her feet were clean white sneakers. “Hello,” she said to Suzanne. “You’re a pretty woman. Who are you?”
“I’m your daughter, Mom. It’s me, Suzanne.”
Her mother said politely, “I don’t have a daughter. She died. But when she was a little girl, she had this.” And her mother held up Snuggles. “His name is Snuggles,” her mother said.
“Mom, you remember this was Snuggles?” Suzanne leaned down toward her mother.
“I don’t know who you are,” her mother continued, “but my poor little daughter. She was always such a good girl.”
Suzanne sat slowly down on the edge of her mother’s bed.
“But her brother!” And her mother laughed then. “Oh, her brother was a nasty little boy. Always wanting his willie played with. Oh, he always wanted me to play with his willie, oh my, he was a bad, bad boy.” She laughed again.
Chills ran down Suzanne’s side, she felt them going all the way down her leg. “Doyle?” she finally asked.
Her mother’s face remained uncomprehending, until suddenly it became twisted in fury. “You get out of here right now! Get out! Get out!” Spittle flew from her mouth.
And then the other woman seated in her wheelchair began to cry. It was a terrible sound—a keening, almost. Suzanne stood up and went out into the hallway. “Help me, please,” she said to an aide going by. “I’ve upset my mother and also some woman who was in here, I guess visiting her.”
The aide was a small young woman, with no expression on her face, and she said to Suzanne, “I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Please come in now,” said Suzanne, but the aide was already going into the room next door. “Oh God,” said Suzanne. She went back into her mother’s room, past the woman who was crying so hard, and her mother was half standing out of her chair. She pointed her arm at Suzanne. “You! Get out of here right now!”
* * *
An hour later, Bernie still could not get Suzanne out of his mind. He kept having an image of putting her onto his lap, and holding her to him tightly. That’s enough, he thought, and took out a folder of a case he had to work on.
When his telephone rang again, he saw that it was her, and he picked it up and said, “Hello, Suzanne.”
He could hear that she was crying. “Oh, Bernie, I’m so sorry to call you, I really am, but I—”
“It’s quite all right, Suzanne. I told you to call me anytime, and I meant it. If you call me again in ten minutes, I’ll still mean it.”
“I’m just so scared,” she said. “I’m so scared!”
“I understand that. You have every reason to feel scared. But you’re going to be all right.” Bernie said this gently. “I’ve known you for years, Suzanne. And you have always been focused and smart, and you’re going to be just fine. You’re in the middle of a storm at the moment.”
“Don’t hang up,” Suzanne said.
“I’m right here,” Bernie answered. “You take your time.”
“Where are you?” Suzanne asked. “So I can picture you.”
“I’m sitting right at my desk. Alone,” he added.
“Bernie,” Suzanne said. “First— Now, please listen to me and tell me the truth. Do you know if my father ever had an affair? The woman who works at the Comfort Inn, when I went back to get my bag, she said she recognized my name from the credit card I had paid with, and she said she had always loved my father—she worked at that gas station in Freeport—and she said my mother used to come into that gas station with him at noontime, always so nice with her red hair, but my mother never had red hair.”
There was a silence, then Bernie said, “I’m not going to answer that.”
“Well, I guess you just did.”
“No. I didn’t.” After a moment Bernie added, “You’re a lawyer, and you know that privilege does not end with the death of a client.”
“Okay,” Suzanne said. “But just hold on, okay?”
“I’m right here, Suzanne.” He added, “I’m not going anywhere.” He picked up a paperclip and touched it repeatedly to his desk. He heard her weeping, and then he heard her finally stop.
“Oh, Bernie. I know my father probably had an affair, he probably had a dozen affairs, and I don’t want to be like my father—”
“Suzanne.” Bernie’s voice was firm. He let the paperclip stay on his desk. “You are not like your father. Do you hear me? You have always