Read Online Guilt by Association by Susan R. Sloan - Free Book Online
Authors: Susan R. Sloan
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Beverly would wait, hoping for the best, but preparing for the worst.
There would be no question of keeping Karen at home, if it came to that, she was quick to realize. The town gossips would have a never-ending field day with it, and there was Leo’s dental practice to consider, not to mention Laura. And now, with one little word, Karen had erased all her mother’s fears.
“Sweetheart, it’s so good to hear your voice again,” she cried, the tears of joy running down her over-rouged cheeks, tracking her mascara with them. “I was beginning to think I never would.”
“No-such-luck,” Karen rasped.
“Now, don’t overdo it,” Beverly instructed. “We can’t have you wearing out your vocal cords the very first time.”
“I-want-to-tell-you…” Karen croaked, letting the sentence dangle.
“I know, dear, but not now,” her mother said hastily.
The last thing Beverly wanted to hear from her sweet, innocent daughter, she realized, were the gory details of what a madman had done to her. It would be so much easier to believe there really had been an accident.
“You need your rest,” she said. “We’ve waited this long, we can wait a little longer. Right now, I’m going to go call your father and tell him the wonderful news.” She gathered up her knitting and prepared to flee. “When you’re a little stronger,
the three of us will sit down and have a nice chat.”
A nice chat, Karen thought. How like her mother to put a Hans Christian Andersen face on an Edgar Allan Poe tale. She didn’t know anyone who could do it better.
“What do you say, darling? Isn’t that the best plan?”
It was difficult enough to challenge Beverly when Karen was well. Now it was impossible. She blinked once, out of habit.
six
T he word spread like a brushfire, whipping down the hospital corridors. “She spoke,” one joyfully told another.
“That’s wonderful,” came the response.
Doctors, nurses, technicians and aides whom Karen hardly knew were suddenly stopping by to exchange greetings. People she didn’t know at all were pausing at her door to give her a friendly smile and a thumbs-up sign. Everyone, it seemed, wanted to be a part of her success.
“I understand you had something to say today,” Dr. Waschkowski said that evening, a big grin covering his dear homely face.
Karen looked up, her throat sore from responding to the steady stream of well-wishers.
“Too-much,” she wheezed.
“I guess what they say is true—you can’t keep a woman quiet for long.”
“Fuh-ny,” Karen said.
“Here,” he said, bending over her. “Let me teach you how to talk through that tube in your throat.” When he had shown her how to place her fingers over the little air hole, he satdown in one of the striped chairs. “So,” he asked, “what do you have to say to me, after all this time?”
There had been a measure of protection in her silence, an excuse for not having to participate, not having to communicate.
Karen had gotten used to the idea of listening and observing, used to hiding behind the simplicity of one blink or two. She thought about all the questions everyone would now want to ask and the explanations she would be expected to give.
“I want to go back to blinking,” she said.
Sergeant Tug McCluskey arrived the next day accompanied by a thin man with a pinched face, horn-rimmed glasses and a dark-blue suit.
“I don’t expect you’d have any way of remembering me,” Tug said kindly, “but I was there. I mean, I was one of the ones who
… who found you.”
Karen nodded as best she could. The burly policeman had small blue eyes, a prominent nose, and a weathered face, and the jacket of his uniform pulled a little too tightly across his girth.
The other man cleared his throat. “I’m Michael Haller,” he said. “Investigator for the district attorney’s office.”
Karen shifted her attention. Almost skeletally thin, the investigator’s dark suit hung poorly on him,
There would be no question of keeping Karen at home, if it came to that, she was quick to realize. The town gossips would have a never-ending field day with it, and there was Leo’s dental practice to consider, not to mention Laura. And now, with one little word, Karen had erased all her mother’s fears.
“Sweetheart, it’s so good to hear your voice again,” she cried, the tears of joy running down her over-rouged cheeks, tracking her mascara with them. “I was beginning to think I never would.”
“No-such-luck,” Karen rasped.
“Now, don’t overdo it,” Beverly instructed. “We can’t have you wearing out your vocal cords the very first time.”
“I-want-to-tell-you…” Karen croaked, letting the sentence dangle.
“I know, dear, but not now,” her mother said hastily.
The last thing Beverly wanted to hear from her sweet, innocent daughter, she realized, were the gory details of what a madman had done to her. It would be so much easier to believe there really had been an accident.
“You need your rest,” she said. “We’ve waited this long, we can wait a little longer. Right now, I’m going to go call your father and tell him the wonderful news.” She gathered up her knitting and prepared to flee. “When you’re a little stronger,
the three of us will sit down and have a nice chat.”
A nice chat, Karen thought. How like her mother to put a Hans Christian Andersen face on an Edgar Allan Poe tale. She didn’t know anyone who could do it better.
“What do you say, darling? Isn’t that the best plan?”
It was difficult enough to challenge Beverly when Karen was well. Now it was impossible. She blinked once, out of habit.
six
T he word spread like a brushfire, whipping down the hospital corridors. “She spoke,” one joyfully told another.
“That’s wonderful,” came the response.
Doctors, nurses, technicians and aides whom Karen hardly knew were suddenly stopping by to exchange greetings. People she didn’t know at all were pausing at her door to give her a friendly smile and a thumbs-up sign. Everyone, it seemed, wanted to be a part of her success.
“I understand you had something to say today,” Dr. Waschkowski said that evening, a big grin covering his dear homely face.
Karen looked up, her throat sore from responding to the steady stream of well-wishers.
“Too-much,” she wheezed.
“I guess what they say is true—you can’t keep a woman quiet for long.”
“Fuh-ny,” Karen said.
“Here,” he said, bending over her. “Let me teach you how to talk through that tube in your throat.” When he had shown her how to place her fingers over the little air hole, he satdown in one of the striped chairs. “So,” he asked, “what do you have to say to me, after all this time?”
There had been a measure of protection in her silence, an excuse for not having to participate, not having to communicate.
Karen had gotten used to the idea of listening and observing, used to hiding behind the simplicity of one blink or two. She thought about all the questions everyone would now want to ask and the explanations she would be expected to give.
“I want to go back to blinking,” she said.
Sergeant Tug McCluskey arrived the next day accompanied by a thin man with a pinched face, horn-rimmed glasses and a dark-blue suit.
“I don’t expect you’d have any way of remembering me,” Tug said kindly, “but I was there. I mean, I was one of the ones who
… who found you.”
Karen nodded as best she could. The burly policeman had small blue eyes, a prominent nose, and a weathered face, and the jacket of his uniform pulled a little too tightly across his girth.
The other man cleared his throat. “I’m Michael Haller,” he said. “Investigator for the district attorney’s office.”
Karen shifted her attention. Almost skeletally thin, the investigator’s dark suit hung poorly on him,
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