Page 43 of Where the Darkness Goes

I stand to press the button and call the nurse, worried something is seriously wrong, when her fingers wiggle. I stop.

“Did you do that on purpose?” I move back toward her, taking her hand, holding my palm just under her fingers. I think the nurse said something about this yesterday, but it’s all such a blur I can’t be certain. “Can you move your fingers for me again?”

She’s still looking at me, watching me with a blank, fuzzy expression, but her eyes haven’t wandered off again. I’m taking that as a good sign. She’s listening. Trying.

I clasp her hand in mine. “Can you hear me? Do you know who I am? Squeeze my hand, Momma.”

I wait, holding my breath and feeling for a single twinge of her muscles to let me know she’s attempting it, that I’m not imagining all of this.

I run my finger across hers slowly, moving over her knuckles. She twitches, a single bump of her finger, and my chest tightens.

I release a shaky breath and sit down on the bed again. The doctors have always said they’re hopeful she’ll make more progress, but I was beginning to lose hope. Intentional movement of any kind would be huge. “I’m here. I’m right here.” I try to think, remembering what the nurses have told us about her better days, how she responds by blinking about a quarter of the time. She wouldn’t do it yesterday, but maybe… “Can you blink once if you can hear me?” I hold my breath, waiting and watching. Still, her eyes are locked on mine, but she isn’t?—

Blink.

It’s slow, like she’s drunk, but it was definitely something, wasn’t it?

“Do you know who I am?”

There’s another long pause and then,blink.

Tears spring to my eyes, and my breathing hitches, my voice going so high I’m practically a cartoon character. “Hi. Oh my gosh. Hi.” I sniffle, collecting my thoughts though they feel a bit like scattered change. “Um, are you in pain? Should I call a nurse?”

Nothing. I double the time I waited before. Triple it.

She’s saying no. I really think she’s telling me no.

“Will will be back soon,” I tell her, stroking her hand. “He’ll be so happy to see you. We’re both going to visit as much as we can.”

Blink.

This time faster. She’s happy, I think. She’s saying yes, she wants us to visit.

“Mom, has someone else been visiting you? Someone besides me and Garrett and Will? Do you remember? Do you know what I’m talking about?”

Blink.

“Did they write this note?” I pull the wrinkled piece of paper out of my pocket and unfold it. “Murderer?”

She stares at me, not the paper, without blinking. I move it closer to her face. “Someone left this in your room. Do you know who?”

Blink.

I search the room. There has to be a way to have her tell me who it was without me rambling off every person I know. “Was it…Sheriff Ward?”

I’m thinking back over that night, over the accusations I don’t think she’s ever been able to let go of. Over the hurt on her face the next morning when she tried to pretend it hadn’t happened.

She doesn’t blink. That’s a no.

“Ed Gray?”

Again, her eyes are still, unblinking.

“Pastor Charles?”

Nothing. She’s so still she looks as if she’s been carved from stone. I don’t know who else it could be. I’m sure so many people heard the rumors back then. Once Mom had been accused of stealing—of murder, even—things were never quite the same. Even though she was never officially charged with any crime.

“It’s all going to be okay, okay? I’m going to make sure you’re safe. I’m going to fix this.”

---