Miss Scott looked almost cross for a moment. “Cora does a great deal too much talking. You want to see your husband, don’t you?”
Lucille pressed her hands to her heart. I want to see Andrew, to go home with him, to live with him all of my life, never even bothering to see anyone else.
“No, I don’t,” she said.
“Very well, I’ll tell Dr. Goodrich. You may stay up here.”
When she had gone Lucille sat down on the edge of the bed. She was barely conscious. Though her body was upright and her eyes open, it was as if she was almost asleep and her mind in labor and heaving with dreams, little faces, willow fingers, roses of blood, clotherings and a pellet of rice, did you count the spoons, nurse? hard dead flesh of macaroni, doing as well as can be expected, are these roses for me, for me, for me?
Willow drowned in a tub. Soft dead willow floating hair and headache in a tub.
Superintendent!
How smooth, how dear, how dead. Come Cora Cora, come Cora.
Super — in — ten — dent!
Grape eyes mashed, rotten nose splashed on a wall, I’m sure you’ll love the soup today, it floats the willow, nursie, nursie...
Suddenly she leaned over and began to retch.
Miss Scott came running. “Mrs. Morrow! Here. Head down. Head down, please.”
She pressed Lucille’s head down against her knees and held it. “Breathe deeply, that’s right, that’s better. We’ll be fine again in a minute. It must have been something you ate.”
Miss Scott took her hands away, and slowly Lucille raised her head. She knew Miss Scott was there, she could see her and hear her, but Miss Scott wasn’t really there, she was a cloud of white smoke, you could wave her away with your hands, blow her away, she didn’t matter, she couldn’t do anything, she wasn’t there.
“Would you like a glass of water, Mrs. Morrow? Here, let me wipe your mouth, you’ve bitten your lip. There now do we feel better?”
(Didums bitums ittle ip?)
“There, drink this. I’m sure you’re upset because you didn’t go down to see your family. They’re awfully worried about you, you know. You wouldn’t want to upset them, would you now?”
Miss Scott expected no answer. She went to the dresser and picked up a comb and began to comb Lucille’s hair. Then she brushed off Lucille’s dress and straightened the belt. Passive, indifferent, Lucille allowed herself to be guided through the door.
“We felt it was better for you to meet your family in Dr. Goodrich’s office, not in the common room. Here we are. Would you like to go in alone?”
Lucille shook her head. She meant to shake it just once, but she couldn’t seem to stop, she felt her head shaking and shaking. Briskly, Miss Scott reached up and steadied it.
The door opened and Dr. Goodrich came out into the corridor. Miss Scott frowned at him and tipped her head almost imperceptibly toward Lucille.
“I see,” he said. “Come in, Mrs. Morrow. Here is your family.”
Andrew came over to her and kissed her cheek. The others sat stiffly on the leather couch, as if they didn’t know what was expected of them.
Then Edith, too, rose and came toward her.
“Lucille, dear,” she said, and their cheeks touched for an instant in the old familiar gesture.
Lucille stood, rubbing and rubbing her cheek.
(Here is your family. At least they said it was your family, and there was some faint resemblance to Andrew in the tall man. But the girl, who was she? And the young man? And the scraggly hag who’d kissed her? Ho, ho, ho, ho. What a joke! But she knew.)
“Hello, Lucille.”
“It’s nice to see you again, Lucille.”
“Hello, Lucille. I like your hair-do.”
“Will you sit down, Mrs. Morrow?”
“We’ve been so worried about you, Lucille, not letting us know or anything...”
(That was the hag who wasn’t Edith. Her voice was Edith’s, high, piercing, thin as a wire, but Edith had never looked like this, a dried and shriveled mummy with sick-yellow skin. Yet... yet...)
“Edith?” she said, her face wrinkling in pain and bewilderment. “Is that you, Edith?” She looked slowly around the room. “And you, Andrew? And you, Polly — Martin...? This is a surprise. I didn’t know you were coming.”
(There was something wrong about that, but it wasn’t important, she would figure it out later.)
“This is a surprise. I feel so confused.”
Andrew brought her a chair, and when she sat down he stood beside her, his hand on her shoulder, strong and steady.
“If you have any troubles, Lucille,” he said gently, “share them with us. That’s what a family is for.”
“So confused — and tired.”
“You can trust us, darling. Whatever is bothering you, it’s probably not nearly as bad as you think it is.” He looked over at Polly and Martin. “Tell her, tell her, Polly, Martin, tell her we’re all behind her, whatever...”
“Of course,” Polly said stiffly. “Of course. Lucille knows that.”
“Sure,” Martin said, but he didn’t look across the room at her.
“If you’d tell us what happened,” Edith said shrilly. “There’s been so much mystery. I’m worried half to death. What did the man...?”
“I’m so tired,” Lucille said. “I’m sure you’ll excuse me.”
She moved slightly.
“Please!” Andrew said and tightened his grip on her shoulder. “Please!”
With a sudden cry she wrenched herself out of his grasp and ran to the door. An instant later Dr. Goodrich was in the corridor beside her.
Edith clung to Andrew. Her body was shaking with silent sobs and her hands clawed desperately at his coat sleeve. “Take me home, Andrew, please take me home, I’m frightened! She is — she really is crazy! I’ll be like that some day, I know it, she’s just my age...”
“Behave yourself,” Andrew said, and looked down at her with an ugly smile. “People with as little sense as you have rarely lost it. Law of compensation, Edith.”
Martin was lighting a cigarette. He seemed absorbed in the flare of the match, as if by watching it he could learn something vital.
“I hate to be wise after the fact,” he said, “but I think we’ve underestimated Lucille. We shouldn’t have come. She knows that Polly and I have never been friendly to her. It’s not anybody’s fault, it just happened like that. If she ran away from the lot of us on Monday what reason had we for thinking she was going to break down and confess all on Friday?”
He glanced over at Polly who was staring sulkily down at the floor. “Certainly the sight of Polly’s sunny little face isn’t going to do anyone any good.”
“Take a look at your own,” Polly said.
“I have. I grant it doesn’t measure up. Still, I try. A for effort.”
“Oh, it’s so terrible!” Edith cried. “There they are wrangling again as if — as if they didn’t care where they were — and poor Lucille — she doesn’t matter to them!”
“She matters a great deal,” Polly said with a dry little smile. “Or haven’t you noticed? She matters so much that I wasn’t married today, that my fiancé couldn’t even stay in the same house with me... She’s managed to mess things up very nicely for me.”
“Don’t be mawkish,” Martin said. “Giles was polite enough to leave until things were settled.”
“Sure.” Polly shrugged. “Very polite of him.”
“You sound like the deserted bride.”
“How should I sound? He might have stood by me for a while until...”
Martin’s voice sliced her sentence. “Since when are you the type that asks to be stood by? Or even wants it?”