what you’ve taken.”
“I’m just so thirsty,” Devon said again. “Why am I so thirsty? Did I tell you that Bobby Saunders was at the party tonight? He’s like this big-shot hockey player or something. I think he plays with the Maple Leafs. All the girls are crazy about him, although personally I don’t think he’s all that hot. I think he looks kind of stupid. He has this big, goofy grin, and he’s missing a couple of teeth. Anyway, he was coming on to all the girls, saying things like, Are we going to have sex tonight?’ even though he supposedly has this gorgeous fiancée who’s some kind of supermodel. It was disgusting. Do you even know who I’m talking about? You don’t know anything about hockey. I bet Dad would know. Dad’s very into sports.” She started crying again.
Marcy’s hands were shaking as she went to the sink and poured a glass of water for Devon, letting the sound of the water gushing from the tap temporarily drown out Devon’s insane chatter.
“Devon,” she said, turning off the tap and swiveling toward her. Except that Devon was no longer sitting on the chair. She was curled up on the floor in a semi-fetal position, her knees pressed tight against her blue T-shirt, her face half-submerged in a mound of soggy salt, a large shard of glass pressed against her cheek, mere inches from her eye. “Devon?” Marcy said again, her voice lost between a cry and a whisper.
She collapsed to her knees beside her daughter. Immediately a piece of crystal pierced her skin and she cried out. It was then that she heard a faint sigh escape Devon’s parted lips and realized that her daughter had fallen asleep. Sound asleep, Marcy realized when she tried to rouse her.
She thought of waking Peter but decided against it. There was no reason for both of them to be up. It took her almost fifteen minutes to get Devon out of the kitchen, down the hall, and into her bedroom, another twenty to get her undressed and cleaned up, five more to maneuver her into bed, and then another fifteen to go back and clean up the mess in the kitchen. By the time Marcy returned to her room, she was bathed in sweat, and blood was dripping in a series of straggly lines from her knee to her ankle. She took a shower, applied a Band-Aid to her knee, and climbed back into bed.
“Can’t you stay still?” Peter muttered, flipping over onto his side.
“What are you doing sitting there?” Vic asked now, his eyes finding hers in the dark hotel room. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you crying?”
Marcy immediately swiped at the tears in the corners of her eyes. “No. Of course not. Well … maybe a little.”
Vic pushed himself onto his elbows, reached for her hand. “Are you sorry that we …?”
“What? Oh, no. No. Honestly. I promise that’s not it.”
“You were thinking about Devon,” he said, the name sounding comfortable, even familiar, on his tongue, almost as if he knew her.
“Yes.”
“Have you decided what you’re going to do?”
“No.”
“Would you like me to go with you?” he asked with a smile. The smile said,
Don’t even try to lie to me
. “I’m serious. I’d be happy to go back with you to Cork.”
It was certainly tempting, Marcy thought. It would be nice to have company. “No,” she said after a moment’s pause. It would only complicate things. “I think this is something I need to do alone.”
He nodded, as if he weren’t surprised. “Promise you’ll keep me posted.”
“I have your card,” she said.
“You’ll call the minute you find Devon?” Again the easy use of her daughter’s name. Had Marcy ever felt such ease where her daughter was concerned?
“You think I’ll find her?” Marcy was suddenly very much in need of his assurance.
“I know you will.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know you.”
“But you
don’t
know me. Not really.”
“I know how determined you are, that you won’t give up until you find
“I’m just so thirsty,” Devon said again. “Why am I so thirsty? Did I tell you that Bobby Saunders was at the party tonight? He’s like this big-shot hockey player or something. I think he plays with the Maple Leafs. All the girls are crazy about him, although personally I don’t think he’s all that hot. I think he looks kind of stupid. He has this big, goofy grin, and he’s missing a couple of teeth. Anyway, he was coming on to all the girls, saying things like, Are we going to have sex tonight?’ even though he supposedly has this gorgeous fiancée who’s some kind of supermodel. It was disgusting. Do you even know who I’m talking about? You don’t know anything about hockey. I bet Dad would know. Dad’s very into sports.” She started crying again.
Marcy’s hands were shaking as she went to the sink and poured a glass of water for Devon, letting the sound of the water gushing from the tap temporarily drown out Devon’s insane chatter.
“Devon,” she said, turning off the tap and swiveling toward her. Except that Devon was no longer sitting on the chair. She was curled up on the floor in a semi-fetal position, her knees pressed tight against her blue T-shirt, her face half-submerged in a mound of soggy salt, a large shard of glass pressed against her cheek, mere inches from her eye. “Devon?” Marcy said again, her voice lost between a cry and a whisper.
She collapsed to her knees beside her daughter. Immediately a piece of crystal pierced her skin and she cried out. It was then that she heard a faint sigh escape Devon’s parted lips and realized that her daughter had fallen asleep. Sound asleep, Marcy realized when she tried to rouse her.
She thought of waking Peter but decided against it. There was no reason for both of them to be up. It took her almost fifteen minutes to get Devon out of the kitchen, down the hall, and into her bedroom, another twenty to get her undressed and cleaned up, five more to maneuver her into bed, and then another fifteen to go back and clean up the mess in the kitchen. By the time Marcy returned to her room, she was bathed in sweat, and blood was dripping in a series of straggly lines from her knee to her ankle. She took a shower, applied a Band-Aid to her knee, and climbed back into bed.
“Can’t you stay still?” Peter muttered, flipping over onto his side.
“What are you doing sitting there?” Vic asked now, his eyes finding hers in the dark hotel room. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you crying?”
Marcy immediately swiped at the tears in the corners of her eyes. “No. Of course not. Well … maybe a little.”
Vic pushed himself onto his elbows, reached for her hand. “Are you sorry that we …?”
“What? Oh, no. No. Honestly. I promise that’s not it.”
“You were thinking about Devon,” he said, the name sounding comfortable, even familiar, on his tongue, almost as if he knew her.
“Yes.”
“Have you decided what you’re going to do?”
“No.”
“Would you like me to go with you?” he asked with a smile. The smile said,
Don’t even try to lie to me
. “I’m serious. I’d be happy to go back with you to Cork.”
It was certainly tempting, Marcy thought. It would be nice to have company. “No,” she said after a moment’s pause. It would only complicate things. “I think this is something I need to do alone.”
He nodded, as if he weren’t surprised. “Promise you’ll keep me posted.”
“I have your card,” she said.
“You’ll call the minute you find Devon?” Again the easy use of her daughter’s name. Had Marcy ever felt such ease where her daughter was concerned?
“You think I’ll find her?” Marcy was suddenly very much in need of his assurance.
“I know you will.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know you.”
“But you
don’t
know me. Not really.”
“I know how determined you are, that you won’t give up until you find
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