THE HOSPITAL SAID MY NINE-YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER WAS GONE — AND MY HUSBAND BE.GGED THEM NOT TO LET ME SEE HER. TWO WEEKS AFTER THE FU.NERAL, OUR LOYAL DOG DR.OPPED HER YELLOW CARDIGAN AT MY FEET. IT WASN’T TORN. IT SMELLED LIKE HER SHAMPOO. AND THE SLEEVES WERE STILL WET WITH PURPLE PAINT.

I let them have it.

That was the first thing I gave back to him.

Dale Harlan was charged with attempted kid.napping.

And assault.

And violating his parole.

He’s waiting for trial in the county jail.

His lawyer keeps asking for a deal.

The district attorney keeps playing the 911 tape.

I gave her a written statement.

Four pages.

The last page was about me.

Meredith took a thirty-day suspension from Mercy Ridge.

She didn’t fight it.

The hospital board said the confidential registration was proper.

Lying to the mother was not.

She agreed with them.

She comes to dinner every Sunday now.

The first Sunday, she stopped on the porch.

She didn’t ring the bell.

I opened the door anyway.

“I’d rather you hate me,” she said.

“With her alive.”

“Than love me standing next to a real box.”

“I don’t hate you,” I said.

“Yet?” she said.

Almost a smile.