The Ferryman Read Online Free PDF Page B

reminding.
    There was a merciless, unforgiving voice in her head that seemed to be with her all the time, crucifying her for allowing herself to be swept back into Spencer Hahn’s vortex.
    And, of course, there was her mother.
    Mother.
    On Friday morning, four days after Janine Hartschorn had nearly died, she lay in that limbo state, not deep enough for dreams but not awake, and her subconscious mind became aware of an intrusion. The soft hiss of panty hose scraping together, the rattle of the blinds being opened, the slight redistribution of weight as someone sat on the end of the bed.
    Her eyelids lazily parted once, twice, a third time.Then she frowned. At the end of the bed sat her mother, Ruth Vale, in a dark jacket and skirt that might have been an advertising executive’s power suit or mourning clothes.
    â€œMom?” she rasped, stretching weakly. “I didn’t expect you so early.”
    Ruth had once had hair as raven black as Janine’s own, but when it had begun to gray she dyed it auburn and almost always wore it up in a severe braid. Power suit. Power hair to match.
    â€œIt isn’t early, Nina,” her mother corrected, hazel eyes surrounded with lines of disapproval. “It’s nearly ten.You did say that lesbian girl was going to pick you up this afternoon, didn’t you?”
    Right, Janine thought. Today’s the day they send me home. The thought left her with an even hollower feeling, and she was grateful that Annette was going to be there with her.
    â€œHer name’s Annette, Mom,” Janine replied, growing even more tired, as though her mother were sucking the life out of her.“Yes, she’s picking me up.”
    â€œGood,” her mother said with a tiny nod, as though marking something off on some mental checklist.
    She stood and brushed imaginary lint off her skirt, then straightened it. “I have a meeting later today, so I’m afraid I’m going to have to catch the shuttle right away.”
    Janine frowned, her mouth open just slightly, the air traveling in and out drying her lips. Her mother had been just as inept at comforting her these past days as the doctors and nurses, even more so, in fact. But simply having her there had at least given Janine something to hold on to.
    â€œI’ll be back for the service, of course,” Ruth Vale added hurriedly, as though she knew she had to apologize for something but was not quite sure what. “Larry and I will both be here.”
    Larry. Janine’s father, a pharmacist, had died young. Two years later, when Janine was only ten, her mother had married LarryVale, another exec at the ad agency in Manhattan.
    â€œI told you, I don’t know if I’m going to do a ... a memorial.”
    Ruth sighed. “Whatever you think is best.”
    When her mother bent over the bed to kiss her forehead, the way she had always done when Janine was sick as a girl, it was all she could do not to scream at the woman for being such a coward, too afraid of her daughter’s pain to share the burden.
    Then she was gone.
    Like a phantom limb, Janine felt the weight against her body where she would have been holding the baby if he had lived. Her breasts ached with milk she would never provide.As she sat there in the sterile hospital bed, gray light filtering through the industrial windows, she held her arms up as if cradling the child. David Hartschorn, that would have been his name.
    She had wanted to name him David.
    Â 
On Friday afternoon, two days after Ralph Weiss’s untimely death, David sat behind his desk and stared out the window. The bell had rung only a handful of minutes before, but the exodus of his students had been swift and he had been left completely alone.
    At the moment, alone was good.
    The pleasure he usually took as he watched his seniors march toward their final days at St. Matt’s had been drained from him as though he had worked up a decent beer buzz and was