“How could you tell?”
He tapped his shoulder. “Her patches.” He flipped open the phone. Thumbed a number. “Hi, Lyle? Russ. I have a question about the paperwork you went through at McNabb’s house.” He paused. “You said she was pretty well organized, right? Did you see any documents related to her service? Could have been enlistment papers, evaluations-yeah? Okay, did you see anything indicating she had been discharged or separated?” He nodded to the phone. “Okay. Thanks.” Another pause. “I’ll catch you up at the five o’clock. ’Bye.” He flipped the phone shut. “Lyle says she had her whole service record in one folder. Including discharge papers from this past May.”
“Is it a bad time?” In the bright afternoon sunlight streaming through Will Ellis’s hospital window, Clare could see the white-coated outline of the man sitting next to the bed, but she couldn’t make out the details.
“No, it’s me.” Trip Stillman stood up. “I’m not officially here. I mean, I’m not here as Will’s doctor.”
Clare came into the room, half-closing the door behind her. “I’m not officially here, either.”
“Does that mean you’re not here as my priest or not here as my mom’s friend?” Will’s voice was weak but welcome. The fact that he had already been moved to a regular room was a testament to his physical strength.
“I guess I’m here as your brother in arms. Sister in arms?” She took Will’s hand. “How are you doing?”
“Better.” He gripped her hand. It felt like a small child squeezing a stuffed animal. “Really. Better. There’s this hospital counselor I’ve been talking to, and Sarah’s come to see me…” He took a breath, as if speaking two sentences in a row tired him out. “Mostly, I was finally honest with my parents about how freaking mad I’ve been.” He looked at Clare. “It was like you said, remember? Everybody wanted so much for me to feel better. It was like I was letting the team down if I felt pissed off or screwed over.”
“How do you feel now?” Clare asked.
“Like I want my damn legs back. Every minute of every day, I wish I was normal again. That’s not going to change.” He shook his head, a slow roll back and forth against the hospital pillow. “But, Jesus, I’m glad I’m not dead.”
Stillman leaned forward and awkwardly touched Will’s shoulder. “We’re all glad you’re not dead.”
Clare took a deep breath. “Listen. I’ve got something to tell you, and it’s not good news, but I think you should hear it first from me instead of stumbling over it in the paper or something.”
Stillman rose. “I’ll give you your privacy, then.”
“No, Trip, wait. This is for you, too.” The doctor sank back into his chair, frowning. Clare blanked for a moment. Then she remembered what Russ had said once about delivering bad news. Get to the worst of it fast. “Tally McNabb was found dead at her home yesterday afternoon.”
“What?” Both men spoke at once.
“She died from a single gunshot to the head. The police are investigating. They say it looks like suicide, but they can’t confirm it yet.”
“Oh, God.” Will shut his eyes. “Did I-do you think she got the idea from me?”
“No, I don’t. I was here the night they brought you in. I talked with her. There wasn’t anything in what she said or how she acted that made me think she wanted to do herself harm.”
Stillman had slid his PalmPilot from his coat and was tapping through screen after screen. “I don’t think she was suicidal,” he said. “I don’t see anything here suggesting that was an issue.”
Clare raised both eyebrows. “You keep notes on our therapy sessions?” Her voice was pointed.
“Yes. Not to show them to anyone.” He sat stiffly upright. “It’s an old habit instilled in medical school. Over the years, it’s been very useful. Lifesaving, at times.”
“Don’t you think it’s a little-” She cut herself off. One of their group was dead. Another hospitalized. Compared to that, a crack in the wall of confidentiality was nothing. “Never mind. I agree with you. About her frame of mind. I don’t think she killed herself.”
“You mean she was murdered?” Will’s shocked voice was a reminder of how young he really was.
“Do the police have a suspect?” Stillman asked.
“They’re looking for her husband. He hasn’t been seen since sometime before her body was found.”
Stillman nodded. “I’ve heard it’s usually the husband or boyfriend in situations like this.”
“In Tally’s case, you can take your pick. She had an affair with an MP when she was in-country. He came looking for her twice this past summer.” Clare’s shoulders twitched. “Maybe he finally caught up with her.”
They all sat with that thought for a while. Finally, Will said, “I feel like we let her down.”
Clare shook her head. “No. What could we have done? She didn’t show any signs that she was in an abusive relationship.” Even as she said it, she thought of Tally’s disappearance back in the summer. Moving from friend to friend, eating at the soup kitchen.
“She said she was tired of always being afraid. Remember?” Will looked to Stillman for confirmation.
The doctor bit the inside of his cheek. “That phrase suggests to me she was tired of the fear you bring back with you.” He spoke carefully, doling out his words one by one. “The stuff you know is foolish, but you just can’t put it behind you. Like trying to find a mortar shelter when the town fire alarm whistle goes off.”
“Or being afraid to fall asleep.” Clare didn’t realize she had spoken out loud until both men looked at her. She shrugged. “Nightmares.”
“Me, too,” Will said. “What if that wasn’t it, though? What if she was afraid of something going on in her life right here and now?”
“The MKPD is looking into it. They’ll get to the bottom of it.” She took his hand again and squeezed it, ignoring the niggling voice in the back of her head reminding her of how sure Russ had been that Tally’s death was a suicide.
A pretty young girl stuck her head in the door. “Bookmobile,” she sang. “Ready to pick out a good read?”
“I’d better go,” Clare said. “I don’t want to tire you out. I’ll be by tomorrow.”
“As will I.” Trip Stillman pocketed his PalmPilot as he rose. “Tell your mother I said hi.”
“Thanks. For coming to see me.” Will lifted his hand in a feeble salute.
The bookmobile girl rolled back to let them out of the room. Clare recognized her as one of the youngest and chattiest of the hospital’s aides. In her apron and ponytail, she looked like a nurse in a World War II flick, come to bring cheer to the wounded boys.
“I notice they’re not sending him the grandmotherly candy stripers,” she said.
“Might as well give him an eyeful of what he has to live for.” Stillman pressed the elevator button. “My niece used to volunteer here. She would have loved to spend time with a good-looking boy Will’s age.”
“Tell him that.”
“I will.”
Clare looked at her scratched and blurred reflection in the elevator’s doors. She was suddenly so tired she thought she might fall over. She leaned against the wall. “Do you think he’ll make it? Not now, I mean. In the long haul. Are his doctors just patching him up so he can try again?”
“I don’t think so. Will’s already done the hardest work of recovery.”
She made a little go-on gesture.
“His life’s been divided into before and after, and he’s in the after.” The elevator pinged, and Stillman held the door open for her. “I think he’s finally accepted that. That’s the first step toward going forward.” He stabbed the floor button.