Breaking The Silence. Diane Chamberlain
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She called Stuart.
“They’re going to publish Ray’s book,” she said, explaining the situation to him. His reaction was the same as hers: joy tempered by anger that this had not happened sooner.
“I can barely tolerate the injustice of it,” Laura said.
“I know.” Stuart sighed. “But you know what, Laurie? Ray’s gone. Nothing will bring him back. And life goes on. So, would we rather have Ray dead and his work dead along with him? Or would we rather have his work live on?”
Laura smiled and lay back on the bed. “That’s a no-brainer,” she said.
“Okay,” Stuart said. “Then let’s break out the champagne tonight, you there and me here, and we’ll drink a toast to Ray.”
“Okay.” She shut her eyes, still tired, and still nettled by the situation.
“How’s my little niece?” Stuart changed the subject. “I hope she’s found her voice by now.”
“I’m afraid not.” Laura rolled onto her side. She could fall asleep in an instant. “Although I have her with a new therapist now who’s given me some hope that she’ll one day be a chatterbox again.”
“I sure hope so. I miss hearing that cute voice on the phone.” Stuart paused. “And how are you doing, Laurie?”
“Oh, I’m hanging in there.” She heard the sigh in her voice.
“You sound tired.”
She laughed. “Working two part-time jobs and doing round-the-clock research was a snap compared to full-time motherhood,” she said.
“Did you ever see that Sarah woman again?”
Laura had only spoken to Stuart a few times since Ray’s death, but he’d asked this question each time.
“I saw her yesterday, actually.”
“How come, hon?” Stuart asked. “Why are you bothering with her?”
“You know why. Because of my father, although I still don’t know what the connection is.”
“But do you really need that extra burden in your life right now?”
“You sound like Ray.” He did, actually. Not only did Stuart look like Ray, but his voice had that same deep intonation.
“Well, maybe Ray was trying to protect you from overextending yourself. You have a way of doing that, you know. You just said you’re tired.”
“Not tired, really,” she said. “Just stretched a bit. But I can afford one afternoon a week to go to Leesburg and check on Sarah. Talk to her and take her for a walk. Poor thing never gets out.”
“Does she still have Alzheimer’s?”
“Of course.” Stuart was beginning to irk her. “That doesn’t go away,” she said. “It only gets worse.”
“Must not be much you can talk to her about, then.”
“She still remembers a lot from the past.”
“Well, I hate to see you putting your limited time and energy into visiting her just because your dad laid a guilt trip on you.”
Laura rolled onto her back, truly irritated now. “It’s my life, Stu,” she said, an edge to her voice. “I know you’re upset about me seeing Sarah because it bothered Ray. But remember what you said. Ray’s gone. And life goes on.”
Stuart was quiet, and she regretted how harshly she’d spoken. She did not even completely believe her own words. Her guilt about Ray’s death was still very much alive.
“All right,” he said finally. “Sorry to hound you, Laurie. It’s your choice how you spend your time.”
Laura stared at the paneled ceiling. “Stuart…do you blame me for Ray’s death?” Was Ray’s suicide note still etched on Stuart’s mind?
“Oh, no, hon,” he said quickly. “Don’t ever think that. I’m just worried about you, that’s all.”
“Well, I’m okay,” she said. “So you can stop worrying.”
They spoke a few minutes longer, the conversation filled with niceties to ease the tension. When Laura hung up, she remained on the bed, listening to Emma’s footsteps in the hall. In a moment, Emma came into the room, bunny in her arms. She climbed onto the bed and snuggled next to Laura, and Laura put her arm around her, still frustrated by the conversation with Stuart. At least Emma wouldn’t question her choices. She peered down at her daughter’s face, at the unconditional love softening the little girl’s features. Emma was watching her, the whites of her eyes as milky as pearls.
“What are you thinking, sweetie?” Laura asked her.
There was no answer, of course, and Laura settled for pulling her mystery child closer.
9
“I’M SCARED,” LAURA SAID AS SHE TOOK A SEAT IN HEATHER’S office after participating in a play session with the therapist and Emma. “It seems like the longer she goes without speaking, the easier it is for her to stay mute. I’ve wondered if I should pretend not to understand what she wants when she communicates with gestures. Should I make her speak before she gets what she wants?”
“That may be the way to go sometime in the future,” Heather said, “but what she needs right now is support and reassurance that you’ll be there for her, no matter what. You’ll accept her and love her whether she speaks or not.”
Heather wore her blond hair down today, and it rested, thick and silky, on her shoulders. She had on a sundress and sandals. Compared to her usual outfits, this looked like formal wear.
“They won’t take her in kindergarten in the fall if she’s not talking,” Laura said. “I spoke with the principal.”
“If she’s not ready to start kindergarten, it won’t be the end of the earth. Lots of kids don’t start school right away. We can always find an appropriate school placement for her.”
“I just…” Laura shut her eyes with a sigh. “She’s always been so bright.”
“She still is, Laura.” Heather kicked off her sandals and lifted her legs onto the chair, covering them with the skirt of her sundress. “It was interesting having you in the session with us today,” she said. “I wondered if you noticed how different Emma was with you there. She’s very protective of you. Doesn’t want you to know how bad she feels.”
Laura reached for the box of tissues on Heather’s desk. “I don’t want her to have that burden,” she said, blotting her eyes. “She’s just a little girl.”
“You’ve raised her to be sensitive and empathetic. That’s not so bad.”
Laura blew her nose. “Ray raised her to be that way, really,” she said. “Remember, I told you how he taught her about the homeless.”
“You and Ray raised her together,” Heather said.
It seemed that Heather would not allow her to say anything positive about Ray without correcting her, but Laura opted to ignore her comment. “If she can’t talk openly with me there, would it be better for me to stay out of your sessions with her?” she asked.
“For a while, anyway,” Heather agreed. “You can watch from behind the mirror.”
“Okay.”
“The thing that still worries me more than anything is all the negative stuff about men,” Heather said. “She makes this hostile face every time she plays with any of the male dolls.”
“I noticed that,” Laura said. Emma’s disdain toward men had been impossible to ignore during the session.
“And