Chapter 6
This was one of the odder things about having been married to a famous man, she was discovering; two years later, people were still condoling with her. She guessed the same would be true two years further along. Maybe ten. The idea was depressing. "Thank you, Dr. Munsinger."
He nodded, then got back to business, which was a relief. "Case histories having to do with this sort of thing in adult women are pretty thin on the ground. Most commonly we see self-mutilation in - "
There was just time for Lisey to imagine him finishing with - kids like that weepy brat in the next room, and then there was a tremendous crash from the waiting area, followed by a confusion of shouts. The door to EXAMINATION ROOM 2 was jerked open and the nurse was there. She seemed bigger somehow, as if trouble had caused her to swell.
"Doctor, can you come?"
Munsinger didn't excuse himself, just boogied. Lisey respected him for that: SOWISA. She got to the door in time to see the good doctor almost knock down the teenage girl, who'd emerged from EXAMINATION ROOM 1 to check out what was going on, and then bump a gawking Amanda into her sister's arms so hard that they both almost went over. The State Cop and the County Mounty were standing around the seemingly uninjured boy who'd been waiting to make a call. He now lay on the floor either unconscious or in a faint. The boy with the gash in his cheek continued to talk on the phone as if nothing had happened. That made Lisey think of a poem Scott had once read to her - a wonderful, terrible poem about how the world just went on rolling without giving a ( shite)
good goddam how much pain you were in. Who had written it? Eliot? Auden? The man who had also written the poem about the death of the ball-turret gunner? Scott could have told her. In that moment she would have given every cent she had if she could have turned to him and asked which of them had written that poem about suffering. 11
"Are you sure you'll be all right?" Darla asked. She was standing in the open door of Amanda's little house an hour or so later, the mild June nightbreeze frisking around their ankles and leafing through the pages of a magazine on the hall table. Lisey made a face. "If you ask me that again, I'm gonna throw you out on your head. We'll be fine. Some cocoa - which I'll help her with, since cups are going to be hard for her in her current condish - "
"Good," Darla said. "Considering what she did with the last one."
"Then off to bed. Just two Debusher old maids, without a single dildo between em."
"Very funny."
"Tomorrow, up with the sun! Coffee! Cereal! Off to fill her prescriptions! Back here to soak the hands! Then, Darla-darlin, you're on duty!"
"Just as long as you're sure."
"I am. Go home and feed your cat."
Darla gave her a final doubtful look, followed by a peck on the cheek and her patented sideways hug. Then she walked down the crazy-paving toward her little car. Lisey closed the door, locked it, and glanced at Amanda, sitting on the couch in a cotton nightie, looking serene and at peace. The title of an old gothic romance floated through her mind...one she might have read as a teenager. Madam, Will You Talk?
"Manda?" she said softly.
Amanda looked up at her, and her blue Debusher eyes were so wide and trusting that Lisey didn't think she could lead Amanda toward what it was that she, Lisey, wanted to hear about: Scott and bools, Scott and blood-bools. If Amanda came to it on her own, perhaps as they lay together in the dark, that would be one thing. But to take her there, after the day Amanda had just put in?
You've had quite a day yourself, little Lisey.
That was true, but she didn't think it justified disturbing the peace she now saw in Amanda's eyes.
"What is it, Little?"
"Would you like some cocoa before bed?"
Amanda smiled. It made her years younger. "Cocoa before bed would be lovely."
So they had cocoa, and when Amanda had trouble with her cup, she found herself a crazily twisted plastic straw - it would have been perfectly at home on the shelves of the Auburn Novelty Shop - in one of her kitchen cupboards. Before dunking one end in her cocoa, she held it up to Lisey (tweezed between two fingers, just as the doctor had shown her) and said, "Look, Lisey, it's my brain. "
For a moment Lisey could only gape, unable to believe she had actually heard Amanda making a joke. Then she cracked up. They both did.
12
They drank their cocoa, took turns brushing their teeth just as they had so long ago in the farmhouse where they'd grown up, and then went to bed. And once the bedside lamp was out and the room was dark, Amanda spoke her sister's name.
Oboy, here it comes, Lisey thought uneasily. Another diatribe at good old Charlie. Or...is it the bool? Is it something about that, after all? And if it is, do I really want to hear?