Free Don't Go by Lisa Scottoline Page B

leakage of embalming fluid or staining of her garment.”
    Mike swallowed hard. “She was exsanguinated when she came in, right?”
    “Yes, but as you may know, exsanguination sufficient to cause death is incomplete. Unlike doctors like yourself, who measure blood in liters, we speak in terms of blood weight, and your wife had three pounds of blood when she came to us.” Scott gestured at the coffin, but Mike didn’t look over. “Your wife is lying in repose, and since the wound was interior, we positioned her arm against the body, so the sleeve of the dress would hide the towel.”
    Mike thought of the white dress, then oddly, the underwear. “I’m sorry that we didn’t give you any, uh, underwear.”
    “That was no problem. We keep a supply of fresh packs in that event. Now, if you have no other questions, I’ll give you some privacy. Again, my deepest condolences.” Scott left the room silently.
    Mike walked over to a chair, sat down, braced himself, then made a conscious effort to raise his eyes to the casket. At the sight, his chest tightened with anguish, and tears came to his eyes. He heard a gasping sob and realized it came from him. He covered his mouth, holding in whatever he could. Crying, shouting, emotion. He looked at Chloe’s body, making himself see her.
    Her face was an inanimate mask of the memory he’d just had, a mannequin of herself. Her hair had been brushed in soft waves, her eyes were closed, and her eyelids lightly lined. Her lovely mouth was a glossy pink and curved into a sweet, natural smile, evidence of the mortician’s skill. She had on the white dress and brown shoes he’d picked out this morning. Profound sadness swept over him, and he hung his head, slumping in the chair.
    He had no idea how long he sat that way, collapsed. The envelope sat in his lap, and he opened it, mechanically. Inside was a white paper, and he pulled it out. It read DEATH CERTIFICATE , and he scanned the information: Decedent, Chloe Voulette. Sex, F. Date of Death, December 15. Age, 32. Date of Birth, July 13. Marital Status, Married. Surviving Spouse, Michael Scanlon. It sickened him to see his own name on Chloe’s death certificate. He felt horrified to be a Surviving Spouse.
    He read the Time of Death, between 5:30 P.M. and 6:00 P.M. , and realized that he had been asleep when she died, half a world away. He didn’t wake up the moment she passed, like in the movies. He didn’t know she was gone. He didn’t even know she drank vodka. He didn’t know anything, anymore.
    He slid the certificate into the envelope and took out Chloe’s phone. It was a BlackBerry, and it was turned off. He pressed the ON button, and the phone came to life. The photo on her home screen caught him by the throat. It was of him, and he remembered the day she had taken it, a Sunday afternoon in early June, a week before his deployment. He’d been working in the yard with his shirt off while Chloe sat in the sun and Emily slept in her carryall, in the shade. Mike hadn’t realized Chloe was taking his picture until he happened to look up and ask her.
    What are you doing?
    What’s it look like I’m doing? Chloe snapped the photo. You’re hot, for a Dad. Nice smile, nice shoulders, nice abs. And that butt, break me off a piece of that!
    Stop it, lady. I’m married.
    Who cares? I’m more fun than your wife.
    I bet you are, but I love my wife.
    Mike looked at himself in the photo, because he was looking at her, with love. Chloe always said he was handsome, but he thought he looked regular, like a million other guys, straight nose, long face, brown hair, brown eyes. He didn’t know she had made him her backdrop photo, because when he left for Afghanistan, it was the baby. It touched him so deeply that she’d switched the photo, consciously choosing his picture, as if it were proof that she loved him, above all.
    His thumb scrolled over to the phone log, where he noticed the last call she’d received was from Danielle. He