Winifred gave her a pat and me a warning look before she left and shut the door behind her. Mona paused again. She seemed to be collecting her energy.
“All these people keep asking about me. Doing things for me. I can’t stand it. It’s not about me, Del. I would feel this way for the rest of my life if she could just be alive. It wouldn’t matter if I never saw her again, never hugged her. I would cut off my hands and feet just to know her heart was beating. That she was breathing and smiling and living somewhere. How can I live knowing she’s not? I can’t bear it, Del. I can’t bear it.”
She pressed her lips together, fighting for control.
“You have to take it one day at a time, Mona. Just focus on what’s next.”
She nodded. “Winifred says you learn how to live with it, that the grief becomes your new child.”
“She lost two; she would know.”
Mona nodded and took a deep breath, changing the topic.
“Bud says you don’t know about the DNA yet.”
“No, not yet. And I know Bud’s upset.”
“We’re all upset, Del.”
“No, I didn’t mean about—I meant—” Christ, I didn’t know how to handle women. Maybe if I’d been married for more than two seconds, I’d be better at this sort of thing. Mona saw my floundering and, despite what had just been robbed from her, still had the good grace to step in.
“Bud told me about your call this morning. He was angry. He expected more from you.”
“Mona—”
“I know, Del. You have to do your job. I know about disclosure and what you can and can’t say. I used to read detective novels.” Her gaze dropped. “For fun.”
“I’m not trying to keep Bud in the dark about anything.” I didn’t even realize it was a lie until the words were already out. I kept talking, just like the lying criminals did, trying to justify it, to make it better. “Once we get the DNA back, the whole game’s gonna change. Hattie’s killer’s not going to be able to hide for long. Believe me.”
She looked up again and I saw she trusted me. She trusted her friend of twenty-five years to find her daughter’s killer, and even though I knew I was doing the right thing keeping this Lund thing quiet, it still tore at me. It turned my stomach.
“Bud will understand later. He’ll calm down.”
I knew he might understand if he ever had to find out the whole truth, but I didn’t know if he’d forgive me for keeping it from him. I shook my head, needing to move on.
“What did you want to tell me about Hattie?”
“I’ve been thinking.” She took a deep breath. “I didn’t remember it when you came to the house. There was too much . . .”
She shook her head, looking like she was willing the tears back so she could get out what she needed to say.
“It was three weeks ago, during Hattie’s spring break. She was supposed to be working on Friday, but when I stopped up at the pharmacy for my pills, she wasn’t there. She’d left in the morning wearing her smock and her name tag. The girl who checked me out said she hoped Hattie was feeling better. I didn’t say anything. I just nodded.
“When I went home, Hattie was still gone and she didn’t answer her phone. She wasn’t at Tommy’s or Portia’s. After another hour went by, I went into her room. I usually don’t. Teenagers like to be left to themselves, you know, and Hattie never did anything that made me worry, so I gave her space. But when I still hadn’t heard from her I went in and started looking around.”
She took a deep breath. “It was in her computer.”
“What was?” I asked, wondering if I already knew the answer, but I didn’t.
She pulled some papers out of her purse and pushed them across the desk.
“I printed it before she got home. I’m not exactly sure why. I knew I wasn’t going to show Bud. Hattie was his little girl, his angel. He’s loved that child stupid since the day we brought her home from the hospital.”
The paper was a chart of some kind. On the left side there was a column that said Character and then a bunch of names. I skimmed down until I saw Tommy. Next to the character column were other headings. Under Through line, she’d written Sex and acceptance; under Needs she’d written To be told what to do, to fit in, to slobber all over me; and under the last column, Stage Direction, was Tell him he’s just like Derek. Keep him in social scenes. No more private parties.
“What is this, Mona?”
I looked at a few more. Bud’s Through line was Farm and family. The stage direction for Portia was Talk about Portia as much as humanly possible without puking. Hard not to smile at that one. I’d done a fair amount of talking to Portia lately, myself.
“That’s what I asked her when she came home. She looked sad and a little windblown, red nose and eyes. She’d been outside somewhere. I demanded to know where she’d been and why she lied to her boss. She said it wasn’t any of my business, that she was eighteen and an adult and could do whatever she wanted.”