I wanted to ask you about something I found.”
“Yeah?” Lena said, feeling put on her guard. She was expecting Sara to try to talk her out of being here during the briefing, so when the other woman spoke, Lena was surprised.
“When I was examining Sibyl,” Sara began, storing the tank back against the wall, “I found some physical evidence that I wasn’t exactly expecting.”
“Like what?” Lena asked, her mind starting to work again.
“I don’t think it has a bearing on the case, but I have to tell Jeffrey what I found. It’s not up to me to make that kind of decision.”
Despite the fact that Sara had helped her headache, Lena did not have patience for her games. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the fact that your sister’s hymen was intact up until the rape.”
Lena felt her stomach drop. She should have thought of this, but too much had happened in the last twenty-four hours for Lena to come to logical conclusions. Now the whole world would know her sister was gay.
“I don’t care, Lena,” Sara said. “Really. However she wanted to live her life is fine with me.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means what it means,” Sara answered, obviously thinking that was enough. When Lena did not respond, she added, “Lena, I know about Nan Thomas. I put two and two together.”
Lena leaned her head back against the wall, closing her eyes. “I guess you’re giving me a heads up, huh? For telling everybody else my sister was gay?”