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Show seem harder for her to accept, though in fact it will not be so. "Judd told you she died of a cardiac arrest, and could not be resuscitated in time." "Yes." "He didn't tell you it happened here." "No." I watch her eyes scrutinize the living room, the little dining alcove, the archway to the bed. "Tell me how it happened," she says, no artifice now. I can see her imagining pain, fear, violence; and so I tell her in detail exactly how it occurred: a few quick breaths, a single cry, Sadie's withered arm now limp over the edge of the bed. "What did you do?" "I held her until she was dead." Luel stares at me. I try to explain: "Sadie and I were friends." Luel picks up her purse, paces the living room at uncomfortable speed, strides angrily toward the door. But in my years here I have seen this before, and I know how it goes: if she leaves now, she will be back tomorrow, with a new, more difficult question. But she does not leave. After a very long time she says it: "What do you mean by 'friends?'" Good, she is on the right track. But that is not a question to be answered lightly, in part because the answer is difficult to hear. So I divert her attention by showing her the places on the couch where |
