Package Deal(52)
Why was the man peppering him with questions? Did he do that—leave it on the porch? Carlton shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“So you gave it to Cecelia—her little girl? Did you happen to see her when you dropped the paper off? Maybe you gave it to her.”
Too many questions, too many details. “I don’t remember.” He couldn’t seem to stop his hands from shaking. Had Cecelia talked about him? That she tried to keep him from coming in the house, that she hadn’t wanted to sit next to him, that he—?“I think … I must have left it with her. Didn’t she give it to Amanda?”
“Amanda’s at the hospital. Cecelia got hit by a car. Amanda was worried about the student. I thought I’d let her know if he turned the paper in. I’m sure you know she doesn’t like to penalize students when they turn things in on time. Since you share an office with her.”
“I guess.” Carlton shoved his hands into his lap—trying to keep them from shaking, but then he couldn’t hide his jumping cheek. He clutched his coffee cup, but was afraid to pick it up with his hands trembling so badly.
“What time was that—when you brought her the paper—to her house?”
More questions. Why can’t this guy be satisfied with what I’ve already told him? Carlton stared at him. The man seemed interested in his answers, but his questions seemed so much like those other questions, the ones he had endured after the other little girl’s disappearance. His heart was pounding and his pits felt wet. Sweat slid down his spine. “In the morning. I think it was the morning—or maybe around noon. I don’t remember exactly.”
“Hmm. Did you walk over to her house from campus?”
“No. I drove. I had things to do, other things to do … afterward.”
“Oh. Well, you must have been lucky to find a parking place on her street. Last time I was there, I had to park in the back.”
So that was it—where I parked.He nodded, relieved. “Me, too. The street was full of cars.”
“Where did you find one?”
“In the alley up about a block or two. Are we done? I really have to get home. I’ve got a heavy prep before tomorrow.”
Marcus nodded. “Thanks for talking to me. I’ll let Amanda know how helpful you were—to bring her that student paper and all.”
“You do that.” He got up to leave. “Tell her I hope her little girl is okay.”
“I will. One more thing, Carl. There was a special faculty meeting to arrange coverage for Amanda’s classes while she’s in the hospital. Why weren’t you there?”
Carlton looked back at Marcus and frowned, put out that the man was so disrespectful, that he didn’t use his full name. “I didn’t hear about it.”
He left the coffee shop without looking back. Dunbar was a bulldog for questions—a typical journalist. Carlton went directly to his apartment and tossed his jacket into the closet before going back out the door. He needed a drink to soothe his nerves. He had to get away for a while to think, to plan.
Amanda continued to sleep in Cecelia’s hospital room. Only once did she have to fend off a nurse reluctant to allow Marcus entry. One afternoon that had seemed no different than the others, Cecelia moaned and opened her eyes.
Amanda drew a shocked breath, squeezed her hand and whispered, “Cece. I’m here, sweetheart.” She reached for the buzzer with her free hand to call the nurse.
Her daughter coughed and tried to move, then groaned again.
“Her throat is probably sore from the endoscopy tube,” the doctor explained after he examined the child. He spoke with the nurse and smiled encouragingly to Amanda after he checked the monitors before waving the nurse away. “She may not answer you consistently for awhile, or even be coherent. Don’t worry about that. Some children take longer than others to come out of a drug-induced coma.” He patted her hand. “Feel free to talk to her. Let her know you’re here. That always helps.”
She nodded, her own throat tight. Not even coherent? Oh, Cece. She squeezed her daughter’s hand when it seemed to lift off the sheet. “Honey, lie still. You were hit by a car. Do you remember that?”
“No,” Cece said, her voice a hoarse whisper.
Throughout the afternoon, Cecelia seemed to float between full consciousness and sleep, rarely responding to Amanda’s touch or her voice.
She watched as her child’s head moved, or she licked her lips, even when her eyes remained closed. Other times she seemed deeply asleep. When she made little whimpering sounds, Amanda’s heart clutched, imagining what her daughter might be remembering, wishing with all her heart that she could wipe those bad memories away.