Page 74 of Deeper Than the Dead

“Daddy could have asked for the photos at some point after the funeral,” Eve offered, drawing Vera back to the problem at hand.

“I suppose so,” Vera agreed. “I just can’t imagine why. Either way, if Higdon can’t find the photos,” she went on, her mind circling the possibilities, “he will want to exhume her. Not that it will do one damned bit of good.”

Not unless there were fractures. Vera searched her memory for any time her mother had ever been injured. Nothing came to mind.

“This is ridiculous and utterly insane,” she muttered.

“Try not to worry,” Eve urged. “Suri will look through all the files. If the photos are in the building, she will find them.”

“I hope so.” Vera couldn’t bear the idea of her mother being disturbed and their father’s and family’s reputation being trashed in the headlines and on the gossip grapevine for no reason.

Vernon Boyett was not an abuser or a murderer.

Vera’s stomach tied itself into knots. Was he?

For a time, she and Eve only sat there, the worries crowding in around Vera. How could this be happening? There had been a hell of a lot of misery in the after part of their lives, but did fate have to try to damage the good from the before part too?

“Do you remember how she looked? In the bathtub, I mean.” The words were out before Vera could stop them, and she wanted to kick herself for asking. It had been a really tough time for both of them, but especially for Eve, since she had found her.

“She was wearing that pink scarf,” Eve said, her voice sounding a thousand miles away. “She’d even picked pink panties and bra to match. Remember toward the end she wore her undies even in the bath or shower.”

“You’re right.” Vera smiled sadly. “I’d forgotten about that.”

Since her death was imminent, their mother had worried about suddenly dropping dead. She didn’t want to risk the EMTs coming in to find her naked. Vera thought it was the silliest thing she’d ever heard at the time, but later she understood.

“The pink ones were her favorite. It was like she knew that was the day,” Eve went on. “I’m still mad at her a little, you know.”

Vera frowned, searched her sister’s face. “Why? Because she died and left us? It’s not like she wanted to.”

Eve shook her head. “I know that. I mean because she didn’t tell me the truth.”

Vera’s frown deepened. She had no idea what Eve meant. “About what?”

“She said it would be better after she was gone. That she wouldn’t be suffering anymore, and we would be able to get on with our lives. She said over and over that I would feel better. But I didn’t. It was a lie. I shouldn’t have believed her.”

Vera put an arm around her sister and hugged her, despite the way she stiffened at the gesture. “Her suffering did end,” she offered. “And I think she thought we would feel better knowing that.”

“I was eleven years old,” Eve reminded her. “There was absolutely no scenario where having my mother die was going to make me feel better. I shouldn’t have believed her.”

“I never knew you felt this way.” Vera couldn’t recall Eve ever talking about that particular aspect before.

A flash of memory cut through her brain. Sitting on the bathroom floor with Eve. The two of them holding tightly to each other. Their mother lying on the wet tile where they had pulled her from the tub. Suri leaning against the wall, watching in a sort of shock.

“I shouldn’t have believed her,” Eve had cried. “It doesn’t feel better. It doesn’t feel better at all.”

Vera remembered holding her sister, rocking her until the ambulance arrived. Then their father appeared, and the rest was an emotional roller-coaster ride barreling toward the end of the track. Their father had cried harder than anyone.

“Maybe I made the bruises trying to get her up out of the water,” Eve said. “Until you got in there to help me, I kept grabbing at her and trying to heave her up. Suri had panicked and was just sitting there in shock.”

“He’s suggesting these were bruises showing her body had been held down in the water,” Vera explained. “I’m sure you didn’t hold her down.”

Eve made a face. “I don’t think so.”

“I don’t want you worrying about this,” Vera urged. “You didn’t do anything wrong any more than I did. She was weak from the chemo. It was the last round because her oncologist didn’t believe she could tolerate any more. It wasn’t really helping anyway. That final cycle was just a last-ditch effort to buy a little more time.”

“Everyone always wants more time,” Eve noted. “The concept is overrated when you’re that deep into such a wicked disease.”

Vera wasn’t sure it was possible to overrate more time when it came to life. Most people would gladly give just about anything for even a minute more.

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