It’s also my responsibility to keep Mattie apprised on how the case is progressing. That entails relaying some of the details I’d been withholding to spare her the pain of knowing the “accident” was, in fact, something more sinister. None of it’s going to be pleasant, especially when I’m tired and cranky and increasingly distracted by the discovery of Lapp’s remains.
At the door to David’s room, I knock quietly and step inside. The air smells of an odd combination of medicine, flowers, and cinnamon. On the windowsill, a little brown teddy bear is tucked into a bouquet of pink carnations. Next to it, several gas-filled balloons tug at the ribbons that bind them to the wicker handle.
David sleeps soundly in the bed. The bruises on his face are in full bloom, but his color is healthy. Mattie is curled on the chair with her head resting on her hands, asleep. In the recliner, a heavyset Amish woman lies on her back, snoring softly. Next to her, a partially eaten tin of homemade cinnamon rolls makes my mouth water.
I’m debating whether to come back later when David speaks from his bed. “You want a cinnamon roll? They taste good.”
I glance over to see him sitting up, looking at me as if I’m some stray that’s wandered into the room and needs feeding.
“Hey.” I feel a smile spread across my face as I go to the bed. “How are you feeling?”
“My arm hurts and I miss my datt and Norah and Sam.” Using his uninjured arm, he brushes his hand over a cast that runs from wrist to elbow. “It’s broken.”
“I’m sorry about that.” I look down at the cast to see that someone by the name of Matthew drew a cat on it. “I like the artwork.”
His face splits into a big smile. “We have two cats at home. Whiskers and Frito. They’re my favorites. I like it when they purr because it tickles my ear.”
“I like cats, too.”
“Mamm says Datt and Norah and Sam are with God.”
It hurts me to hear an innocent child make such a profound statement. I nod, not sure what to say to that.
His brows knit and I know he’s trying to understand the incomprehensible: why three people he loved are gone from his life and won’t be coming back. “I think they miss me and Mamm, too. But heaven is the happiest place in the world, so we shouldn’t be sad. One of these days, I’ll be there, too, and I’m going to play hide-and-seek with Sammy and botch with Norah.”
I’m not much on touching, but this little boy is so sweet and vulnerable, I can’t keep myself from reaching out and laying my hand over his. He looks up at me expectantly. I want badly to say something to comfort him, to reinforce and confirm what Mattie has already told him. But I find myself so moved I can’t speak.
“Katie?”
I turn to see Mattie rise from the chair. She looks rested, and for the first time since the accident, she’s not crying.
“I hope I didn’t wake you,” I say.
“I must have drifted off.” She looks past me and smiles at her son.
The boy grins back, and she returns her attention to me. “The doctor says he can go home tomorrow.”
For an instant, she almost looks like the girl I once knew. The one with the infectious laugh and mischievous expression. But grief returns quickly, making itself known in the hollows of her cheeks and the circles beneath her eyes. “That’s great news,” I tell her. “How are you holding up?”
“These chairs aren’t exactly made for sleeping.” Putting her hand to her back, as if in pain, she chokes out a laugh. “I feel the way my brother must have felt the day he got tangled in the reins and the horse dragged him from the hayfield to the barn.”
I hadn’t thought of the incident in years, but it rushes back with enough clarity to make me laugh. I’d been at Mattie’s house, helping her and her older brother, John, spear tobacco. At some point her brother, who had a crush on me, decided he wanted to show off his horsemanship skills and hopped onto the back of a young plow horse. The animal bucked him off. John’s wrist somehow became tangled in the reins and the horse dragged him all the way to the barn.
The recliner across the room creaks. I glance over to see the Amish woman who’d been snoozing rise, eyeing me with unconcealed suspicion. “Hello,” she says.
I nod a greeting, then I turn my attention to Mattie. “Can I speak to you privately?” I motion toward the door. “In the hall?”
“Of course.” She looks at the woman. “Can you stay with David for a few minutes?” she asks in Pennsylvania Dutch.
“Ja.”
Mattie follows me into the hall. When we’re out of earshot of the room and the nurse’s station, I stop and turn to her. She’s looking at me expectantly, a little perplexed, and I still don’t know how to break the news. “I need to let you know,” I begin, “the driver that hit the buggy left the scene. It was a hit-and-run. We’re trying to find him.”
“What?” She stares at me in disbelief. “The person didn’t stop?”
“They didn’t stop. And they didn’t call the police. Failure to render aid is against the law, so we’re looking for the driver. I wanted to tell you because it’s all over the news. I wanted you to hear it from me.”