Just us. He means no Emmanuel or Veronica. The eyes in the mirror get wider. Had they considered coming? What would I do if they were actually standing out there now, waiting for me to emerge? What would it feel like to hear Emmanuel’s voice coming through the door? Or Veronica’s?
“Agnes.” Mom again. “I know it’s been an incredibly stressful few days. I can’t even imagine what you’ve all been through. But please come out and talk to us about it. Let us help you.”
Let us help you until we get back to Mount Blessing. Then you’ll be Emmanuel’s problem.
“I’m not ready,” the mouth says again. Dad sighs exasperatedly. Mom is talking to him in a low voice. They walk away from the door, probably going over to stand by Nana Pete in the bedroom next door.
“Mother,” I hear Dad say in a low voice. There is the squeak of bedsprings as he sits down. “Oh, Ma.” His voice collapses into his throat.
My eyes jerk at the sound, as if awakening suddenly. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard Dad’s voice waver. I blink a few times. A shudder ripples involuntarily through me, and the tips of my fingers tingle. I watch the eyes in the mirror shrink down to their regular size. They’re still empty, but I recognize them now as mine. I reach out for the bathroom doorknob and close my fingers around it. It’s cold, like a ball of ice. I turn it slowly and open the door, following the sound of my father’s fractured voice.
“Agnes,” Mom whispers as I come into view. She is sitting on the opposite side of the bed, holding Benny on her lap. Dad looks at me, smearing the tears away from his face with the heels of his hands. I walk over between them as they hold their arms out and pull me in tightly. Above me, Benny sniffles into my hair.
“Let’s go home,” Dad says.
Home.
I close my eyes and nod, holding on to Benny’s foot for dear life.
There is a female police officer standing in the hallway outside Lillian’s bedroom when we emerge. She is talking to a short, fat man with a tweed cap on his head. He tips the hat in Dad’s direction and sticks out his hand.
“I’m the Chatham County coroner,” he says in a syrupy drawl. “If you’re ready, I’ll perform my examination.” Dad nods somberly and adjusts the belt cord around his robe. “It won’t take long,” the man says, glancing over at Mom and Benny, who are still in the room. “Why don’t y’all just wait downstairs? I’ll come down when I’m finished.”
For some reason, Benny has a problem with this. When Mom takes his hand and leads him away from the bed, he pulls back and starts squealing. “Unnhh! Unnhh!”
Mom looks alarmed. “What is it, Benedict?”
He shakes his head and points his finger at Nana Pete. “Unnhh!” The coroner takes his hat off and places it on the sheet next to Nana Pete’s feet.
“Please,” he says. “I can’t get started unless he is out of the room.”
Without a word, Dad reaches over, scoops Benedict up, and carries him out of the room. Mom and I follow him down the steps. Lillian and Honey are sitting as still as statues on the yellow couch in the living room. Mr. Pibbs is curled up next to Lillian, sound asleep. Benny’s unhh noises get fainter and fainter until, as the two of them disappear out the front door, I can barely hear them at all anymore. A faint terror, like a spider, crawls along the inside of my chest.
“He’s having a hard time with this,” the policewoman says, looking at me. I don’t know if it’s a statement or a question, and so I don’t answer her. Mom puts her hand on top of my head.
“They both are,” she says softly. “She was their grandmother. They loved her very much.” Mom’s hand feels like a rock. I step out from under it and walk away from her, out the front door.
I spot Dad and Benny a few minutes later sitting under the gigantic tree on the far side of the yard. It is very dark now; the air, heavy and warm, feels like a skin. Benny is cradling his injured hand in his lap, rocking it back and forth like a baby. As I get closer, I can hear him humming to himself. It’s the odd little tune he started under the blankets in the room, something between a cry and a whine. Dad’s legs are pulled up like a tent under his robe and his head is tipped back against the tree trunk. His eyes are closed.
“Stop it, Benedict,” I hear him say. His voice is low and tired. I stop walking. Benny keeps humming, not even pausing at the sound of Dad’s voice. The hum gets louder, more desperate sounding, as if he has lost something and the world as he knows it depends on it being found right now. Dad exhales sharply and without opening his eyes, grabs Benny’s arms. “I said stop it!” he barks.