Read Online Brass Ring by Diane Chamberlain - Free Book Online Page A

stepped back to let Claire pass through. “This was her room.”
    The room was a small rectangle furnished with two twin beds, two night tables, and two small, squat dressers. The faded green walls on the near side of the room were covered with posters of Elvis Presley, and the three embroidered pillows on the bed all bore his likeness.
    “She was an Elvis fan?” Claire said, incredulous.
    “No.” Ginger laughed. “That’s Nonnie’s half of the room. Nonnie was Margot’s roommate.”
    Claire shifted her focus to Margot’s side. The walls were bare, the bed neatly made with a thin green spread. “Margot’s things have already been cleared out, then.”
    “Well, actually, no.” Ginger walked across the room to Margot’s bed, where she smoothed her hand across the bedspread. “Margot wasn’t much of a decorator. She never put a thing on the walls, at least not during the couple of years I’ve worked here. She had exactly one picture.” She opened the drawer of the night table to pull out a framed photograph, which she handed to Claire across Nonnie’s bed.
    It was a family portrait, a faded, five-by-seven black-and-white, obviously taken by an amateur photographer. A man and woman stood on the steps of a white house, the size and shape of which couldn’t be determined from the close-up angle of the camera. Three children stood in front of the couple: a blond girl and boy of about equal height and a taller, dark-haired boy.
    “Her brother brought this to her when she first came to the hospital,” Ginger said.
    “The tall boy?”
    “Yes. Randy. He owns a restaurant in Virginia. In Arlington. That’s near where you live, right?”
    “Yes. Not far.”
    “The Fishmonger. Have you heard of it?”
    Claire nodded. She had heard of it but had never eaten there.
    “Apparently he visited Margot pretty regularly that first year or so, trying to get through to her somehow,” Ginger said. “That was before I came here, so I don’t know for sure. But she paid as little attention to him as she did to everyone else, and by the time I started working with her, he was only visiting once every couple of months or so. He gave up, I guess. Can’t really blame the guy.”
    “What was their relationship like?”
    “Margot didn’t have much of a relationship with anyone, I’m afraid. I called to tell Randy about her committing suicide. He was very quiet. Just thanked me, told me to donate her things to Goodwill, and that was it.” She took the framed photograph back from Claire’s hands. “I’ve been meaning to send this to him, though.” She looked down at the picture. “He felt helpless, I think. I did, too, sometimes. It’s hard to work with someone you just can’t reach.”
    Helpless
. The word described well how Claire had felt in her few brief minutes with Margot. She could imagine the depth of helplessness her brother had felt.
    Ginger nodded toward the door. “I’ll show you where she spent most of her time.”
    Claire followed the younger woman down another long, green hallway until they reached a large, open room. Windows lined three walls, and Claire imagined that on a sunny day, the room would be awash with light. She felt as though she’d walked into the fresh air after being trapped in a closet.
    Nearly a dozen patients were in the room, some watching the TV in the corner, a few playing cards at a small table. Only a couple of them looked up when she and Ginger walked in, and they quickly returned their attention to the cards and TV.
    Ginger pointed to the upright piano against the far wall. “That was Margot’s hangout. Everyone misses the music. Always classical, although one time—” Ginger smiled. “This was so weird. One time, when Nonnie walked into the room, Margot started playing ‘Love Me Tender.’”
    Claire laughed.
    “It was positively the only show of humor I’d ever seen from her, though.” Ginger looked thoughtful. “She never spoke to anyone. Not the staff, not her