long, in fact, he had forgotten where he had buried her.
Boyle had made maps of all his burial spots. He couldn’t find the recent map he had made showing where his mother’s remains were buried. Boyle, never good with directions, had to rely on memory. It had taken nearly four hours to find the spot, followed by another hour of digging. When he left the woods, the idea of burying Rachel next to his mother had consumed him for days. He couldn’t let it go. Now, because he had put desire before discipline, Rachel was lying in a hospital bed in Mass General.
The ICU doors opened and out stepped a stunning woman with shoulder-length black hair and dark brown eyes. She was young, with a perfect face and flawless skin. She was dressed in snug but stylish jeans, hip black high-heel shoes and a midriff shirt that showed a teasing hint of her soft, flat belly. Boyle guessed she was somewhere in her early to mid-twenties. The young woman stepped into the waiting room and picked up a box of tissues. The box was empty. She threw it in the trash. All the grieving men in the waiting room were watching her.
The woman was aware she was being admired. Instead of sitting down, she buttoned up her coat, turned around and gave them her back. Boyle’s mother used to do that when she caught men she didn’t like gawking at her. If they were handsome, she’d give them her full attention. If they were rich, she’d give them her body.
The young woman crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the ICU doors. She was waiting for someone. Not her husband. She had no rings on her fingers. Maybe she was waiting for her boyfriend. No. The boyfriend would have come out with her.
She was clearly upset, but she was not going to cry, not here, not in front of these people.
Boyle could get her to cry. Beg, too. He could make her shed that fake, WASPy exterior faster than a snake shed its skin.
He picked up the box of tissues next to him, stoodand walked toward her. He could smell her perfume. Some women couldn’t carry it well. She did.
Boyle held out the box. The woman turned around, looking angry at being disturbed. Her expression softened a bit when she saw his suit and tie, his nice shoes. He wore a wedding ring and a Rolex watch. He looked professional and put together. He looked trustworthy.
‘I didn’t mean to bother you,’ Boyle said. ‘I just thought you could use this. I’ve already gone through a box myself
After a moment’s consideration, she took a tissue and carefully dabbed at the corners of her eyes, not wanting to ruin her makeup. She didn’t thank him.
‘You have someone in there?’ She nodded to the ICU doors.
‘My mother,’ Boyle said.
‘What does she have?’
‘Cancer.’
‘What kind?’
‘Pancreatic’
‘My father has lung cancer.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Boyle said. Was he a smoker?’
Two packs a day. I’m going to quit. Swear to God.’ She made a sign of the cross to emphasize her commitment. ‘I’m sorry if I seemed rude. It’s just – it’s this goddamn waiting. I’m tired ofwaiting for my father to, you know, let go. That probably soundscold, but he’s in so much pain. And then there’s the waiting for the doctors. They love to keep you waiting. I’m waiting for his highness right now.’
‘I know what you mean. I wish I had family to lean on, but I’m the only child, and my father died years ago.’
I’m in the same boat. My father is my family. After he goes’ – she took in a deep breath to steady herself – ‘it’s just me.’
‘What about your husband?’
‘No husband, no boyfriend, no mother, no kids. Just me.’
Boyle thought about the empty cell in his basement and wondered if this woman would be missed if she disappeared. He hadn’t captured one so beautiful before. She had just the right amount of weight on her. The heavier ones lasted longer in the basement. The skinny ones never lasted, unless they were very young, like Carol.
‘Do you live around
Boyle had made maps of all his burial spots. He couldn’t find the recent map he had made showing where his mother’s remains were buried. Boyle, never good with directions, had to rely on memory. It had taken nearly four hours to find the spot, followed by another hour of digging. When he left the woods, the idea of burying Rachel next to his mother had consumed him for days. He couldn’t let it go. Now, because he had put desire before discipline, Rachel was lying in a hospital bed in Mass General.
The ICU doors opened and out stepped a stunning woman with shoulder-length black hair and dark brown eyes. She was young, with a perfect face and flawless skin. She was dressed in snug but stylish jeans, hip black high-heel shoes and a midriff shirt that showed a teasing hint of her soft, flat belly. Boyle guessed she was somewhere in her early to mid-twenties. The young woman stepped into the waiting room and picked up a box of tissues. The box was empty. She threw it in the trash. All the grieving men in the waiting room were watching her.
The woman was aware she was being admired. Instead of sitting down, she buttoned up her coat, turned around and gave them her back. Boyle’s mother used to do that when she caught men she didn’t like gawking at her. If they were handsome, she’d give them her full attention. If they were rich, she’d give them her body.
The young woman crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the ICU doors. She was waiting for someone. Not her husband. She had no rings on her fingers. Maybe she was waiting for her boyfriend. No. The boyfriend would have come out with her.
She was clearly upset, but she was not going to cry, not here, not in front of these people.
Boyle could get her to cry. Beg, too. He could make her shed that fake, WASPy exterior faster than a snake shed its skin.
He picked up the box of tissues next to him, stoodand walked toward her. He could smell her perfume. Some women couldn’t carry it well. She did.
Boyle held out the box. The woman turned around, looking angry at being disturbed. Her expression softened a bit when she saw his suit and tie, his nice shoes. He wore a wedding ring and a Rolex watch. He looked professional and put together. He looked trustworthy.
‘I didn’t mean to bother you,’ Boyle said. ‘I just thought you could use this. I’ve already gone through a box myself
After a moment’s consideration, she took a tissue and carefully dabbed at the corners of her eyes, not wanting to ruin her makeup. She didn’t thank him.
‘You have someone in there?’ She nodded to the ICU doors.
‘My mother,’ Boyle said.
‘What does she have?’
‘Cancer.’
‘What kind?’
‘Pancreatic’
‘My father has lung cancer.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Boyle said. Was he a smoker?’
Two packs a day. I’m going to quit. Swear to God.’ She made a sign of the cross to emphasize her commitment. ‘I’m sorry if I seemed rude. It’s just – it’s this goddamn waiting. I’m tired ofwaiting for my father to, you know, let go. That probably soundscold, but he’s in so much pain. And then there’s the waiting for the doctors. They love to keep you waiting. I’m waiting for his highness right now.’
‘I know what you mean. I wish I had family to lean on, but I’m the only child, and my father died years ago.’
I’m in the same boat. My father is my family. After he goes’ – she took in a deep breath to steady herself – ‘it’s just me.’
‘What about your husband?’
‘No husband, no boyfriend, no mother, no kids. Just me.’
Boyle thought about the empty cell in his basement and wondered if this woman would be missed if she disappeared. He hadn’t captured one so beautiful before. She had just the right amount of weight on her. The heavier ones lasted longer in the basement. The skinny ones never lasted, unless they were very young, like Carol.
‘Do you live around
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