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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Dova’s gaze went from face to face, stopping on Robbie’s. “Oh, I didn’t know you were all here.”

I didn’t believe her, though whether she’d known or not didn’t make any difference.

“We were just talking,” Mamie said, with a trace of defensiveness.

“I’m sure, dear.” She didn’t look at the girl, only at Robbie. “You’re worn down. You shouldn’t be here. None of this is yours to deal with. I’ll take care of everything. You go now.”

Mamie started to say something. Dova faced the girl, her expression hidden from me by the angle.

Mamie got up, tugging slightly on Robbie’s hand.

With it clear the teenagers were leaving, Dova added more lightly, but unnecessarily, “You kids go on now. Get out of here. No reason for you to be here.”

As they passed her, I saw a reaction in Robbie’s face for the first time.

Pain. Worry.

The flash disappeared in a moment, leaving only an afterimage, like lightning in a dark sky.

Sympathy for the kid tightened my chest. Immediately pushed aside by my great-aunt’s you-need-to-talk-to-this-woman voice coming out of my mouth.

“Dova, sit down. You look exhausted. Want us to get you some coffee?”

“No. No, thank you.”

Good thing, because my aunt — channeling through me — wouldn’t have left to fetch it. Too busy watching Dova.

Because there had been definite annoyance at my comment about looking exhausted. Perhaps especially because she didn’t.

I swear I hadn’t known that was a vulnerable spot, but crafty Kit-in-my-head had.

“They’re such good young people,” Clara said with warmth, looking in the direction they’d gone.

“Some children are determined to be different from their parent,” Dova said. “Some grow up very like their parent. Robbie has been determined to be a responsible and admirable person from a very young age.”

Leaving out Mamie could be accidental or normal mother bias.

I was more interested in the fact that her different/like their parent contention could mean all sorts of things in Robbie’s case.

Like his convicted murderer father? Like his mother, who might have been as sweet as her mother’s memories declared — or not. And which parent was he different from?

No, wait. According to the Kit voice in my head, Dova was talking about herself.

“He is very like you.”

“I’m extremely proud of him.” Her agreement with my statement was implicit... along with un-humbly applying the responsible and admirable praise to herself. Still, who can slight a mother for being proud of her kid?

“He’s a good kid,” I said.

It was weak, but it drew a look from her I chose to interpret as approval. At least that lukewarmest of approvals — tacit.

I’d take it.

Writers learned to warm the cockles of their hearts with tacit approval. Having read reviews for even the beloved Abandon All , I knew criticism was the default setting for many, so if tacit approval didn’t work for a writer, those heart cockles could get awfully cold.

“We understand Derrick’s parents told Robbie that Jaylynn was having an affair at the time she was killed,” Clara said with concern and empathy. Good for her following up on that.

Dova exhaled deeply. “It was one of the reasons I curtailed contact between them and Robbie. I wanted to raise him with as much normalcy as possible. They wanted to clear their son’s name at all costs — even the cost of their grandson’s well-being.”

“He’s very fortunate to have had you for these years,” Clara said. “Not only with his father in prison, but from what we’ve gathered not much communication between father and son as Robbie’s grown up.”

“I tried to keep the relationship, despite everything. Even before Derrick went to prison, when Robbie was little, most of their relationship was through me. After the trial and verdict... It became harder and harder as Robbie grew older, with his own views, even though I thought Robbie needed some connection to his father.”

Not what Beverly and Yale indicated. In their scenario, the limited contact was from Derrick’s altruistic concern for his son.

Clara said, “But you were all hoping — before Derrick’s illness, of course — that might change for good, weren’t you?”

Dova did not respond. A smooth, pleasant not-quite-blankness that put the onus on Clara to bridge.

Clara didn’t falter. With a hint of approval, she said, “The lawyers to mount a new appeal.”

After another beat, Dova’s expression shifted to rueful.

“Oh, dear. Derrick promised me — swore — he wouldn’t talk to anyone else about that.

” She drew in a breath, then let it out in a rush.

“I suppose it can’t hurt him anymore now.

The truth is, that was his hope — our hope — always.

But as much as I searched and searched and searched, no lawyers would touch an appeal.

In the end, after so many said the same thing, I had to let go of the hope.

But I let him think... No, more than that, I have to take the responsibility.

I created the scenarios for him to believe in, to hope for.

“Sometimes, I wondered if it was the right thing to do, but now — with his illness and what’s happened — I can’t be anything but glad I did. If I’d let that dream end, he would have died right then.”

An appeal could have jumbled motives for his murder.

If Derrick had no hope of an appeal, that would point away from Jaylynn’s family or the guy who was broken for years after her death, Evan Ferguson.

Unless the only verdict that truly worked for them was his death, and his release to hospice was their opportunity, as well as what might have pushed them over the edge.

But she meant that without the hope of another appeal, Derrick would have died in prison and of something other than murder.

“Hope is so vital,” Clara said.

Dova leaned forward and squeezed Clara’s forearm.

“You are such a generous, caring person. Thank you.” Dova drew in a breath, then sighed it out. “I’d better get to what I came here for. Unbelievable how much paperwork is required.”

“Of course. We totally understand.”

She left us with a sad smile, heading back toward the main entry.

We waited a minute, exchanged a look, then gathered our things and followed in the same direction. Going slowly enough that she would naturally extend her lead on us.

She was out of sight, presumably having made the turn to the hallway leading to the reception desk, so it was certainly enough of a lead that she couldn’t hear when I responded to Clara’s frown by asking the ever-brilliant, “What’s wrong?”

“There was something Dova said or... something...” She shook her head. “It threw me off.”

“She did something odd with her mouth.”

“Did she?”

“Yeah, I can’t describe it exactly, but I noticed it, too. Had to concentrate to keep my focus on what she was saying and not that.”

“Yeah,” she said with relief. “That was it — finding myself not listening to what she was saying. I couldn’t figure out why I wasn’t hanging on every word.”

Without consulting each other, we paused in front of the door marked 127. Derrick Dorrio’s room.

Clara moved to block anyone’s view as I reached out and tried the doorknob.

Finding anything would be a long shot, with the hospice staff, the family, and the sheriff’s department all here ahead of us.

The doorknob didn’t budge.

“Locked,” I murmured. We didn’t get the chance at the long shot.

We continued down the hall, as an aide came around the corner.

“May I help you?” the woman asked.

Clara smiled at her. “That’s so kind of you. We were talking with Derrick Dorrio’s family, but they had to leave and now the door has locked.”

The aide’s pale eyes went past us, presumably looking at the door.

“The sheriff’s department locked it,” she said, faintly apologetic.

“We understand. Did you care for Derrick?” Clara’s question drew a nod. “Talking with his family—Did they all come together to see him?”

“No, no, no. That would have been entirely too much for him. His parents came together, mostly. Then the wife. The son...” She shook her head. “She really wanted to protect that boy, didn’t want him to suffer, which does her credit. And she mostly succeeded.”

“Mostly?”

She clucked her tongue. “The boy was here on his own once. After hours, it was, and took some working around. But how could anyone have the heart to shoo him out? Not like with that mother. Not Dova, but the patient’s mother, Beverly.”

Ah, the aide was not a fan.

“She came alone?”

“She did. Twice that I know of. Interfered with routine both times. That upsets the patients. They need routine. Visitors can upset that anytime, if it comes to that. But they’re not thinking about that.

Wanting closure and all that. The patients can become.

.. unsettled and having lots of people around makes it worse. Especially—”

She tucked her bottom lip between her teeth.

I might have tried to shake more words out of her. Clara’s quiet, “Especially what?” worked better.

“There was yelling. His mother and his wife, both here quite late the night before he died and—”

“You mean just a few hours before or—”

“No, no. The night before that. But well after dinner, like I said. I’d seen the mother and tried to get her to leave, but she said she needed to talk to her son and she wasn’t going anywhere until he woke up.

So, I left her there. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but it was busier than usual with Rose off and. ..”

“It would have been hard-hearted not to have let her stay,” Clara said firmly.

The aide pulled in a breath. “I looked in about an hour later and she was still there, dozing in a chair and he was still resting comfortably. Next thing I knew, I heard raised voices and I rushed in there, because it had to be bothering nearby patients. It’s a miracle he didn’t wake up with them arguing about whether his son should come to see his father or not — the grandmother saying absolutely yes and the mother saying it was up to him.

I had to be, well, quite firm with them. Made them both leave. Right then.”

She breathed a little heavily as if coming through that ordeal again.

“And then, with it not even first light, I went in again and there was the boy. His son. Alone.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing. I’d given the patient his medication and the boy sat there, beside him, watching him sleep, as if looking hard enough would tell him some secret.”

“Did it?” Clara asked softly.

The woman shook her head sharply. “Not that I could tell. The boy went away before long, without waking the patient, so he didn’t disrupt things too much. Not like that other.”

“You mean Derrick’s mother?” I clarified.

“Oh, her. Yes, her, too. Thinking she knew best about everything. Thinking she could tell me how to do my job. But I was thinking of that other one. Has the same last name. Earl, maybe?”

“Emil Dorrio?”

“That’s it.”

Clara and I carefully didn’t look at each other.

“That must have been difficult, having someone come in and try to tell you how to do your job when you do so much for the residents here,” Clara said with great empathy.

“He tried to tell me,” the aide said grimly. “But that’s all water under the bridge. And so will my break be, if I don’t—”

“Of course. Thank you so much for your time—I’m sorry, we didn’t get your name?”

“Sally,” she said.

Unexpectedly, she reached out and patted Clara’s arm. “You cared for your mother-in-law before her death, didn’t you? I heard about that. She was fortunate to have you.”

“I was fortunate to have her .” Clara blinked, then cleared her throat. “As the residents here are fortunate to have you and the others.”

The woman huffed. “Tell that to Beverly Dorrio. You know it’s not even her family that had the money and influence.

It was all the Dorrios. You’d think she’d be a bit more humble, considering I know exactly what and where she came from.

As for Emil, he’s got the name, but that’s all.

The old man — that was Yale’s daddy — accepted his son marrying down, as he’d say, but not his nephew and came as close to cutting that branch of the family off as you can get.

Some say it served Yale right when Derrick got in trouble.

“In a way, I wish I had more to tell you. But I don’t.” She looked down the hall in the direction of her break. “Well, as I said—”

“Of course. Thank you, again,” Clara said.

With my added thanks, we sent her on to her break, heading the opposite direction from us.

Under her breath, Clara said as we continued toward the exit, “I sure hope Donna persuades Rose Gleiner to talk to us.”