Four Blind Mice

larger trauma units in Newark and Philadelphia. Once upon a time, she’d even worked as a MASH unit nurse.
    They didn’t discuss her husband until after dinner. Sampson brought the subject up again. It had gotten cooler, and they’d moved back into the living room. Billie started a fire, which was crackling and popping and warming things up inside.
    “Do you mind if we talk about Laurence for a few more minutes?” he asked as they sat together on a small couch near the fire. “We don’t have to do this now if you don’t want to.”
    “No, it’s okay. It’s fine, really. That’s why you came here.”
    Suddenly, something caught Sampson’s eye. He rose up from the couch and walked to a glass case near the fireplace. He reached inside and took out a straw doll.
    Now this was very strange. He examined it closely. He was sure that it was a replica of the one he’d seen in Ellis Cooper’s house. It scared him because it was in Billie’s house.
What is the doll doing here?
    “What is it?” she asked. “What is that creepy doll? I don’t remember seeing it before. Is something wrong? You look so serious suddenly.”
    “I saw this same doll at Ellis Cooper’s house,” he admitted. “It’s from Vietnam. I saw lots of them in villages over there. Something about evil spirits and the dead. These dolls are bad medicine.”
    She came over to the glass cabinet and stood beside him. “May I see, please?” She examined the straw doll and shook her head.
    “It looks like something Laurence might have brought home, I suppose. A souvenir. Memento mori. I honestly don’t remember ever seeing it, though. Isn’t that strange. That reminds me — the other day I found a big, ugly eye in that same cabinet. It was so . . .
evil,
I tossed it.”
    Sampson held her gaze. “Strange coincidence,” he said, shaking his head. He was thinking that Alex refused to believe in them, coincidences. “As far as you remember, your husband never mentioned Sergeant Ellis Cooper?” he asked.
    Billie shook her head. She seemed a little spooked now. “No. He rarely talked about the war. He didn’t like it when he was there. He liked it even less once he came back and had time to think about his combat experience.”
    “I can understand that. When I got back to D.C. I was stationed at Fort Myer in Arlington for a couple of months. I came home in my dress greens one Saturday. I got off a bus in downtown Washington. A white girl in bell-bottom jeans and sandals came up and spit on my uniform. She called me a baby murderer. I’ll never forget that for the rest of my life. I was so angry that I turned and walked away as fast as I could. The hippie girl had no idea what was happening over there, what it’s like to get shot at, to lose friends, to fight for your country.”
    Billie clasped her hands together and slowly rocked back and forth. “I don’t know what to tell you about Laurence. I think you probably would have liked him. Everybody did. He was very responsible, a good father to our children. He was a thoughtful, loving husband. Before he died, and I’m talking twenty minutes before he was executed, I sat with him in the prison. He stared into my eyes and said, ‘I did not kill that young man. Please make sure our kids know that. Make sure, Billie.’”
    “Yeah,” Sampson said. “Ellis Cooper said something like that too.”
    It got quiet in the living room. A little uncomfortable for the first time. Finally, Sampson was compelled to speak. “I’m glad you called, Billie. Tonight was great for me. Thank you. I need to go now. It’s getting late.”
    She was standing beside him and she didn’t move. Sampson leaned down and kissed her cheek. God, she was tiny.
    “You
do
think I’ll break,” she said, but then smiled. “That’s all right.”
    She walked him out to his car. They felt compelled to talk again — mostly about the night sky over the ocean, how expansive and beautiful it was.
    Sampson got into the Cougar and Billie started to walk back to the house. He watched her, and he felt sorry that the night was ending and he’d probably never see her again. He was also a little worried about her. How had the straw doll gotten into her house?
    She stopped at the stairs to the house, one hand on the banister. Then, almost as if she’d forgotten something, Billie walked back to his car.
    “I . . . uhm . . . ,” she said, then stopped. She seemed nervous for the first time since they’d met. Unsure of