I didn’t know what she was talking about. For a moment I thought she was saying that she had threatened Nora. Did that mean—had Tammy done it? A second later I knew that was ridiculous. But the question had come to my mind, and I couldn’t get rid of it: maybe Tammy hadn’t, but someone had.
In this situation, I would have thought that would be the first question in anyone’s mind. But reality never matches imagination, especially in extreme situations. Seeing Nora like that was such a shock that no thought found a foothold in my brain except for the one that I didn’t want to believe: the thought that she was gone.
I left Tammy’s room, shut the door carefully behind me, and went downstairs. I knew I couldn’t go back into the morning room. I couldn’t face it, but as I was walking past, I glanced in.
The scene there looked exactly the same. Everyone was sitting, drinking their coffee and eating their muffins. It was surreal. How could they be sitting there so calmly when upstairs—my brain shied away from the image of those brown sheets and the face that wasn’t Nora’s anymore. What if it was someone sitting in there who did it? I found myself searching their faces. Then I remembered who was missing. Marcus and Celia. Celia. Of course it had been Celia.
Strangely, the realization didn’t bring relief. But it did bring the first emotion I could remember feeling—it was rage.
My face must have reflected what I was feeling because at that moment Neil glanced over and caught sight of me, and whatever he saw made him get up and follow me out of the room. It was my one piece of luck that whole awful day.
Neil followed me out and found me in the foyer. “What happened?” he said point blank. Not, is something wrong? Not, is something bothering you? He knew just by looking at my face, as I had by looking at Tammy’s.
I said, “Nora’s dead.”
His face went very still, and he blinked very rapidly, but thank God he didn’t make me repeat myself, he didn’t ask me if I was kidding, and he didn’t try to tell me that it wasn’t possible. He reached out and gripped my elbow hard, but he didn’t say anything for a second. Then he asked, “Did she . . . ?”
“No. Neil, there was a knife . . . There was a knife . . .” I couldn’t finish. “I’ve called the police.”
He said, “Timothy, I think you should sit down. Maybe you want to go up to your room?”
It was exactly what I had said to Tammy.
“But the police—”
“I’ll wait down here for the police.”
“I was thinking we would wait to tell everyone else until after the police are here,” I said.
“Agreed. I’ll do the best I can.”
“Okay. I think I will go up to my room then.” The very act of talking was difficult for me. Words seemed inane.
Neil seemed to understand, and he didn’t say anything else. He just laid a hand on my shoulder as I went past.
I climbed the stairs again, went to my room, opened the door, then closed it behind me. I went over to the bed and lay down. How on earth had I imagined I could wait downstairs for the police? As soon as I lay down, I knew for certain I couldn’t have remained standing another second. I wondered if I would cry. I couldn’t even remember the last time I cried. But I just lay there. It was quiet for a few minutes. Then I heard footsteps running up the stairs to the third floor, where Nora had her room. Someone screamed. Actually, it was more like a wail, rising like a siren. And that wailing went on for I don’t know how long. Neil must not have been able to keep it a secret, and I wondered briefly who had insisted on going to look.
It was so bright in my room. I got up, pulled down the shade. I realized my teeth were chattering. When I got back into bed, I got under the covers. I didn’t even take my shoes off. Within a couple of minutes, I was sweating, but my teeth were still chattering.
I lay in bed, sweating and shivering. I heard when the police arrived. Their footsteps were like sledgehammers on the stairs. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I heard their voices out in the hall above.
A few minutes later there was a knock on my door.
I didn’t get up. I didn’t feel any desire to move.
Then Neil’s voice came through the door, “Timothy, it’s Neil.”
I got up and opened the door for him. He came in and shut it behind him.
Neil said, “I’m sorry, I had to tell them downstairs what happened. Nora’s mother was asking about what was keeping Nora, and she was going to go upstairs to get her. So I told her to keep her from going, but then she ran upstairs anyway before I could stop her . . .”
So it had been Nora’s mother who had screamed.
“It’s okay,” I said. Then, because it seemed like the thing you’re supposed to do in this kind of situation, I asked, “How is Nora’s mother?”
Neil shook his head. “Don’t ask. But Deirdre is with her now. So hopefully Deirdre will calm her down a little. And the police are here now. They’ve got the room cordoned off, and I think the detectives are coming soon.”
“And where is everyone else?”
“They asked everyone to go back to their own rooms and wait there to give their statements.”
I nodded.
“But I thought I’d come see how you were. I was thinking I could sit over here by the door. Not to talk. The police don’t want us to talk to each other about the events. But I don’t think they could object if I just sit here.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I told him.
“I know,” he said.
He took a seat by the door anyway.
So I went back over to the bed and lay down.
It was only later that I realized he must have sensed that I was worse off than anyone else, even though I wasn’t screaming or crying.
Over the course of the next hour or so, there were a couple of knocks on the door, but Neil slipped outside and dealt with them, and then came back in alone. At one point he came over and said, “Nora’s sister really wants to talk to you. Do you want to talk to her?”
I said no, and Neil went out to the hall and came back in alone.
A little while later there was another knock on the door, but this time Neil couldn’t send them away. He came over and told me there was a policeman who wanted to talk to me. He paused, then he asked me, “Timothy, do you need to have a lawyer here?”
It took me a second to realize what he was asking.
“No, Neil,” I told him.
“It might be a good idea anyway.”
“No, really. It’s okay. I’ll talk to them.”
He nodded and went to let the policeman in. The officer was about my age, and he looked embarrassed to take the statement from me while I was in bed, but I didn’t care. He asked me if I wanted to get up, and I said no. Then he asked a few questions, wrote down what I said, and went away. But not for long.
Timothy
The Day
How did that first day pass? I have to admit, I escaped into my imagination. As I lay in bed I could hear the noises in the bed-and-breakfast. I could hear the voices of the policemen, and the specialists they brought in to work the scene, and the detectives, and God knows who else. There was practically constant activity, but I was somehow able to block it out for long periods of time.
In my mind, I created another reality. I imagined that Nora and I were married, that I was lying in bed, and she was next to me, sleeping. With my eyes closed, how could I know the difference?
The problems started when I had to open my eyes.
I had to answer more questions. A woman came in—I think she was a detective because she was wearing a suit instead of a uniform—and she asked me a set of questions nearly identical to the first set of questions asked by the policeman. And then, some hours after that, another man in a suit came in and did the same.
Neil didn’t stay in the room. The woman detective insisted that Neil had to leave. She said that in order to get the clearest picture of what had happened, it was vital that people not talk to each other.
She told us that when people talked, they often unknowingly changed their story to fit what someone else had said. They sometimes confused something that actually happened and something they just heard had happened. So it was important to keep people separated. They couldn’t absolutely demand it, but . . . And she left us to finish the sentence for ourselves.
I didn’t care. Having Neil there was fine, but mostly because he didn’t try to talk to me, and he kept everyone else away.
After Neil left, I locked the door, then lay down again. A little while later, someone knocked. I didn’t answer. I didn’t even get up. My mother’s voice came through the door.
“Timothy. I need to talk to you.”
I didn’t answer her.
After that my father gave it a try.
“Timothy. Timothy, we need to talk about getting you a lawyer. And how you’re going to proceed with this. Timothy?”
I didn’t answer him either.
It was quiet for a while.
There was another knock on my door. I waited, but no one said anything. The knock came again, even more hesitantly. I wondered who it was—but not enough to get up and look. They must have gone away since I didn’t hear anything else.
Some time passed; I don’t know how much. Maybe I slept. When I next opened my eyes, the room was dark. Something had woken me. I heard a knock, then Neil’s voice.
“Timothy?”
I got up cracked the door for Neil. He said, “We’ve ordered food. I though you might want to come downstairs for a little while and get something to eat.”
“Why on earth would you think that?”
He made a grimace of apology. “Let me put it another way. You’re going to have to face everyone at some point, and I thought you might want to get it over with.”
He had a good point. “Aren’t we not supposed to speak to each other?” I asked.
“They took everyone’s statements. They’re asking us to stay for another night or two if we can, but they lifted the no-talking ban. I can have some food brought up to you. Unless you want to come down . . .”
“No, I don’t want to. But I will.”
“Are you ready now?”
“Sure. Might as well get it over with.”
Neil led the way, and I followed. It was strange. As we went down the stairs, I felt like it had been days since I’d been downstairs. Weeks even. I felt like I’d been caught in a time warp and had been up in that room for eons.
The setup was the same as in the morning: food spread out on the dining room table and people gathered in the morning room on the couches and chairs. The minute I stepped into the room, I saw that my mother and father were there. If I had known, I probably would have opted to stay upstairs. But it was too late now.
My mother spotted me across the room, and she made a bee-line for me.
“Do you want me to stand by?” Neil asked.
“No, that’s okay,” I told him. “There are some things that are too much to ask.”
“You’re making jokes now,” Neil observed. “You must be feeling better.”
“That wasn’t a joke,” I told him.
I heard him laugh as he turned away and went over to the table for some food.
My mother walked over and stopped in front of me. She was, of course, perfectly dressed in a black skirt and black blazer and black heels. I realized I almost never stood next to my mother. She was always seated at the head of the table, where she seemed to take up so much space. But standing next to her, I realized how small she was. Nora had at least come up to my nose. My mother barely reached my chin. She had to tilt her head back a little to look up at me.
I braced myself for what I knew was coming.
Except that it didn’t come.
She asked, very calmly, “Are you all right, Timothy?”
“No. Not really.”
She nodded. “Your father and I, we’ll do whatever we can to help. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes. Sure.”
“The police told us that you’ve got an interview scheduled for tomorrow morning. Your father and I arranged for a lawyer to be there. But if you’d rather arrange something else, or if you already have, just let us know and we can change it.”
I wasn’t excited about my mother picking my lawyer, but I hadn’t done anything about it myself, and I knew it would be stupid not to have one there.
“No, that sounds good,” I said.
“There will be other things to deal with, but one thing at a time,” she said. “Right now, you should probably try to eat something. We’re right over there if you need us.”
“Um, thanks.”
Then she turned to go. But she stopped and looked back at me. And she said, “Sometimes we do things, and we don’t want to, but we don’t seem to have control. I understand that.”
At first I didn’t know what she was talking about. Then I realized she thought I had done it—she thought I had killed Nora. I didn’t know whether to be angry that she assumed the worst or touched that she seemed to be trying to tell me that she didn’t care.
I didn’t have to think of an answer because she didn’t wait for one. She just went back over to where my father was sitting.
I saw that Tammy and Edward were sitting over on the couch near my parents. Edward had his arm around Tammy’s shoulders, and he seemed to be consoling her.
After hearing my mother, and now seeing Edward like that, I knew that the world had ended. It had turned into something unrecognizable. Things do go on, but they are not the same. The world turns upside down.
I went to get some food, and Edward came up while I was spooning mashed potatoes onto a paper plate.
“Tim, I just wanted to say . . . I’m really sorry,” Edward managed to get out. “If there’s anything I can do . . .”
I looked at him. “Yes, there is something. You can tell me, have you published books under a pseudonym?”
He blinked. He hadn’t been prepared for my question, but he answered me.
“Yes,” he said simply. “I have.”
I nodded. “Congratulations. If you wouldn’t mind, I think I’d like to read one sometime.”
“Sure. I’d like that.”
I looked around the room. “Do you know where Nora’s sister and mother are?” I asked him.
“No. They haven’t come down yet,” he said.
“And Andrew and Emily?”
“I think they’re heading back to the city. Andrew and his family, the police told them that since they weren’t even here at the B&B they didn’t need to stay in the area. They asked Emily and Alejandro to stay, but . . . well, you know Emily.”
“No, I don’t think I do know Emily,” I admitted. “But if she wanted to leave, it’s probably for the best. When are you headed back? ”
“I’ll stay as long as you need me here,” he said.
“Thanks. I’m sure that has nothing to do with the fact that Tammy is still here,” I said.
He smiled, and it was a smile I don’t think I’d ever seen on his face before. It was almost shy. And suddenly my heart hurt. I could see on Edward’s face the dawning of that feeling I’d had for the first time with Nora. I felt something rising in my throat. To my horror, I realized I was about to start crying. I put down my plate.
“I can’t . . .” I said.
That’s all I could manage. I turned and escaped from the room. And, thank goodness, no one came after me. I broke down while I was climbing the stairs, and I completely came apart when I shut the door of my room behind me.
That night—I don’t really want to talk too much about that night. It was supposed to have been my wedding night. It was supposed to have been the best night of my life—instead it was the worst, and I hope to God it will be the worst I ever have. I can’t say anything else about it. These things are beyond description. But after it was over, I got up the next day, knowing that I was not, and would never be, the same.
The brain rebels against finding reasons for th
at much pain, but they are there. With Nora, all I wanted was to feel truly loved. And I had gotten a taste of it after Nora caught me with Celia and told me she loved me anyway. I thought that was it; I thought that was what I had been looking for all my life. But after that awful night—the first night in a lifetime without Nora—I realized I had been so concerned with being loved that I never asked myself if I knew how to love. I simply assumed I did. But that night, I discovered the truth—that a heart unbroken doesn’t know how to love.
It was only now that she was gone that I understood how to love her.
THE INVESTIGATION
HEART WOUNDS
Heart wounds cause instant and alarming symptoms: pain; hemorrhage, often copious, sometimes slight; palpitation; dyspnea; syncope. The symptoms depend on the site and extent of the heart wound. Death is instantaneous if the ventricle is torn widely open or the center for heart-block is damaged, or the auricles injured. Fortunately, the ventricles are the parts commonly injured—the left ventricle much more often than the right. A bullet or knife may wound the heart wall without perforating the ventricle. This superficial wound may bleed profusely and confuse the diagnosis. A perforating wound, if small, may bleed but little, owing to its being closed with every systole by the interlocking of the heart’s muscles. Often there is but little external bleeding.
—From The Practice of Surgery by James Gregory
Timothy
The Day After
The next day, when I finally left my hotel room, the machine of procedure really started for me.
A policeman came to my room first thing in the morning to escort me down to the station for more questioning. They brought me into a room with my lawyer (the one arranged for me by my mother) and three detectives. Two I recognized from the day before—the woman and the man in suits who had questioned me—and another man from the district attorney’s office who was there to oversee.
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