Great.
It’s not like Nellie’s ever been involved with the police, per se, but it’s also not like everyone in town is unaware that she’s a problem child.
But before she can mull over this too much, Monica’s eyes meet hers, and Monica bursts into tears.
Charleigh rushes over to her, pulls her into a hug. “Oh, honey, I am so, so sorry. I just can’t believe this happened!”
Monica’s skinny frame quivers as Charleigh holds her. “I know, I know… My baby. What am I gonna do if—”
“We have to keep positive,” Chip says, his voice leaden, sad. “Charleigh, that’s what I keep tellin’ her. Our Blair is a fighter; she’s gonna make it. And just this morning, she opened her eyes.”
A nurse sweeps in, lifts the vase from Charleigh, sets it on a cabinet.
“Chip is right,” Charleigh says, fighting back her own tears. “Blair is tough and strong. She’s gonna get through this!”
At this, Monica crumples into full-blown sobs. “I—I’m grateful you’re here, but I don’t think I’m up for visitors—”
“No, of course you’re not, honey, but—” Charleigh fumbles. “I’ll pop by later, okay?”
Chip follows Charleigh out. As they walk down the hall, he sighs. “I’m broken up, obviously, and in shock, but that woman in there will not recover if Blair doesn’t pull through—”
“I’m so sorry. But she will, because shehasto.”
“We sure appreciate you comin’ by, but we need some time right now. There’s been all kind of people in and out, as you can imagine—”
“Don’t say another word. I’ll tell the others to give y’all some space.” With that, Charleigh senses her opening. “What in the world are the cops doing there when you need some peace? That has to feel odd.”
They’ve reached the lobby. Chip stops, digs his hands into his pockets, studies the floor.
Charleigh’s insides twist and churn, a wet towel being wrung out.
“Because it’s such a freak thing, and because, I guess, somebody noticed that the doors to the boathouse were open, so they’re keeping an open mind about all possibilities.”
“Good Lord, Chip,” Charleigh says, adopting the softest tone she can manage. “What does that even mean?”
“It means,” he says, his ruddy face turning solemn, “that maybe the police think this wasn’t an accident at all—”
“But whoever in God’s creation would ever—” Charleigh stops herself, literally bites her tongue.
“I don’t know what to think. But when they brought her here in the ambulance, the police told us to call if she—” His voice splinters; he takes a second and swallows hard. “If she woke up. And this morning, she did, but it was brief. Opened her eyes, shut them again.”
“I see,” Charleigh manages to utter, mind whirring. “Well, good thing they’re here, then.” She squeezes him into a hug. “Take care. I’ll be praying.”
She shuttles out of the lobby, practically collapses in the parking lot on the way to her Jag.
Maybe the police think this wasn’t an accident at all.
Charleigh ferries herself to her car, drives away. Her grip is slick on the wheel, as if she’s just rubbed oil into her palms, and her heartbeat is still banging in her throat.
Jesus Christ.
But also…surely not.
Nellie may have done some shady shit in the past, yet putting someone in a coma? But then Charleigh’s brain ticks back to the dollhouse Nellie set on fire, to poor Thor almost asphyxiating…
She turns down her leafy lane, readies herself to pummel Nellie with more questions. She’ll do it stealthily, but still, she’s got to get in front of this. If there is even anythisto get in front of.
But as she wheels up her drive, she spies Nellie and Alexander climbing into the Wagoneer. She hops out, walks over to them. Nellie’s door is still open.
