Chapter 2 - WHAT EMMA SAWPolice separated everyone.
That was the first useful thing anyone did.
Trevor went with one officer.
Diane with another.
Pastor Michael carried Emma into his office because she would not let go of his hand.
I sat in a small room beside the chapel kitchen with an ice pack against my cheek.
A woman named Detective Laura Bennett introduced herself.
“Mrs. Turner?”
“Grace.”
“Grace, I know this is a funeral.”
I laughed once.
No humor.
Apparently we were still pretending there were normal categories of bad day.
“Ask.”
She did not begin with Emma.
She began with Diane hitting me.
I described the slap.
Hair pulling.
Shove.
Trevor restraining me.
Then Trevor kicking Diane.
“Did you ask him to do that?”
“No.”
“Did you want him to?”
I thought.
“No.”
True.
“Now tell me exactly what Emma said.”
I repeated it.
Nothing more.
Laura asked:
“Has Emma ever said anything like this before?”
“No.”
“Did you know your mother-in-law prepared bottles for the twins?”
“Yes.”
That answer came easily.
Then something inside me tightened.
How often?
More than I wanted to admit.
Diane came over frequently after the twins were born.
At first I was grateful.
Benjamin and Luke woke in shifts.
My body stopped distinguishing night from morning.
Trevor worked full time at Turner Heating & Air.
I returned part time to my bookkeeping job when the twins were four months old.
Diane liked reminding me that she had raised three children “without strangers.”
She also liked taking over.
“That nipple is too fast.”
“You’re holding him wrong.”
“Babies need schedules.”
“Don’t pick him up every time he cries.”
She made bottles.
Was that unusual?
No.
Was I suddenly afraid of every ordinary memory?
Yes.
Laura asked:
“What did your sons die from?”
My mouth went dry.
“Benjamin died first.”
“At home?”
“Yes.”
“Cause?”
“Initially unexplained.”
I forced the words out.
“He became unusually sleepy after his evening bottle. Then he stopped breathing.”
I had called 911.
CPR.
Ambulance.
Hospital.
Death.
Luke remained admitted for observation because doctors were worried about infection or environmental exposure.
He seemed fine.
Then two days later he deteriorated.
Respiratory depression.
Cardiac arrest.
They revived him once.
Then again.
The third time they could not.
Preliminary toxicology had been ordered.
Final results were not back.
At least that was what I had been told.
Laura stopped writing.
“Both had unusual sleepiness before respiratory distress?”
“Yes.”
I heard the implication.
Then rejected it.
“They were premature. Doctors said there were possibilities.”
“I’m not drawing conclusions.”
Good.
Because I was already drawing enough for both of us.
“Where were the bottles after Benjamin became ill?”
I closed my eyes.
“Kitchen.”
“Were they collected?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did anyone clean the house?”
My stomach dropped.
“Diane.”
“When?”
“The morning after Benjamin died.”
Laura looked at me.
“She came over while Luke and I were at the hospital.”
“Who let her in?”
“Trevor.”
“Was he there?”
“For part of it.”
“Did she wash bottles?”
“I don’t know.”
I pressed both hands against my face.
The ice pack fell.
Laura picked it up.
“Grace.”
“What?”
“Do not turn uncertainty into memory.”
I looked at her.
She continued:
“If you don’t know, say you don’t know.”
May you like
I nodded.
That became important later.
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