Part 15 (1/2)

She had to talk to him about it. She wished she knew what her mother wanted, but they had never talked about death.

They'd never talked about life, either.

Loneliness attacked her again, but this time she expected the dull, ragged pain. She wondered how many families were like hers. Cool. Detached. Uninvolved with one another.

”I'll find her, though,” she told her mother. ”Sarah is looking for birth certificates, and I'll be talking to your friends here. Someone has to know something.”

She paused. ”What does Daddy know?” The term ”Daddy” slipped out unconsciously. She hadn't called her father that for many years.

”Please wake up,” she pleaded. ”I need you.”

And she did, more than she believed possible. She needed to know unqualified love. She wanted to talk to her mother one last time, to express her anger and bewilderment and deep sense of loss.

She had to know the whys of so many things.

But there were no answers from her mother. She doubted there would be.

So she just sat there, hoping her mother knew she was there. Hoping her mother knew she was loved.

She leaned over and kissed her mother's cheek. She felt guilty for leaving.

Dammit, but she was tired of guilt.

”Good night,” she told the returning nurse, then went to the security office and asked for an escort to her car. Revolver or not, she had no intention of walking alone in the parking lot.

Morris had followed her to the hospital tonight and left only after she promised to have security walk her to the car. He'd also arranged for her to park in the doctors' lot not far from the hospital's front door. Probably still afraid of a lawsuit, the security staff had readily agreed.

She would use valet parking at the hotel.

She would be safe tonight.

And tomorrow?

She wouldn't think about tomorrow.

Gage took the call on his home phone. It was a collect call.

Clint. His younger brother.

”Gage?”

”Yeah.”

”You coming on Sunday?”

Guilt coursed through him. He 'had' almost forgotten about it. ”I plan to. Just been transferred back to homicide. I never know--”

”I understand,” came the resigned reply. ”Just wanted to ask you to bring a couple of books.” A pause. ”I'm in a computer technology course.”

”That's great,” Gage said, trying to interject some enthusiasm in his voice. His brother often joined self-improvement programs in prison. They never lasted long.

”I got a clerk's job.”

That 'was' progress. His brother's first years in prison had been disastrous. He'd rebelled constantly. A clerk's job meant good behavior.

”That's good news.”

”I'm good at it, Gage. Really good.”

”I'll try to be there,” Gage said.

His brother gave him the names of two electronics books, then paused, ”Thanks, bro.”

Gage closed the phone. His brother was the only family he had left. The familiar feeling of failure filled him. He had tried to be father, mother and brother to Clint. He'd succeeded at none.

He wanted to hope now. But he'd hoped too many times before. Still... perhaps.

He 'would' make it Sunday.

Sheer exhaustion dictated sleep. Even so, the sleep was restless, and Meredith woke early. She didn't feel refreshed.

She drove home. The cleaning firm would be there at nine. She took photos throughout the house for the insurance company, straightened up what she could downstairs, then climbed the stairs to inspect her closets in closer detail.

Most of her good suits had been destroyed beyond repair. Something else to do in the next few days: shopping. She had a court appearance at the end of next week. That required suitable clothing. She had a few blouses that had survived the carnage. Some slacks. A dress. Her shoes were untouched. Perhaps whoever did this ran out of time.

She looked at the underwear. She couldn't bear the thought of putting them back in the drawers after they had been touched by the intruder. She put them in a basket and took them to the was.h.i.+ng machine. Even then, she knew she would never feel entirely comfortable in those garments. She wondered whether she would wear any of it again.

After she started the wash, she used her cell phone to call her insurance company and ask for a form to list destroyed items, then called the office. Sarah was already there.

”Ask Becky to come over to my house,” Meredith said. ”I have some shopping to do, and I want someone here with the cleaning crew.”

”You plan to move back home?”

”Yes.”

Silence. Then, ”Do you think that's wise?”

”I now have a state-of-the-art alarm system, a revolver in my purse, and constant visits by the police. I think I'm safe enough. I will 'not' live in a hotel the rest of my life.”

”I prepared a list of people who have expressed some displeasure toward you, both in the DA's office and in your private practice,” Sarah said.

”Tell me it's a small list.”

”Well, it's not that long.”

That reminded Meredith that she had not made out her own expanded list yet. ”Thanks. I'll add to it and call Detective Morris.”

”What about Rick Fuller?”

”He's at the top of mine.”