by Lisa Alber
“Nathan, stop,” Danny said.
The pitiful moan from Nathan’s deepest hell spread goosebumps across Danny’s arms. He ordered the closest spectators to grab Nathan’s limbs, which only made him struggle harder. He arched his back and banged his head against the ground. Merrit arrived and scrambled to sit cross-legged with her legs cushioning his head.
Zoe, meanwhile, stood frozen with hands over her mouth. She stooped next to her father, which incited him to struggle harder.
O’Neil appeared at Danny’s side. Danny hadn’t seen him previously. He clapped him on the back in relief. “Watch over Nathan. I’ll be back.”
Danny backtracked toward the communal tables with fury rising with every step. Sid stood where Danny had left him. As ever, he blended into the background, no one paying him any mind. Danny grabbed his arm and swung him around, forcing Sid to walk with him toward the entrance of the marquee.
“What shite did you feed Nathan?” Danny said. “Whatever you said cracked him wide open.”
Behind them, Nathan’s voice rose into an undone roar.
“I helped him,” Sid said. “You’ll understand later.”
seventy-four
“Mr. Tate?” The quiet voice roused Nathan from a thoughtless, heavy place where nothing mattered.
“Nathan?” The light hurt. He covered his face with his arm and peered out at the world from beneath it, at his legs under a dull grey blanket and his feet in dingy grey socks at the other end of his long, long body. Strange that his body had grown.
“You’re grand,” the voice said. “Do you know where you are?”
He rolled away from the voice.
“I’m Brenda, one of the clinical nurse managers for psychiatric care. You’re on a hold because you attacked your daughter with a knife. Do you remember this?”
Of course he remembered. They’d been repeating a variation of this question for years. The head nurse had changed and so had the color of the blanket, but of course he remembered where he was: England.
He buried his head under his arms again. Susannah, his lovely Susannah. Grief overwhelmed him as if she’d died yesterday. He sat up and scrabbled at his clothes. “Help,” he said. Or thought he said.
“What’s wrong? We’ll get you bathed and into clean clothes, and then you can sleep.”
“Help,” he said again. He’d forgotten the head nurse’s name. Didn’t need to remember it anyhow. They came, they went. He knew this.
He yanked at his crusty jeans, then switched gears and pulled his jumper over his head. He had to see for himself. Maybe none of what he thought of as the truth, was true. Maybe he’d dreamed his way to this reality. Maybe Susannah was alive, maybe he was living a massive delusion, maybe there was no scar. Maybe he hadn’t been locked up for years, after all.
Hands arrived to help him tug the jumper off, and an indrawn breath from the head nurse told him what he hoped wasn’t true. He looked for himself then dropped back onto the bed, panting in confusion. “How long have I been here?” he said.
The head nurse stepped closer and placed a hand on his forehead. Then she reached for his wrist and held her fingers against his pulse. “How long does it feel?”
“I thought—I hoped—” Nathan’s heart thumped hard against the medications swirling through his body. “But I’ve been imprisoned for half my life, haven’t I?” He pointed to the scar that years ago hadn’t existed. Instead, there’d been a wound that had festered and oozed, that had radiated pain so fierce he’d blacked out every time he tried to move. “It’s better now.”
“It is, and you’re quite safe here. You know that, don’t you?”
“But how long have I been here?”
“Only a few hours.”
Cool air circulated throughout the bare room, which, he now saw, had walls covered with foam mattresses. He lay on a low platform with more plasticky foam covering it. His skin pulled away from it with a pop and a pinch of pain when he shifted. “I don’t remember this place. This isn’t Sussex.”
“You’re in Ennis, Ireland, and this is the Quiet Room.” Brenda helped him pull on his jumper again. “Do you remember how you got injured?”
He rolled away from her again, tucking himself around his scar. “It started with the goldfinch.”
seventy-five
Several hours after the guards hauled Nathan out of the marquee, Merrit used her status as party hostess to slip behind the bar. They’d hired Alan’s junior barman to tend to the drinks. He handed her a healthy glass of red wine with the comment that the party “rated as one for the books, anyhow.”
That was one way to put it. Merrit allowed the plummy wine to sit in her mouth for a moment before swallowing. The hailstorm had died down to a low groan of wind around the marquee, and the rain slid down the glass walls rather than smacking into them. A man from the marquee company had arrived to fix the tent. Now, with the shelter back up and the Sons of Erin whipping the dancers into a sweat, it was as if nothing had happened. No hailstorm. No crazed assault. No ambulance. Now it was pure booze, music, and faery lights.
Merrit pressed the wineglass against her lower lip, picturing Nathan as the paramedics bound him to a stretcher. His pain wrenched her. He was tragic, tragic as a lamb’s last romp before slaughter.
She shook her head against the image, against anything to do with lambs or sheep.
She held out her glass for the barman to top off, please, and wandered back to her matchmaking station. She’d yet to match anyone, unless she counted Marcus and Edna Dooley. Altogether, not an impressive debut showing. Joe Junior had never returned. She decided that inching Marcus and Edna closer together counted.
“Fancy some company?” Simon O’Neil dropped into the seat next to hers and clinked his pint against her wineglass.
“What are you still doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be performing Garda tasks?”
“To be continued tomorrow. The boss is long gone.” Simon scooted his chair closer to her. “Look at you, matchmaker. What would you say to me?”
“I’d say you were hankering for a shag, not love, and send you on your way.”
Simon laughed. “Drop and kick, the lady scores.” His skin was flushed from dancing, the hair brushing his forehead damp with sweat. He hooked an arm over the back of his chair and slouched comfortably, considering her. “You’re a hard one to read, eh?”
“Aloof, yes, I know. I’ve heard. And here I thought I was transparent.”
“Only when you’re panicking.”
That got a smile out of her. “Fair play to you, mister. What is it you want to read from me?”
“I fancy another outing, but I can’t tell whether you’re amenable to the idea.”
“Amenable.” She leaned back and mimicked his loose posture. “Nice word. For that, I might consider another outing.”
“All it takes is good vocabulary? In that case—” He straightened. “We’ve got company.”
Merrit turned to see Zoe with her hair pulled up into a messy knot and makeup smudged below her eyes. Despite the stresses of the evening, she gazed around with a smile. “I’m sorry I left you hanging, Merrit. It looks like the music sorted itself out, though. In fact, all looks right in the world.”
“You had other priorities,” Merrit said. “How is your father?”
“I drove all the way to the hospital, and they turned me away until tomorrow.” She sighed. “I hope he’s all right.”
“I’m sure you’ll be able to see then,” Merrit said. “Why don’t you fetch yourself a drink? Tell the barman I said it was on me.”
“You are too sweet. Thank you.” Zoe ducked through the crowd and by the time she landed at the end of the drinks line, she was arm-in-arm with one of her men friends.
“That girl could float through a tsunami,” Simon said.
“Seems like it.” Merrit swallowed more wine, feeling deflated. “What a day.”
Simon scrutinized her with a look that Merrit wasn’t sure she wanted to
decipher. He cupped her head in a gentle grip and bent closer still. “Enough with you,” he whispered, “come here.” He grabbed her around the waist and hoisted her over the red velvet cordon. Ten seconds later, he pulled her behind the puppeteer’s stage and out of sight of everyone else in the marquee. Before Merrit had a chance to react, he kissed her, long enough to savor but short enough to remain gentleman-like.
“What the hell?” she said when she pulled away.
He grinned. “Hope that helps salvage the day. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be off to bed. No bank holiday for me tomorrow.”
Simon squeezed her hand in goodbye, leaving Merrit to pat her chest against the familiar panicky feeling. Faery lights reflecting off dripping rain created pretty water patterns on the windows that Merrit lost herself in while she got her breathing under control. She could take a lesson from the old proverb, Physician, heal thyself. Matchmaker, match thyself.
Yeah, right. She couldn’t decide whether Simon was presumptuous or exciting. Arrogant or seductive. Which probably explained his success with the ladies.
After a minute of deep breaths, her lungs calmed. It was just a kiss, nothing long-lasting or permanent. She was free to leave, leading with one of her lamb’s feet aimed back toward California. That was her right, especially because her life here came with conditions and expectations that she wasn’t sure she could manage—or wanted to manage.
“Shite on a stick,” she said, even though that phrase didn’t sound correct.
The specter of Liam’s impending death loomed large, larger than she’d wanted to admit. One thing to live here while he was alive, but after that?
So here she stood after kissing an attractive man, feeling nothing but lost.
seventy-six
The morning after the party, Danny sat beside Zoe on plastic chairs in the psych ward’s waiting area. He was used to the hospital’s institutional drabness and chaos, its coating of sickness that stuck to every surface. Sadly, the hospital was his new normal.
Several patients lounged along with the visitors, and veranda doors led to a courtyard where more patients smoked. Beside him, Zoe’s usual good cheer struggled for ascendance. “He will be okay, won’t he?” she said.
“I don’t know.”
She opened her purse, pulled out a hairband and gathered her hair back into a loose ponytail. “Poor Merrit. What a party disaster last night.”
Danny suspected that the drama had fired up the party atmosphere rather than doused it. In any case, no one was likely to forget Liam’s Earrach Festival.
“Liam looked good, don’t you think?” Zoe said.
He glanced at her. “I hear you have something to do with that.”
“Oh. Liam told you?”
“No, Merrit.”
“Does everyone know?” she said. “I don’t like to talk about it.”
Interesting that she brought up the Liam topic then. “Your secret is safe,” he said.
“It’s awkward at times. I have to be careful.”
“I imagine so, or else everyone would be after you to fix them up.”
She smiled. “You’re humoring me. I know it when I hear it.”
They waited in silence for a while. Danny couldn’t help thinking about Ellen in Ward 2B on the other end of the hospital. She laid there insensate, but who knew what electrical pulses fired within her head. Nathan, on the other hand, felt too much, but likewise, who knew what went on inside his head.
“Zoe Tate?” A harried-looking woman in navy blue trousers and horn-rimmed glasses perched on the tip of her nose introduced herself as Brenda and waved at them to follow her. She led the way to her office without looking back and got to the point after closing the door. “Given your father’s history and the assault on you—”
“That doesn’t matter,” Zoe said. “He shouldn’t be punished for that.”
“Nevertheless, because of that, he’s on a mandatory twenty-four—
hour hold. Our initial assessment is that he’s a danger to himself and others.” She stared Zoe down with a hint of judgment playing across her face. “He’s not a well man and hasn’t been for a while now.”
“I know,” Zoe said, “but I thought I could manage it. I thought once we settled into a routine and he got used to me again, we’d be fine. I hadn’t seen him in years. I missed him.”
“I’m not sure how long we’ll have him, but for today, we need to keep him quiet and away from all stressors.”
“Me.” Zoe’s eyes filled with tears. “You mean me.”
“Yes.” This woman didn’t flinch from the hard messages. Danny could take lessons from her when it came to his kids.
“When can I take him home?” Zoe asked.
“We need to monitor him, and then we’ll make a decision about how long to keep him.”
“You mean, he might be committed for a while—months, even? Years? Forever?”
Brenda treated Zoe to a pitying expression. “Not forever.”
On a shaky breath, Zoe pressed fingers against closed eyelids. A moment later, she excused herself to find the toilets. Danny opened his mouth, but the doctor preempted him. “Let her go. It’s a lot to process. You’re the officer who witnessed Nathan Tate attack her?”
He nodded, about to ask his question, but she waved a hand at him to hold off. “Please describe what you witnessed.”
Danny related the events, including Sid’s presence.
“Sid,” she said. “That’s one word that makes sense out of his gibberish anyhow. Do you know anything about a journal?”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” Danny said. “A murder victim that both Sid and Nathan knew kept one. It’s gone missing.”
“Ah. Apparently this Sid character promised to give it to Nathan.”
“He did, did he? By the way, you may have heard of Sid. His full name is Cedric Gibson.” She flinched; so she did recognize his name. Danny continued, “Yes, him. He goes by Sid. He spoke to Nathan, and whatever he said broke him.”
“The proverbial straw, the proverbial camel. It wouldn’t have taken much.” Brenda retreated behind her desk. “What did you want to ask?”
“Did Nathan know what he was doing when he attacked Zoe?”
“That’s easy—no. He wasn’t sane, and he may not be sane for a long while to come.” She sat down. “That’s my gut talking, based on long, hard years of experience.”
“And I’ll have to wait for the official report. I’ve heard that before.”
She issued a lopsided smile. “Tell the daughter to call before she comes next time. We’ll know more tomorrow.”
A knock interrupted them, and a man with bushy hair popped his head into the room. “Sorry to interrupt. Someone reported a lass in the toilets crying and screaming. You know anything about that?”
“I expect I do,” Brenda sighed. “I’ll see to it.”
“No, this is on me,” Danny said.
Zoe was no longer inside the women’s public toilet by the time Danny reached it. He found her out in the courtyard, hunched under a canopy out of the rain. Her ponytail sagged. “I don’t know what to do. What am I supposed to do? I need my dad. They’re keeping me from him on purpose.”
Her woebegone expression surprised Danny. Gone was the self-sufficient, feisty young woman without a care in the world. “You’ve done well for yourself.”
“No, no, no, I’m supposed to have a dad of my own, not be on my own. I’m sick to death of living by myself.” She straightened and tightened her ponytail. “I’ll be fine. Don’t mind me.”
Danny considered her, the budding healer with daddy issues. Her smudged makeup made her violet-blue eyes more luminous. Her tantrum in the bathroom may have been a healthy blow-off of excess emotion. Nothing wrong with that, but still, her reaction intrigued him.
He checked his watch. Morning visiting hours ended in an hour. “We should go,” he said, “but first I want to stop by my wife’s room.”
Zoe looked up with a hopeful expres
sion. “I can come, too?”
Bloody hell yes, that was the point, he thought. To continue their conversation—plus, observe how she reacted to Ellen.
He led the way along various corridors and up the stairs toward Ward 2B. Danny directed them left when they arrived at the top of the steps. They arrived at Ellen’s room only to be told by a nurse to give her a few minutes to finish Ellen’s sponge bath. Zoe craned her neck to see inside the room. The door closed.
“What do you suppose your friend Sid said to your dad to make him turn on you?” Danny said.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Zoe sat down on one of the chairs that lined the corridor. “What could he have said? He’s a nothing. My dad met him once for three minutes.”
“Do you know where he’s staying?”
“He mentioned Ballyhinch House. That’s all I know.” Zoe moved on to the next thought, having dismissed Sid as inconsequential. She opened her yellow purse and dug out a hand mirror. She gazed at herself and gasped in mock dismay. “I can’t see your wife looking like this. That’s not the way to show respect.”
“I don’t think she’ll care.” Danny paced restlessly, now questioning why he’d brought Zoe here.
She produced baby wipes out of her bag and dabbed at the skin under her eyes. “I’m sure Ellen is still in her body and that she can hear us. She’s stuck and needs help, that’s all.”
Danny stopped pacing.
“I was sincere before,” Zoe said, “when I offered to help your wife.”
He watched her reapply her makeup, noting that she chose softer colors than those she’d worn for the party. He could tell himself that he’d brought Zoe here to further the investigation, that this was a ploy to open her up. Yes, he could, but the tension gathering in his chest told him otherwise.
If he were to believe in Liam’s miracle recovery from cancer, Danny might still have a chance to tell the children about another resurrection. Didn’t he owe it to Ellen to try?
Zoe swiped on some lip gloss and packed her makeup pouch back into her purse. “I’m ready now.”
A few minutes later, the door to Ellen’s room opened and the nurse left. Danny let Zoe enter first. She pulled up a chair and sat down. “She’s so helpless,” she said.
