Sleight of Hand by Robin Hathaway Page B

efficiently. With any luck, Carl might even be suspended. I chortled.

    Sally Raymond, my favorite nurse, stopped me in the hall. “What’s so funny?”
    â€œOh, nothing.” I chortled again.
    â€œSo you’ve heard the news, too?” She began to giggle.
    There we were, two professional women, giggling like two school girls in the hospital corridor over the misfortune of a colleague. The tears were streaming down our faces when one of the senior doctors paused beside us. “It must have been a good one,” he said half-reprovingly.
    â€œOh, it was,” I said, wiping my eyes.
    Pulling ourselves together, Sally and I went our separate ways.
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    I decided my upcoming dinner engagement warranted a change of clothing. I stopped at home and donned a skirt, blouse, and sandals for the occasion. Then I remembered. I was due for an archery lesson. I couldn’t miss another one without raising Tom’s suspicions. I glanced at the clock. If I hurried, I could just make it and get the wine, too. I tore off my dinner party attire and put on a T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. So much for gracious living!
    As I thumped down the iron staircase, I caught sight of Maggie. She had just pulled into the parking lot and was getting out of her ancient Ford Escort. She was burdened down with her usual assortment of tote bags and stray packages. Her whole body conveyed defeat and dejection.
    â€œHey, Mag!” I called.
    She looked up and gave me a wan smile.
    I hurried over. “How is he?” I asked, knowing the answer.
    â€œIt was one of his bad days,” she said. “He had nothing to say.”
    â€œI’m sorry.” Maggie’s son, Nick, had been sentenced to life in prison for a series of heinous crimes. While in prison, he had experienced a miraculous conversion, which Maggie accepted without
question. But I, and a few others, including her husband, Paul, had reservations. Maggie was returning from her weekly visit to the prison.
    â€œWant to talk?” I asked. Even though I was strapped for time, I couldn’t bear to leave my friend when she was so down. Her normal personality was upbeat and feisty, but the ordeal with her son had taken its toll. It was like watching a sunflower fade and wilt in slow motion.
    I led her over to a weathered bench behind the motel. There had once been two benches and a table there, but that was long ago, during the motel’s heyday. She settled her belongings between us.
    â€œWhat’s all that?” I asked, searching for something to say.
    â€œOh,” she said, and shrugged. “I took him a sweater and a cake, but he didn’t want the sweater and they wouldn’t let him have the cake.”
    â€œProbably thought there was a file in it.” My feeble attempt at humor fell flat. I tried to think of something to cheer her up. “Well, Mag, you knew there would be days like this. You just have to put it out of your mind.”
    â€œEasy for you to say,” she snapped.
    â€œMaggie, you can’t spend your life mourning your son. You have a husband, a business, a life of your own. You have to move on.”
    She nodded, biting her lip. “I know, Jo. If only I could forget how it used to be. When he was little, he used to bring me wildflowers … .” She turned away to hide the tears.
    I patted her arm, at a loss for words. My mind was a blank. After all, what did I know? I had never had a child, let alone one who had shamed me to the core of my existence. The most banal clichés came to mind. “Tomorrow will be better.” It wouldn’t. “Time will heal the wound.” The hell it would. “Life must go on.” True, but so what? Hey, she was beginning to depress me.
    I rose and pulled her to her feet. Looking her in the eye, I said,
“You can’t keep this up, Mag. You have to get a new attitude. You’re only fifty years old. You have years ahead of you. You