Conversation · Working Class Woman

"Oh." She touches her neck, eyes pale like pearls in seawater.

"Oh," she says again, "But he was just..." She looks at the kitchen table, where two cigarette butts are still in the tray.

But he was just here. Alive.

"We understand this comes as a huge shock. I want you to know that me and my partner," he points at you, "are here for you if you have any questions. Take your time, ma'am."

"What happened to him?" She turns to you. Her neck and cheeks are covered with red blotches, her double chin is shaking.

"It was an accident -- he fell through a hole in the boardwalk and hit his head."

"Was he drunk?"

"Yes."

"I see..." She withdraws, trying to picture the scene. "And you just... found him there? Lying in the cold?"

"How long had he been there?"

If you say 'Two days, maybe', it will be etched in her mind forever.

"Two days, maybe."

She blinks, eyes welling up with tears, as her hands start searching for something from the pockets of her dress.

The handkerchief!

(No words. Just give her the lieutenant's handkerchief.)

A small, terrified smile quivers on her face as she takes the handkerchief and wipes away the tears. She looks disoriented.

"Is there anyone we could call for you? A friend, a family member, someone who could be here for you?"

"No, no..." She breathes in. "I just need to tell my girls..." The air gets sucked out of her lungs suddenly.

It burns like acid.

Unreal.

"God, should I call them? Should I tell them to come home?"

No. A day.

"No, take a day to recover. You'll be better prepared when they come home tomorrow."

"Good, that's probably the right thing, thank you..." She nods, but with a wretched expression.

She can't take much more. Her stomach is churning. Soon she will have to go to the bathroom and scream.

"Just tell me, what do I need to do next? Where is he? Can I see him?"

"We've taken him to the city morgue. The local coroner will be contacting you shortly to arrange the funeral. Here's his number in case you want to contact him earlier." He hands her a leaflet with the morgue's contact information.

A very good call.

"Is there anything else that the RCM could do for you?

"No, I'll call you if something comes up, I'm still..." She rubs her face, runs her fingers over cheeks that have become numb.

"Thank you." She looks down. "Thank you for telling me. I'll call, if..." She runs out of breath.

These are her last reserves of strength. Her muscles will give in soon. Already she starts to shake.

"Again, I'm very sorry, ma'am."

The lieutenant nods at the woman, then looks back at you, his voice lowered: "We should step outside and talk."

[Set the library card by her. Leave the room.]

...

You know the answer to this. Oddly, you just do.

"We've taken him to the city morgue. The local coroner will be contacting you shortly to arrange the funeral. In the meantime, you can always call the RCM if you have any questions."

"I see. Well, thank you for... telling me." She rubs her face, runs her fingers over cheeks that have become numb.

A very good call. You must leave now, sire.

"Thank you for telling, me officer..." She looks down.

These are her last reserves of strength. Her muscles will give in soon. Already she starts to shake.

"Again, I'm very sorry, ma'am." [Set the library card by her. Leave the room.]

"Yes, they should know. Do you want us to call them and ask them here?"

"No, I'll do it myself, I just..." She breathes again, holding on to her left side like she's in pain.

"Is there anyone we could call for you? A friend, a family member, someone who could be here for you?"

"Here, take this." (Give her the lieutenant's handkerchief.)

"Yes, thank you." She smiles a small, terrified smile, then wipes away her tears. She looks disoriented.

Don't give her the lieutenant's handkerchief, it's too special.

The woman wipes her face with a sleeve and manages to conjure up a small terrified smile. She looks disoriented.

"Here." The lieutenant takes out his handkerchief and offers it to the woman. She nods and slowly wipes away her tears.

"My handkerchief..." She tries to smile through the tears, as she rubs her face with hands like a child.

"It's hard to say at this point."

"It couldn't have been long."

"We don't know yet, but we will let you know when the results arrive."

"Alcohol may have played a role, yes."

"It's still early to say, but at first glance it seems like he slipped and hit his head."

"I understand that this may come as a huge shock. I want you to know that I'm here for you if you have any questions. Take your time, ma'am, I'm not going anywhere."

God, do I just say he's dead like that...

Yes. That's the most important thing. Use that word.