I’m worried about her. That’s why I’m here.”
“But continue thou in the things which thou hast learned and hast been assured of,’ ” she quoted to me. “It’s really that simple.” She smiled.
“I’m not certain I understand,” I replied.
“Dr. Scarpetta, there is no cure for what you’ve just shared with me. I can’t lay hands on you and push the darkness and bad dreams away. Father O’Connor can’t, either. We have no ritual or ceremony that works. We can pray for you, and of course, we will. But what you and Lucy must do right now is return to your own faith. You need to do whatever it is that has given you strength in the past.”
“That’s why I came here today,” I said again.
“Good. Tell Lucy to return to the religious community and pray. She should come to church.”
That would be the day, I thought as I drove toward home, and my fears only intensified when I walked through my front door. It was not quite seven P.m. and Lucy was in bed.
“Are you asleep?” I sat next to her in the dark and placed my hand on her back. “Lucy?”
She did not answer and I was grateful that our cars had not arrived. I was afraid she might have tried to drive back to Charlottesville. I was so afraid she was about to repeat every terrible mistake she had ever made.
“Lucy?” I said again.
She slowly rolled over. “What?” she said.
“I’m just checking on you,” I said in a hushed tone. I saw her wipe her eyes and realized she was not asleep but crying. “What is it?” I said.
“Nothing.”
“I know it’s something. And it’s time we talk. You’ve not been yourself and I want to help.”
She would not answer.
“Lucy, I will sit right here until you talk to me.”
She was quiet some more, and I could see her eye lids move as she stared up at the ceiling. “Janet told them,” she said. “She told her mom and dad. They argued with her, as if they know more about her feelings than she does.
As if somehow she is wrong about herself.”
Her voice was getting angrier and she worked her way up to a half-sitting position, stuffing pillows behind her back.
“They want her to go to counseling,” she added.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m not sure I know what to say except that the problem lies with them and not with the two of you.”
“I don’t know what she’s going to do. It’s bad enough that we have to worry about the Bureau finding out.”
“You have to be strong and true to who you are.”
“Whoever that is. Some days I don’t know.” She got more upset. “I hate this. It’s so hard. It’s so unfair.” She leaned her head against my shoulder. “Why couldn’t I have been like you? Why couldn’t it have been easy?”
“I’m not sure you want to be like me,” I said. “And my life certainly isn’t easy, and almost nothing that matters is easy. You and Janet can work things out if you are committed to do so. And if you truly love each other.”
She took a deep breath and slowly blew out air.
“No more destructive behavior.” I got up from her bed in the shadows of her room. “Where’s the Book?”
“On the desk,” she said.
“In my office?”
“Yes. I put it there.”
We looked at each other, and her eyes shone. She sniffed loudly and blew her nose.
“Do you understand why it’s not good to dwell on something like that?” I asked.
“Look what you have to dwell on all the time. It goes with the turf.”
“No,” I said, “what goes with the turf is knowing where to step and where not to stand. You must respect an enemy’s power as much as you despise it. Otherwise, you will lose, Lucy. You had better learn this now.”
“I understand,” she quietly said as she reached for the catechism I had set on the foot of the bed. “What is this, and do I have to read it all tonight?”