“I didn’t know,” she said again and again. She couldn’t touch the sandwiches or coffee the police had sent for. Perhaps she would spend her whole life there, in that room in the police station. With Frank, and Gail and Adam, and Mary Ellen.
Mary Ellen couldn’t stop crying, sickened by her father, by her ordeal in the trunk. She cried even for him, now that he was gone. And in the midst of her tears she ate three sandwiches, and Joyce knew she had a resilience that would carry her through.
Frank asked, “What are you going to do?” When she failed to answer, because she didn’t know, he said, “I could put you up at my house for a while. You gotta stay somewhere. I think at this point we could all use some sleep.”
And they would be safe with him.
“They’ll get over it someday,” he added. Meaning the mob. The fire. It seemed she could almost read his thoughts, and he hers.
“I wasn’t sure,” she said, “not even then. Not until he came up behind me at the bathroom door. Do you think they’ll ever understand that?”
“Of course they will. Look what you went through, and your kids.”
“It wasn’t as bad as what happened to them. But I really didn’t know.” To her dismay, her voice broke and tears rolled down her cheeks.
Clumsily he patted her hand. She wished he would hold her, the way he had when he found her on the road. But maybe not here, in front of the children.
“Nobody’s blaming you,” he said.
“But I—I wondered. I just couldn’t believe it. I wanted to ask you. And Dr. Ballard. But then it seemed so crazy.”
“Mommy,” said Gail, “can we go and live in Pennsylvania?”
She saw the look on his face. She knew Gail was right. They should start over again, in a different place.
“Yes, I suppose we can,” she said, “for a while. Until we sort things out and decide what we really want to do.”
Her eyes met Frank’s. He would understand that, for now, at least, Cedarville was not the place for her. After tonight, he would help her get away. And then—
“Let’s keep in touch,” he said.