Free The Singing Bone by Beth Hahn Page B

chain is made up of figures and is cut from copies of newspaper articles. The faces of the figures are drawn in black ink. Alice, Trina, Molly, Stover, Allegra, Lee, and of course Jack Wyck. His figure has wings. In his arms, he’s cradling a child.
    Ariel folds the paper chain and tucks it back into a taped-together envelope. She picks up a new page and reads, “Nothing ever really ends. If you fully inhabited a moment, you inhabit it forever. If you remember it, it exists in time and space, and if you close your eyes and let yourself go, you can relive it. Not everyone can do this. It takes a free and open mind, which I have. We like to hold on to the present, and that is where we stop ourselves from our full experiences, our beautiful lives.” Ariel bites her lip. The diner is almost empty, and the piped music—the songs Hans remembers from the car radio on his long-ago trips—has gone quiet.
    Hans goes back to Stuart Malloy’s testimony. Midway through, he stops and pulls a photo of an eleven-year-old Stuart out from a pile of pictures.
    â€œSweet face,” Ariel says, looking up. “Let me look at it for a while. It’s so much nicer than what I’m doing.”
    Hans puts his glasses on and studies the photo of Stuart. “Certainly a face you’d believe.” It’s a class photo. Stuart’s wearing a tie, a blue shirt with an enormous pointed collar. His smile is slightly crooked and his hair is parted on the side.
    â€œDo you think he lied about something?”
    Hans passes her the photo, shaking his head. “I’m not sure.” He rubs his brow. Something is bothering him. He’d really like to talk to Alice, but she won’t return his calls. He needs to hear her voice, to look in her eyes. He won’t know who she is until he can do so.
    â€œThere’s something odd here. Alice changed her story,” Hans finally says. “She told the police one thing and then something else. It’s all in the files. It just seems everyone ignored it.”
    â€œI figured they chalked it up to her state of mind.”
    â€œYes.” Hans lifts his shoulders and lets them drop. “But . . .” He doesn’t finish. He doesn’t know what comes after “but.”
    Ariel is studying the picture of Stuart. Her hair is pulled back, but little copper curls spring out here and there. Hans never pays much attention to the changeability of hair, but there’s something about Ariel’s that’s caught his imagination. Sometimes her hair is straight and other days, like today, it looks like it’s been wrapped tightly around millions of tiny screws and then let loose. He almost asks her but changes her mind.
    â€œIt should be easy enough to find Stuart,” she says. “We’ll need to interview him.” Hans looks at the waitress, trying to imagine her as a teenager. She’s about the same age as Alice. He wonders who remembers what, and thinks he should go back and try to find the people who might recall Alice at that time, who might reveal something to him—whatever it is that comes after but—
    â€œI’ll find Stuart Malloy.” Ariel puts the picture down.
    â€œI can’t think of a reason he would have lied.” Hans moves his empty coffee cup in circles on its saucer. “But at the same time, I feel uncertain about what really happened that night.”
    Hans looks at the waitress again. She’s at the table next to theirs, slowly wiping the ketchup bottles down. He wonders if she’s listening to their conversation. “Excuse me,” he says to the waitress. “Could I have some more water, please?” She smiles and nods. Yes , he thinks. She was definitely listening.
    â€œWhat about Wyck?” Ariel wants to know.
    Hans takes Jack Wyck’s latest letter out of the inside pocket of his jacket and passes it to Ariel. When she’s finished, she folds the