The mothers released their sons and daughters, and free from their talons, the children hastened into their classrooms. Some lingered for a final approving hug or look goodbye, but most spun away as fast as they could, anxious to discover the truth as told by the actual participants. Was it true you were trying to fly? Do you honestly think she's an angel? Did they really take you to jail? Their mothers remained behind to invent and embroider a group narrative and a consensus on what must be done. A remnant of eleven stayed long enough to see Norah Quinn and Sean Fallon arrive.
Despite his mother's caution, Sean had called for her as usual, slipping onto the Quinns’ porch as softly as a cat. He knocked, but the whole house seemed to be asleep. The rental car in the driveway alerted him to a visitor, so he was not completely surprised to see Diane's bewildered face at the door, though she was taken aback by his presence, as if she had forgotten to decide upon a proper question. A cloud in the memory lifted when she finally remembered his name and ushered him inside. He sensed at once the difference in the household, old troubles vanquished, new ones in their place. Tightening the belt of her robe, Diane hurried off to find Norah, clueless as though she had misplaced a shoe or set of keys. She looked at the coat hooks, the dining table, and even the closet beneath the stairs. She called for the girl in a hoarse whisper usually reserved by those desperately hoping not to wake a sleeping baby. When Norah finally appeared from the kitchen, she seemed altered too. More subdued, less luminous, dark circles around her eyes.
“Up late?” he asked.
“Quiet, they're still in bed.”
He wondered for a moment if she had fallen ill or had suffered some dark consequence from the incident with the police, but when she flung her bookbag over her shoulder and raced past him, he knew he would have to struggle just to catch and keep up with her.
When she saw the women clustered in front of the school like sheep in a glen, Norah slowed to a normal clip and stopped Sean to talk before they were noticed.
“She's come back,” she said. “Last night. Just as I hoped. Mary Gavin.”
“Who is Mary Gavin?”
Incredulous, she rolled her eyes. “That's what she calls herself now. Mrs. Quinn's daughter, Erica. She's in seclusion.”
“The one that's been missing?”
A face in the crowd stared in their direction. A hand pointed, an arm drawn erect as a rifle. Above them, the flags beat against the flagpoles.
“The one. The time is here.”
The mothers spotted her in unison, raised their heads across the plain, and tensed.
Sean took no notice. “Mrs. Quinn must be so happy. How did she find her?”
“You and I showed her the way. Listen, you cannot tell a soul. If anyone knew she was here, the police would come and take her away. They think she is guilty, but she has paid for her sins. Promise you will not tell.”
With one finger, he drew a cross over his heart.
The women huddled on the lawn.
“You ought to go on ahead,” Norah said.
Hands balled into fists, the scowling mothers hastened toward them.
“I'll stay with you.”
“You'll wish that you hadn't.”
And the mothers fell upon the children and tore the pair to pieces with their words.
21
All morning long, after absentmindedly sending the child to school, Diane watched the dance between mother and daughter. Margaret could not keep from touching Erica each time they passed, to assert her claim on her daughter's reality and continuity. To say you are mine once more.
Diane kept the conversation going, kept the music playing to push them past their awkwardness with each other. She put on the kettle, buttered the skillet, toasted the bread. “Talked with an old friend of yours, Maggie. Very discreetly, of course, he'd do nothing to hurt you after all these years. More than a friend, eh? Jackson. He's still as handsome as ever, would rock your rocking chair. He says that Mary here—that is, Erica Quinn—is still a wanted woman. The choice is to turn herself in and pay her debt to society or keep hidden.”
“I can't stay too long, Mom. Too many people here remember me.” The reality of her statement rolled across the kitchen table and struck Margaret in the chest. She drew in a deep breath and studied her hands vined round a teacup. Her daughter leaned forward. “You could always come with me to New Mexico.”
A second wave washed over her. She slumped back in her chair. “But what about Norah?”
Diane cleared her throat and set two plates of eggs before them. “I spoke with Jackson about her as well, hypothetically of course. He seems to think, from what I described, that she has got to be some sort of runaway, and I agree. Maybe a foster child. An orphan.”
The thought seemed to stun Margaret. Erica rose and went to her side, crouching like a child at eye level. “Tell us the truth, Mom. How did you find her?”
“She arrived in the middle of the night, freezing cold and hardly a stitch on her. I only meant to keep her for the night and see to it in the morning to send her back. I let her sleep in your room, Erica. Just so she'd have a warm place to stay. If you'd seen her, poor thing, you'd have done the same.”
“Did she ever say where she came from?” Diane asked.