…
And then there was this. When I read about Richard’s funeral in the newspaper and saw the things that people on TV were saying about me, I asked Eve to please tell Richard’s wife how I knew it was all my fault and I was so sorry. So very sorry. I asked her to please thank the lady so much for saving my life. And Eve said, “Maybe you should thank her yourself. Would you like that?” It seems telling her myself was all part of having options.
My hospital room looked out at trees and a thin river, and was maybe only two miles from Richard’s house. I guess it was near the cemetery, too.
The day after the funeral, Eve made phone calls and got phone calls back. She said if this worked out, if Richard’s wife came to hospital, it would just be our secret. It was nothing police guys ever had to know. No way. So, I understood she was breaking some rule, but so much of my life was breaking rules and she was doing me big favor, I didn’t care. I wanted to do one nice thing and tell this widow that her husband was good man and she was good lady.
Eve talked on her phone in the hallway outside my hospital room a couple of times. Then she came back in and said, “She’s on her way here. Right now. She’s bringing her daughter.”
…
I wanted to put on makeup and lipstick, but I had none and Eve would not lend me hers. She said it didn’t matter how I looked. I must have been fretting like crazy girl, so Eve said—lying maybe—that I looked fine.
And then there they were. In my hospital room. A mom and her little girl. A widow, like my mom. A girl with no dad, like me.
“I’m Kristin,” the lady said, her voice wobbly. “And this is Melissa.”
The girl looked at me with wide eyes, but said nothing. She stood right beside her mom at the edge of the hospital bed. She was wearing a pink puffer coat. Lots of down in the puffs. Kristin had on the same navy coat she’d been wearing the day we saw each other for the first time, and I got shot and Richard got killed. She was pale and looked very tired. Maybe sickly.
“I’m Alexandra.”
Eve looked at me and said, “You can tell them your real name. If you want.”
“I’m Anahit.”
“Armenian, right?” asked Richard’s wife. Her voice was very soft. I had to listen carefully to hear.
I nodded. Then I said, “Thank you. You saved my life.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I bet lots of women would have let me die.”
“No. I hope that’s not true.” Then she said, “I don’t know how much my husband told you about us. Melissa here is nine.” The girl nodded. She was wearing very colorful stockings on her legs. Looked like raining books. “She wanted to come, too.”
“Hi,” said the girl, and with one hand she gave me a very small wave. I think she was a little scared of me—of what I was.
“Hi,” I said back. “I like your stockings.”
“They’re tights,” said Richard’s wife. “Not stockings. They’re tights.”
“Thank you,” said the girl.
“Richard told me a little about you two. He loved you lots. I know that. He loved you so much.”
“Why don’t you both sit down,” suggested Eve, and she pointed at the empty bed and then at this ugly orange chair. “Want me to bring you some coffee or a juice?”
“No, we’re just going to be here a minute,” Richard’s wife said. I was glad she didn’t want any coffee or a juice. I didn’t want Eve to leave us alone. But Kristin sat in the chair, and Melissa put her hands on the mattress of the other bed and hopped onto it. She unzipped her coat but didn’t take it off. For what felt like very long minute, but probably wasn’t all that long really, we sat in silence. I wanted to tell little girl it is overrated thing to be pretty. It is overrated thing to be fetching. It is overrated thing to bathe in the light like a star. But I didn’t know where to begin.
“Are you in a lot of pain?” Richard’s wife asked me finally.
“No.” Then I added, “Not like you.”
“It’s different.”
It was, but I didn’t say anything. Biggest difference? I would get better. She wouldn’t. Little girl wouldn’t. Hopefully, little girl wouldn’t become whore like me. I didn’t see why she would. She still had her mother. She still had a nice house. But I guess you never know. Maybe they would leave that house. Maybe they should leave that house.
Kristin took a big breath and sighed. Then: “After the funeral, Richard’s brother, Philip—the bachelor—told me I should steer clear of somebody named Spencer. Just ignore him, no matter what. I have a feeling you know why.”