“The new…” I take this in for a second. “What happened to Eric?”
“Come in out of the cold,” she says, and I do. She shuts the door and takes my coat. “It’s my second day,” she tells me. “Do you have a family member here? We did send a letter explaining the change—”
“Oh no, I’m not family. I used to be the cook here. And the cleaner.”
Her expression becomes more guarded. “Oh. Well, Eric is … no longer with the business.”
“No longer with the business? What happened?”
“I’m sorry, I really can’t say.”
“Oh.”
“Can I help you with something? What was your name?”
“Eve,” I say, offering my hand. “Eve Bennett. Actually, I’m here to see Clara. Laurie called me.”
“Of course,” she says. “Come this way.”
We start down the hall. It’s strange, being a visitor here. I remember my interview, when Angus led me inside to Eric’s office. It feels like forever ago. As we walk, Denise waves at a family member coming out of Bert’s room and helps a young woman pushing the cleaning cart to pick up the pile of towels she has dropped. (They’d hired a cleaner!)
I stop suddenly. “Denise?”
“Yes?”
“Can you at least tell me … Eric wasn’t … up to anything untoward, was he? With the residents? I mean, can you at least tell me that?”
She gives me a long, assessing look. Then she exhales. “Let’s just say that Eric was far too busy doing creative accounting to be bothering with much else. And that, at least, is something to be grateful for.”
Creative accounting? All at once everything clicks into place. The tiny grocery budget. The merging of the cook and cleaner position. Eric’s fancy new car.
“That slimy rotten…”
As Denise’s lips start to upcurve, I feel a rush of relief. And I have a feeling that Rosalind House is now in exactly the right hands.
*
When I enter Clara’s bedroom, her eyes are closed. Laurie lies by her side, awake, staring as her face flickers and dances with new sleep. I watch for a moment from the doorway, then back away quietly.
“Eve.” Laurie spots me right before I disappear out the door. He smiles and starts to sit up.
“Stay where you are,” I say. “Please. Seeing you two lying there, it gives me faith in love.”
Laurie ignores me and pushes himself upright. “A pretty young girl like you, you shouldn’t need help finding faith in love.”
I laugh. “You might be surprised.”
Laurie watches me, waiting in that way I’ve become accustomed to these last few months. At Rosalind House, I’ve discovered a whole new way of being listened to.
“I don’t want to talk about me,” I say. “How is Clara?”
Laurie casts a glance down at her. “It won’t be long now.”
“Is she suffering?”
“I don’t think so. She’s asleep mostly. She’s been saying some strange things.” He continues staring at her, adoring, but his expression is mingled with puzzlement. “She told me about something she did, a long time ago. A secret she’s been keeping.” Finally he strips his eyes off her and looks at me. “A confession. She said she stole me from her sister—a hundred years ago, when we were kids.” His laugh is empty. “She said her death wish was to put things right, to”—he laughs again—“to reunite us.”
A knot ties itself, deep in my belly. She did tell him.
“It makes me sick to think that, when she knew she was going to die, this is what she was thinking about.”
“Is it true?” I ask. “Did she steal you … from her sister?”
Laurie shrugs like it’s the most insignificant detail in the world. “Probably. But if she did, it was the best thing that ever happened to me. What upsets me most is that she thought this would undo everything we had. Sixty years of marriage. Every memory … every moment.”
I think of Richard. Of all the time we spent together that I’d rendered meaningless because of how things went in the end.
“And”—I swallow—“it doesn’t?”
“Of course it doesn’t.”
“But if something starts on a lie—”
He makes a noise like bah. “You might start something on a lie, or finish it on a lie, but that doesn’t mean that everything in the middle isn’t the truth.” He smiles a sad smile. “Nothing can undo time.”
Finally, for both me and Laurie, the tears begin to roll.
“So what did you say?” I ask finally. “Did you … grant her wish?”
He laughs. “I told her I’m the husband, so my wishes come first.” He rolls back into a lying position and tosses an arm over Clara’s waist. “And my wish is to have the love of my life die in my arms.”
*