The sound of her mother's voice helped everything return to normal. Marti took a long, deep breath. “Sure, Mom. I'd like to go for counseling,” she said. “We can find someone, and I'll start right away.”
“Oh, Marti! I'm glad, dear. I tell you what—you just rest, maybe take a nap, and when your father and I get home well all go out to dinner. Would you like that?”
Marti watched a second pair of uniformed officers enter the room. They spoke in low voices with Karen, who gestured at the poker and the mangled shade on the brass lamp. “Sure,” Marti said, “but dinner will probably be late. I've got to help fill out some reports and make a statement You see, Mom, a little while ago—”
“Just a minute,” her mother said, and Marti could near her telling someone. “We covered that in the meeting this morning. I'll give you my notes. No. Tell him I'll be with him in a couple of minutes.” She spoke into the phone again. “That's a good idea, Marti. Get your homework out of the way. I'll see you soon. ‘Bye.”
“Good-bye, Mom,” Marti said, and hung up the phone. She turned to Karen. “Does anyone ever listen?”
“You did,” Karen said, “and so did I. And I'll listen some more while the police photographers do their work in here. Let's go to the kitchen. Have you got any more diet cola?”
As Marti walked to the kitchen with Karen she glanced through the window toward Barry's house. The loneliness and sorrow were still with her, but they were softer, as though they had shed their jagged edges. It's over now, Barry,she thought. I made it come out all right for you. She took two cans of cola from the refrigerator and sat at the table across from Karen. “Okay,” she said, “where do you want me to start?”
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Copyright © 1988 by Joan Lowery Nixon
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RL:5.7
May 1992
v3.0