“Hi,” I said, peering at her through leaves of the pink poinsettia in my arms.
She nervously locked the door and showed me to the living room. Pushing books and magazines aside, she set the poinsettia on the coffee table.
“How are you feeling?”
I asked.
“Better. Would you like something to drink? Here, let me take your coat.”
“Thanks. Nothing to drink. I can’t stay but a minute.”
I handed her a package. “A little something I picked up when I was in San Francisco last summer.”
I sat on the couch.
“Wow. You really do your shopping early.”
She avoided my eyes as she curled up in a wing chair. “You want me to open it now?’
“Whatever you’d like.”
She carefully sliced through tape with a thumbnail and slipped off the satin ribbon intact. Smoothing the paper into a neat rectangle, as if she planned to reuse it, she placed it in her lap and opened the black box.
“Oh,” she said under her breath, unfolding the red silk scarf.
“I thought it would look good with your black coat,” I said. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t like wool against my skin.”
“This is beautiful. It’s really thoughtful of you, Dr. Scarpetta. I’ve never had anybody bring me something from San Francisco before.”
The expression of her face pricked my heart, and suddenly my surroundings came into sharper focus. Susan was wearing a yellow terry cloth robe, frayed at the cuffs, and a pair of black socks that I suspected belonged to her husband. Furniture was scarred and cheap, upholstery shiny. The artificial Christmas tree near the small TV was scanty decorated and missing several limbs. There were few presents underneath. Propped against a wall was a folded crib that was dearly secondhand.
Susan caught me glancing around and looked ill at ease.
“Everything is so immaculate,” I said.
“You know how I am. Obsessive-compulsive.”
“Thankfully. If a morgue can look terrific, ours does.”
She carefully folded the scarf and returned it to its box. Pulling her robe more tightly around her, she stared silently at the poinsettia.
“Susan,” I said gently, “do you want to talk about what’s going on?”
She did not look at me.
“It’s not like you to get upset as you did the other morning. It’s not like you to miss work and then quit without so much as calling me.”
She took a deep breath. “I’m really sorry. I just can’t seem to handle things too well these days. I really react. Like when I was reminded of Judy.”
“I know your sister’s death must have been terrible for you.”
“We were twins. Not identical. Judy was a lot prettier than me. That was part of the problem. Doreen was jealous of her.”
I liked Susan and I felt hurt and deeply troubled. She was not being honest with me.
“Is there anything else you’d like to tell me about?”
I asked, my eyes not leaving her.
She glanced at me and I saw fear. “I can’t think of anything.”
I heard a car door shut.
“Jason’s home,” she barely said.
Our conversation had ended, and as I got up I said quietly to her, “Please contact me if you need anything, Susan. A reference, or just to talk. You know where I am.”
I spoke to her husband only briefly on my way out. He was tall and well built, with curly brown hair and distant eyes. Though he was polite, I could tell he was not pleased to discover me in his house. As I drove across the river, I was shaken by the image that this struggling young couple must have of me. I was the boss dressed in a designer suit arriving in her Mercedes to deliver token gifts on Christmas Eve. The alienation of Susan’s loyalty touched my deepest insecurities. I was no longer sure of my relationships or how I was perceived. I feared I had faked some test after Mark was killed, as if my reaction to that loss held the answer to a question in the lives of those around me. After all, I was supposed to handle death better than anyone. Dr. Kay Scarpetta, the expert. Instead, I had withdrawn, and I knew others felt the coolness around my edges no matter how friendly or thoughtful I tried to be. My staff no longer confided in me. Now it appeared security in my office had been violated, and Susan had quit.