and what he wanted mattered to you.”
She didn’t know what to say. She’d thought Stuart would understand.
“So you saw this woman?” he asked.
“Yes. I still don’t know why my father wanted me to, though. She has Alzheimer’s and doesn’t remember him at all.”
“Alzheimer’s, huh?” Stuart actually chuckled.
“I don’t see what’s so funny.”
“You’re right. It isn’t funny.” Stuart sobered, but it looked as if it took some effort. “Do you plan to see her again?” he asked.
“I don’t think so.” Laura shivered at the thought. Her last visit to Sarah Tolley was linked in her mind to Ray’s death.
“Good,” Stuart said. “Is she getting good care there?”
“I think so.”
“Then forget about her. You made sure she’s all right. You’ve done all you need to do. You found no meaningful link between her and your father. Leave it alone.”
Stuart was right. Her father’s money was still in trust for Sarah, and the attorney would handle any bills that came in. There was nothing more for Laura to do. She remembered the attendant, Carolyn, telling her how much Sarah would love to be able to go for walks again and have someone to talk to, but she quickly blocked that thought from her mind.
Stuart stood up with that same getting-to-his-feet groan Ray had always emitted when rising from a chair. “I’m going to head back to the town house,” he said, stretching. “It’s been a long day.”
Laura stood up herself and walked him to the door, where Stuart pulled her into a brotherly embrace.
“Ray made a lot of sacrifices for you, you know,” Stuart said.
She nodded, her head resting on his shoulder.
Stuart kissed her cheek, then walked out the door. Laura sat down again on the love seat.
Ray made a lot of sacrifices for you.
It hurt to think about all Ray had done for her. He’d given her the financial and emotional support she’d needed to further her career. He’d loved her through her successes despite his own failures.
And he’d even taken responsibility for the child she had never meant to conceive.
6
LAURA WATCHED THROUGH THE TWO-WAY MIRROR AS EMMA’S new therapist, Heather Davison, drew pictures on a large sheet of paper.
“Show me a really, really angry face,” Heather said to Emma, who sat next to her at a table in the well-stocked playroom.
Emma obeyed, screwing up her nose and baring her teeth. Laura laughed quietly on her side of the mirror.
“Excellent!” Heather said. She drew a reasonable facsimile of the expression on the sheet of paper. At least that’s what it looked like from where Laura was sitting.
“Now show me a very sad face,” Heather said.
It was now July. It had been more than six months since Ray’s death, more than six months since Emma had uttered a word. It seemed impossible. The child whose preschool teacher had called Laura to complain about her disruptive talking. The child who would follow Laura or Ray around the house with nonstop questions and pervasive chatter. It was as though she’d used up all her allotted words and suddenly could find no more.
She had regressed in other ways, as well. She was wildly afraid of the dark, needing both a night-light and an open bedroom door to be able to fall asleep. A few nights a week, she would wet the bed, and the thumb-sucking was back in full force.
Last month, Laura was finally able to move Emma and herself into the lake house for good. Or at least until she figured out what she should do next. She’d put her career on indefinite hold in order to devote her time to her daughter after taking Emma out of preschool. The house still needed a lot of work to be truly livable as a year-round residence, but Laura planned to do the painting and repairs while she and Emma lived there.
The house was on Lake Ashton, a small lake near the tiny hamlet of Paris, Virginia, half an hour from Leesburg. Ray and Laura had bought the house several years ago. Ray had balked at the idea of owning two homes when many people had none, but he knew Laura needed a place in the country, where the sky was untouched by city lights, for her observations.
There were only seven other houses on the lake, and none of them were visible from their house. The forest surrounding the lake was thick, and even from the screened porch, all that could be seen was a hint of water beyond the trees. A paved path, perfect for riding bikes or walking, circled the lake. There were a playground and a small beach, and on the opposite side of the lake from the house, a rickety fishing pier.
Laura had hoped the move to the lake would make a difference for Emma, that maybe it had been living in the tiny apartment, too close to the town house, that had left her tongue-tied and fearful. The lake house was full of happy memories for Emma. She had a friend, Cory, nearby, a little girl with whom she’d played every summer since she was a toddler. Last summer she and Cory had learned to swim, and it had been hard to drag Emma from the lake at the end of each day. But being at the lake house seemed to make no difference in Emma’s condition. In a way it was worse, because now she would not go near the water she’d enjoyed so much the year before. She was afraid of it, giving the water’s edge a wide berth when she walked along the shore.
“Show me your happiest face,” Heather said to Emma.
Emma tried. She really did, Laura thought, but the weak smile wouldn’t fool anyone. Still, Heather attempted to translate the expression to the paper.
When Laura had registered with the receptionist in Heather Davison’s office, the woman could not seem to take her eyes from Emma’s face. “What a beautiful child,” she’d said. Now, though, as Laura watched her daughter through the two-way mirror, she thought that even Emma’s beauty had taken a blow during the past six months. Her skin had grown pale, made even more noticeable by her nearly black hair, and there were dark circles under her light blue eyes.
“Okay,” Heather said to Emma. “Now we have all our faces. Can you point to the face that describes how you feel today?”
Emma studied the faces for a moment and pointed to one of them. Laura couldn’t tell which one from where she was sitting.
“Can you show me which face reminds you of your Mommy’s face?”
Emma pointed, and Laura craned her neck in vain, longing to see which face she’d selected.
Heather was Emma’s third counselor. Laura had walked out on the last one after the woman told her that she should have taken Emma to Ray’s memorial service to “help her connect with reality,” that she should have had Emma make a gift to tuck into Ray’s casket with him, and that she should have moved immediately back into the town house to show Emma it was in no way haunted by Ray’s death.
“Thanks.” Laura had not been able to mask the sarcasm in her voice as she stood
