Those are Marcella's first thoughts when she reads the DNA results, and sees that the semen stain and the priest's blood are indistinguishable from each other. No scientist will ever say it quite this way in testimony, but the numbers-and the stats-speak for themselves: This is the perp, no question.
She picks up the phone to tell Nina so, tucking it under her chin so that she can rubber-band the medical files that came attached to the lab report. Marcella hasn't bothered to scan these; it is pretty clear from what Nina said that the priest died as a result of the gunshot wound. But still, Nina has asked Marcella for a thorough review. She sighs, then puts back the receiver and opens the thick folder.
Two hours later, she finishes reading. And realizes that in spite of her best intentions to stay away, she'll be heading back to Maine.
Here is what I have learned in a week: A prison, no matter what shape and size, is still a prison. I find myself staring out windows along with the dog, itching to be on the other side of the glass. I would give a fortune to do the most mundane of errands: run to the bank, take the car to Jiffy Lube, rake leaves.
Nathaniel has gone back to school. This is Dr. Robichaud's suggestion, a step toward normalcy. Still, I can't help but wonder if Caleb had some small part in this; if he really doesn't like the thought of leaving me alone with my son.
One morning, before I could think twice, I walked halfway down the driveway to pick up the newspaper before I remembered the electronic bracelet. Caleb found me on the porch, sobbing, waiting for the sirens I was certain would come. But through some miracle, the alarm did not go off. I spent six seconds in the fresh air, and no one was the wiser.
To occupy myself, sometimes I cook. I have made penne alia rigata, coq au vin, potstickers. I choose dishes from foreign places, anywhere but here. Today, though, I am cleaning the house. I have already emptied the coat closet and the kitchen pantry, restocked their items in order of frequency of use. Up in the bedroom, I've tossed out shoes I forgot I ever bought, and have aligned my suits in a rainbow, from palest pink to deepest plum to chocolate.
I am just weeding through Caleb's dresser when he comes in, stripping off a filthy shirt. "Do you know," I say, "that in the hall closet is a brand-new pair of cleats fives sizes bigger than Nathaniel's foot?"
"Got them at a garage sale. Nathaniel'll grow into them."
After all this, doesn't he understand that the future doesn't necessarily follow in a straight, unbroken line?
"What are you doing?"
"Your drawers."
"I like my drawers." Caleb takes a torn shirt I've put aside and stuffs it back in all wrinkled. "Why don't you take a nap? Read, or something?"
"That would be a waste of time." I find three socks, all without mates.
"Why is just taking time a waste of it?" Caleb asks, shrugging into another shirt. He grabs the socks I've segregated and puts them into his underwear drawer again.
"Caleb. You're ruining it."
"How? It was fine to start with!" He jams his shirt into the waist of his jeans, tightens his belt again. "I like my socks the way they are," Caleb says firmly. For a moment he looks as if he is going to add to that, but then shakes his head and runs down the stairs. Shortly afterward, I see him through the window, walking in the bright, cold sun.
I open the drawer and remove the orphan socks. Then the torn shirt. It will take him weeks to notice the changes, and one day he will thank me.
"Oh, my God," I cry, glancing out the window at the unfamiliar car that pulls up to the curb. A woman gets out-pixie-small, with a dark cap of hair and her arms wrapped tight against the cold.
"What?" Caleb runs into the room at my exclamation. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing!" I throw open the door and smile widely at Marcella. "I can't believe you're here!"
"Surprise," she says, and hugs me. "How are you doing?" She tries not to look, but I see it-the way her eyes dart down to try and find my electronic bracelet.
"I'm . . . well, I'm great right now. I certainly never expected you to bring me my report in person."
Marcella shrugs. "I figured you might enjoy the company. And I hadn't been back home for a while. I missed it."
"Liar," I laugh, pulling her into the house, where Caleb and Nathaniel are watching with curiosity.
"This is Marcella Wentworth. She used to work at the state lab, before she bailed on us to join the private sector."
I'm positively beaming. It's not that Marcella and I are so very close; it's just that these days, I don't get to see that many people. Patrick comes, from time to time. And there's my family, of course. But most of my friends are colleagues, and after the revocation hearing, they're keeping their distance.
"You up here on business or pleasure?" Caleb asks.
Marcella glances at me, unsure of what she should say.
"I asked Marcella to take a look at the DNA test."
