Page 26 of The Woman Who Couldn't Scream
“Why can’t I speak?” Now Merida changed from sign language to the iPad. “My face—much of the damage was to my jaw, teeth and lips.” She kept her head down, typed rapidly without looking Kateri in the eyes. “The pain was terrific and I screamed so much… Well. You know what agony is.”
“I do.”
“By the time the pain was gone, the surgeries were over, the rehab… it was almost two years later. I just… couldn’t.” Merida picked up her coffee cup, but her fingers trembled and she put it back on the saucer.
Kateri thought about what Merida had said and what she wasn’t saying. “Technically you should be able to speak?”
She typed, “The doctors tell me there’s nothing wrong now.”
“Oh, my friend.”
Merida looked up, her eyes anguished, pleading. With her fingers, she spelled, “But you understand?”
In an odd way, Kateri did understand. She had suffered a catastrophe that changed everything: her livelihood, her affections, her pride, her appearance, her ambitions, her future. She had come away broken in so many ways; she had had to learn to deal with pain, to walk again, to live with limitations. Merida had a different limitation, one that was at the same time both emotional and real. “I do understand. But I am so sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m free now. I’m content. Or I will be soon.” Merida smiled, a curve of the lips that reminded Kateri of Cruella contemplating a new coat.
The expression did not fit well on that flawless face, and Kateri remembered it had been twenty years since she’d last seen Merry Byrd and thirteen years since Merry had cut communication completely. Everything about Merry had changed: her appearance, her method of speaking, even her name. Kateri didn’t know this woman, this Merida Falcon, and that meant she should proceed with caution.
Linda arrived at the table, hands full of breakfast plates and eyes full of irritation. She slapped the plates down. “Eat ’em while they’re hot,” she ordered, and headed off.
Merida looked out the window, then typed, “Your officer is coming this way and he looks very serious.”
Kateri looked, too.
Rupert Moen was jogging across the street toward the Oceanview Café, his copper hair standing on end and blotchy red in his cheeks.
Kateri checked her phone. No missed messages. If John Terrance had resurfaced, all the officers would be running for their cars, sirens would be wailing and someone would have called her.
She started working her way through the omelet as quickly as she could.
Moen charged through the door and toward Kateri.
The whole diner went on alert.
When he got close, she chewed, swallowed and asked, “Emergency?”
“No. Gosh, no! Well, maybe. There’s this woman…” He caught sight of Merida. He stopped in his tracks. “Wow.” He mouthed the word.
Poor kid. He wasn’t equipped to handle movie star glamour in their little town.
“Ironic that he was struck dumb at the sight of you,” Kateri said out of the corner of her mouth.
Merida laughed silently.
Aloud, Kateri said, “Officer Moen, this is my friend Merida Falcon. Merida, this is Officer Moen, a very valuable member of the sheriff’s team.”
Merida smiled and nodded.
Moen tore the hat off his head and nodded back. And stared. And stared.
Kateri took the moment to eat a bite of toast. One thing she knew about being in law enforcement—you ate when you could because you never knew when the next opportunity might be. “Moen, what’s the problem?”
He yanked his attention back to Kateri. “You have a visitor.”
Kateri’s fork hovered in the air over the plate. “At the police station?”
“Yeah… A lady.”
