bouquet against his chest. Then, in a jerky motion, he
thrust the flowers in Judith’s direction. “Would you
like these? I don’t know what to do with them. I was
going to put them on Bob’s bed. You know, in remembrance.”
“Ah . . .” Judith stared at the yellow tulips, the red
carnations, the purple freesia, and the baby’s breath.
“They’re very pretty. Wouldn’t Mrs. Randall—
Margie—like them?”
“Margie?” Jim’s eyes looked enormous behind the
thick lenses. “Yes, maybe that’s a good idea. Where is
she?” He peered around the room, as if the cousins
might be hiding his sister-in-law in some darkened corner.
“We heard she’d collapsed,” Judith replied. “They
must have taken her home by now. The children, that
is. They were here earlier.”
Jim’s face suddenly became almost stern. “How
early?”
“Well . . . It was an hour or so after your brother . . .
passed away,” Judith said. “Noon, maybe? I really
don’t remember.”
Jim’s expression grew troubled. “Were they here before Bob was taken?”
SUTURE SELF
107
“Taken where?” Renie broke in. “We heard he killed
himself.”
“Oh!” Jim recoiled in horror at Renie’s blunt speech.
“That’s not true! He wouldn’t! He couldn’t! Oh!”
“Hospital gossip,” Judith said soothingly. “Please,
Mr. Randall, don’t get upset.”
“How can I not be upset?” Jim Randall was close to
tears. “Bob was my twin. We were just like brothers. I
mean, we were brothers, but even closer . . . Gosh, he
saved my life when we were kids. I fell into a lake, I
couldn’t swim, but Bob was an excellent swimmer, and
he rescued me. . . . If he didn’t kill himself, what happened? I mean, I’d understand if he did. I’ve felt suicidal sometimes, too. There’ve been days when I wished
Bob had never saved me from drowning. But Bob
wasn’t the type to take his own life. He had everything
to live for, that is.” Jim fought for composure.
“Nancy . . . Bob Jr. . . . Did they . . . ?”
“Did they what?” Judith prodded.
“Never mind.” Jim gave himself a good shake, shedding some of the moisture from his baggy raincoat. “I
should have been here, with Bob. I should have kept
watch over him. I’ll never forgive myself.”
“Where were you?” Renie asked, popping a piece of
cantaloupe into her mouth.
Jim raised his right arm and used his sleeve to wipe
off some melted snow from his forehead. “That’s the
irony. I was here, in this very hospital, having an MRI.”
“Goodness,” Judith remarked, “that’s a shame. I
mean, that both you and your brother had medical
problems at the same time.”
Flexing his left leg, Jim gave the cousins a selfdeprecating smile. “It was to be expected. You see, Bob and
I are—were—mirror twins. It’s a fairly rare phenomenon.
108
Mary Daheim
We faced each other in the womb, so everything about us
is opposite. Bob was right-handed, I’m left-handed; he
was good at numbers, I’m not. And he’s been lucky with
his health over the years, except for the kinds of injuries
athletes suffer in their playing days. Nothing serious,
though. But unlike Bob, my constitution’s not strong.
I’ve had my share of medical problems. An MRI, a CAT
scan, an ultrasound—you name it, I’ve had them all.”
“That’s a shame,” Judith commiserated. “Nothing
serious, I hope?”
“Not so far,” Jim said, adjusting his glasses. “But
then Bob’s right knee went out, so my left one goes.
That’s part of the mirror-twin effect, you see. I planned
to have my surgery after Bob got back on his feet. But
now . . .” Jim’s voice trailed away.
“You still need to think of yourself,” Judith said gently. “Although I suppose Margie and perhaps her children will need your support for a while.”
Jim hung his head. “I can’t replace Bob,” he said on
a note of defeat.
“But you can lend them moral support,” Judith said,
her voice still gentle.
Clumsily, Jim Randall lowered himself into Judith’s
visitor’s chair. He still held the bouquet, though his
slack grip allowed the flowers to brush the floor. “I
don’t know about Nancy and Bob Jr. Young people,
you know how they are. All caught up in their own little worlds. Margie, maybe, will need my help. She’s
kind of . . . high-strung. Well, not exactly. She’s more
low-strung—if you know what I mean.”
“Depression?” Renie asked.
Jim nodded. “She’s tried every kind of medication,
several different therapists. The last one just about
drove her over the edge.”
SUTURE SELF
109
“Hold it!” Renie yipped.
Judith threw her cousin a fierce warning glance.
“Maybe Margie didn’t give him enough time.”
“No,” Jim began, “that wasn’t it. He was very hard
on her, saying that maybe she didn’t want to get well.
I don’t blame her for—”
“Maybe she doesn’t,” Renie interrupted, ignoring
Judith’s glare. “Maybe she likes the attention. Maybe
sitting around on the sidelines for almost twenty years
while Bob grabbed the headlines ticked her off. Maybe
she’s a spoiled brat.”
“Wow.” Jim spoke softly as he peered at Renie.
“That’s harsh.”
“Maybe Bob killed himself because Margie was a
big fat pain in the butt,” Renie went on, despite the
sliver of cantaloupe that dangled from her lower lip.
“That’s clinical talk, of course.”
Jim looked dumbfounded. “It is? But it’s not fair.
Margie is a wonderful person.”
“Then you’d better take her those flowers before you
step on them,” Renie said. Her tongue darted out like a
lizard’s as she retrieved the bit of cantaloupe.
“Oh!” Jim snatched up the flowers, which he’d managed to let fall to the floor. “Gosh, that was careless.
You’re right, I’d better try to find her.”
“I understand your niece and nephew are dealing with
some serious problems of their own,” Judith said, still at
her kindliest. “That must be very hard on Margie.”
Briefly, Jim’s pliant features turned hard. “She mustn’t
feel guilty about Nancy and Bob Jr. If there’s blame for
what’s happened to them, you can look elsewhere.”
“Oh?” Judith’s gaze was fixed on Jim’s face.
Jim dropped his head and shuffled his feet. “Sorry. I
spoke out of turn. I’d better get going.”
110
Mary Daheim
“Say,” Judith said, not quite ready to relinquish their
visitor, “you were outside this afternoon when Addison
Kirby got hit by that car. Did you happen to see who
was driving it?”
“That was Addison Kirby?” Jim had risen to his feet.
“Gee, I didn’t realize it was him. His wife died recently, didn’t she?”
Judith nodded. “Yes, here in this same hospital.”
“Gosh.” Jim shook his head several times, then
frowned. “What was he doing here?”
“He’d been talking to your weird niece and nephew,”
Renie put in. “I suspect he was trying to figure out if
they felt their father had been murdered.”
“Oh!” Jim dropped the flowers again. “No! That’s
worse than suicide!”