The Speed of Mercy by Christy Conlin (adventure books to read .txt) 📗

Stella stopped in the hall. Nurse Calvin spoke very loudly. Dianne waited halfway down the hall. Stella couldn’t tell if Dianne could hear Nurse Calvin hold forth in her argument with Eugene.

“Dianne has to take the placement in the old folks’ home. I mean, how much longer will she last? She’s eighty-four. We can give her bed here to someone younger.”

Stella heard Eugene’s sigh and then his deep breath before he spoke.

“Dianne won’t want to go to the nursing home. She won’t leave Stella. Grace and I both think it’s a mistake to split them up. We’ve both told you this, Mrs. Calvin. Stella needs Dianne. Dianne needs Stella. And I don’t even know if it’s a good idea for Stella to go to Mountain Top. This is her home. She doesn’t even remember Isaiah is gone.”

Stella glanced down the hall at Dianne — she was in the same position, not moving.

“That’s because everyone keeps tippy-toeing around Stella like she’s made of shell and perched on a knick-knack shelf. We need to keep reminding her. Stella must realize there are other people in this world and that Dianne’s an old lady. She won’t live forever. We just have to convince Dianne. Or we can just wait it out, for her cousin Sorcha to die. That old lady’s in the hospital anyway, and if you ask me, she’s not coming out. I can’t believe the Covid didn’t kill her. But she’s ninety-five. Someone needs to tell Dianne, if you ask me.”

Stella rubbed her temples. She wanted to go for a walk with Dianne. Sorcha couldn’t be in the hospital without Dianne knowing, could she? It was confusing. Stella wanted to see Isaiah. She wanted to talk to Eugene without Nurse Calvin there. Nurse Calvin was in the hall now, her voice hurtling out behind Stella. “That Stella doesn’t fool me with her deaf-and-dumb show.”

“Okay, this is out of line, Nurse Calvin. I know, because you constantly remind me, how you happen to be from another time in health care. I know you think it was a better, more practical time. But this is really inappropriate. She’s mentally ill.”

“Oh mentally-shmentally. No one cut her throat. Trauma this and trauma that. Neuroplasticity and all that silly talk. Stella’s only fifty-four. She could still do an honest day’s work. What worked back then still has a place now.”

“She has worked in the greenhouse in the spring. I know you have a lot on your plate, Nurse Calvin, and I know you’ve worked hard all of these years, but this sort of conversation is unprofessional . . . Pauline. Please. You know better.”

Stella had never heard Eugene use her first name before. She didn’t even know Nurse Calvin had a first name. Please was spoken as an order.

“I’ve got to get back to the office. Let me know as soon as Stella’s tests results come back. She has the medical appointment tomorrow.”

Stella realized her eyes were closed. As she opened them, she saw Dianne walking to her, taking her hand, leading her away from the nurse’s station, leading her outside where the soft, dappled light fell down through the old chestnut trees.

The Flying Squirrel Road.

Just Going Over Yonder.

Who Killed Laura Palmer?

Now

Mal drove down yet another dirt road on the North Mountain. She’d been driving for almost two hours now, trying to find the Flying Squirrel Road. Once she’d come up the Mountain, her phone hadn’t been able to pick up a signal. Her grandmother had mentioned this location and this mysterious woman named Lucretia, but she hadn’t given Mal very sensible directions. She’d said to look for the house with a fountain in the front yard, on a dirt road. And Seraphina had torn out of the museum parking lot so quickly Mal hadn’t been able to ask her where the road was, or who Lucretia was. Mal was still finding it hard to believe Seraphina knew her mother. She would have called her mother, if she wasn’t supposed to be on a retreat. For sure she would have called her father. Tears poured down her cheeks. Her grief had been waiting there right behind her eyes. It was still hard to believe he was dead and that she would only ever hear his voice in her mind. He would have known what to do, but he wasn’t here to ask. Still, Mal knew he would tell her to call her mother. But she wasn’t willing to confess the false pretenses of her trip. Not yet.

Mal turned back onto the main road and headed north. There seemed to be only abandoned old farms set way back from the roads, and deep, thick forest. She could now see the bay. She glanced in her rear-view mirror. There was a black car behind her. Not a police car. She turned right onto the next dirt road she came to. The car turned and drove behind her, a bit faster now. There was no way it was an unmarked police car. It was too obvious, too shiny. If someone was following her, they sure weren’t being discreet. Maybe it was all in her head. Mal pulled over to wait for the black car to pass but it pulled over as well.

Mal started driving again, the car following. She came to a crossroads and turned left, and then another crossroads with a signpost on the left, almost obscured in the alder bushes. A sudden fog was rolling in, quickly blocking out the blue sky. There was no black car in her mirror now. It was possible it had been a local. Or perhaps the changing sky had disoriented the driver. She drove down the road and, sure enough, there was a house with a fountain in the front yard, just as Gramma Grant had said. But she’d also said there would be an old lady, Lucretia. The place looked abandoned. The lawn