Mrs. Fetters put her arm around Sabine's waist and pulled her close; with her other hand she petted the rabbit's head. Sabine felt Mrs. Fetters' soft midsection against her hip. Dot Fetters smelled like vanilla.
"Smile," Bertie said.
Places were exchanged. There was a picture of Bertie and Sabine and then one that Sabine took of Bertie and her mother, Bertie holding the rabbit. There they were, in Parsifal's yard, in Phan's yard. Maybe Parsifal had done the best that he could, going on with his life without them, maybe the Nebraska Boys Reformatory Facility was something that no one could be forgiven for, but Sabine couldn't help but think he would have liked these people. It was a shame that he had spent his life without this love that was available to him. "You'll send me copies," Sabine said.
"You bet," Mrs. Fetters said.
Rabbit was tired of being held and he squirmed and kicked in hopes of being set down in the sweet dichondra. Sabine was always afraid he would find his way under the fence or fall into the pool and drown. It was only on the rarest of occasions, only when she was right there all the time, watching, that he was allowed in the yard.
After the dishes were put away and bags were packed, it really was time to go to the airport, although no one seemed to be in a hurry to leave. Mrs. Fetters saw that there was a bit more coffee left in the pot and decided to go ahead and drink it.
"It hardly makes any sense to come all the way here and not see anything," Sabine said, her voice sounding wistful in a way that she could not entirely account for. "If you wanted to stay a couple of extra days, you could stay here. I'd pay to have your tickets changed."
Bertie smiled, her blue eyes bright and clear like her brother's. The more Sabine looked at her, the more beautiful she became. "You're sweet," she said. "It would be heaven to stay, but I've got to get back to work, and besides, I've got to see Haas."
Sabine thought for a minute, scanned back over conversations. "God, Bertie, I don't even know what you do."
"I teach first grade. They got a sub for Friday, but Monday I have to be back."
Swarms of children, pots of thick white paste and snub-nosed scissors, construction-paper leaves in red and yellow taped to the windows. "First grade," Sabine said.
"Oh, Bertie's the best," Mrs. Fetters said. "She got the teaching award for the whole school last year."
Bertie shrugged. "It's a good job."
"Anyway," Mrs. Fetters said, "Kitty counts on me to help her with the boys, and we've got this wedding to plan for. But it won't be that long till we see you. You'll come to the wedding?"
The last wedding Sabine had been to was her own, and she couldn't tell the Fetters her best memories from that day. Parsifal danced with the rabbi, who was a remarkably good dancer, while the band played "Girl From Ipanema." Architects lined up to kiss the bride and one by one brushed their lips to her ear, begging her to meet them later in the evening. There was talk in the crowd of putting Parsifal and Sabine into chairs and lifting the chairs above their heads and dancing out onto the street, but people were drunk by then, their train of thought was easily lost. "Maybe I'll come to the wedding," Sabine said.
What they accomplished by their dallying was the elimination of time for long good-byes. All the way to the airport they looked at their watches, wondering if they would make the plane. They were silent in the car. There was too much left to say and not enough time. There was no one place to start. Sabine wanted to ask what subjects Parsifal had liked in school as a boy. Had he done well, was he interested in magic? And what about his father? Did Parsifal ever say what had happened at the boys' reformatory? Had they ever gone to visit him there? Sabine wanted to say that even if Mrs. Fetters wasn't in the market for forgiveness, Sabine forgave her anyway, because as they took the San Diego Freeway towards the airport, she knew with sudden, utter clarity that his mother had not understood what she was doing, and, if she had, she never, never would have done it. But Sabine said none of this. She parked the car, checked their bag, and led them through the snaking concourse without a word. The Fetters no longer seemed interested in LAX.
At the gateway, in clear view of so many strangers, Mrs. Fetters began to cry.
"Don't," Sabine said. "You have to go."
"You were so sweet to us."
"You'll come back," Sabine said. "You'll come back and stay for as long as you want."
"You shouldn't be by yourself." Mrs. Fetters slid her fingers beneath her glasses. "I've got my girls and the kids. I don't want you to have to be alone."
"I'll be fine," Sabine said.
The crowds moved around them, pressing them closer together. From overhead came an endless stream of information: If stand-by passengers would please… Rows twenty-nine through seventeen… announcing the arrival… final boarding… Ladies and gentlemen, there's been a delay…
"That's us," Bertie said, but Sabine didn't know which part she was referring to.
Mrs. Fetters stepped back, stepped directly onto a five-year-old girl with lank yellow hair, who shot out from under her foot and ran away for all she was worth. Mrs. Fetters did not notice. "You'll come with us," she said, her voice filled with wonder at her own good idea. The plan that would solve everything. Sabine would come with them.
"Now?"
"Get on the plane. You have the money. We can get some clothes, whatever you need. Come home with us."
Bertie looked at them, interested.
"I can't come with you. I have to go home." She held Dot Fetters in her arms for a moment and then let her go. "Who would feed Rabbit?"
"Mama, we're boarding," Bertie said.
"It's not a bad idea," Mrs. Fetters said. "Even if it's not right now."
A tall black flight attendant in a tight blue suit stared at them from her podium and then gestured with her head towards the door. All the other tickets had been collected. Everyone was onboard, ready to go.
"Good-bye, Sabine," Bertie said, and kissed her quickly. "I hope you come. I really do." She took her mother's arm and guided her towards the door, making Dot Fetters appear older than she was. When they handed in their tickets Dot blew a kiss and waved. Sabine felt sure they would come back, one more idea, something else to tell, but they turned around and then they were gone, down into the tunnel that would take them to the plane that would take them to Nebraska.
Sabine stayed to watch the plane take off, and even after it left she stayed. All around her people were crying in the wake of arrivals and departures. They clung to one another as if a plane had nearly crashed or was about to crash. They held their children, kissed their lovers. She heard their voices all around her-It's so good to see you… What will I do when you're gone… I thought you would never get here… Good-bye. The good-byes wore her out. She'd had enough of them.
In the days after the Fetters left, Sabine slipped back into bed, back into the deep nest of dark sheets and king-sized pillows. A late Santa Ana wind howled around the house and loosened the ivy from the gate. Low waves crested and broke in the swimming pool. The half-constructed mall sat in her studio, no walkways, no roof, the windowpanes sealed in polyurethane bags. Salvio called from the rug store and even before he asked his question, Sabine told him he would have to decide himself. She told him to decide everything. Most of the calls she didn't return, including a nervous message from Sam Spender, the magician. On television the local news focused on murder, suspicion, prosecution. What would that be like, to have someone to blame death on, to stand across the courtroom from that person and point them out, say, You, you took everything I had. Little did they know that everything they had would be taken anyway. The thought of accusation exhausted Sabine. There wasn't any order. There wasn't any sense in trying to find it. On the day she was due to go back to the hospital to have the stitches taken out of her hand, she sat on the bath mat and cut them with cuticle scissors and then pulled the stiff thread out with tweezers. They lay scattered on the white floor like the spiky legs of a disembodied insect. The scar was pretty, dark red and thin. It didn't hurt.