Now she repositioned it to better catch the light on the face of the young woman seated in the chair beside the hospital bed.

Mrs. Sheehan gently tucked one hand beneath her daughter’s head and drew her closer.

The baby didn’t coo or cry.

Of course she didn’t. Julianne specialized in photographs like this, as a way of helping the mothers cope.

“My husband doesn’t know I’m doing this,” the woman told Julianne.

“I understand.”

“He . . . When I told him about it, he got pretty upset. But this is for me. It’s important.”

“Maybe it’s just harder for men to accept.”

“Maybe.”

Julianne’s website was dedicated to photographs of mothers holding their stillborn or crib-death children, to help them find community and closure during the grieving process. To help them mourn in peace.

Some people might’ve called it macabre to photograph the living with the dead like that, but Julianne didn’t look at things that way. To her, it was a service both to the surviving family members and to herself.

It helped the mothers remember the dead.

And, on a more personal level, it helped her think about what it might have been like to kill those children, to smother them while their mothers slept peacefully just a few feet away. She’d had the opportunity but had always refrained. She wasn’t sure how long her self-control would hold up. It would have made for so much more of a meaningful photo if she’d played more of an active role in its genesis.

In time.

Time would tell.

Julianne was still waiting to hear from Blake regarding a potential partner to work with. She didn’t know how long it would be but decided to give him another day or two before following up.

Right now, patience was her friend, and pressing the matter could easily backfire.

She turned her attention back to the grieving mother in front of her.

Knowing what mourning mothers need, Julianne refrained from speaking much in instances like this, except for offering a few gentle words of comfort and solace to the women.

She snapped several photos. From this position, there in the arms of her mother, the baby simply looked asleep. You couldn’t even tell that the child was dead.

“I think I have what I need,” Julianne said softly. “Do you want to be alone for a little while?”

“Actually, I’d like you to stay. If you don’t mind.”

“I’m glad to stay as long as you like.”

++++

By the time I finished showering, getting dressed, putting my bloodstained and mud-covered clothes in the wash, icing my wrist, completing my report on what had happened at the graveyard, and touching base with Greer—Mannie still wasn’t talking and hadn’t asked for a lawyer—it was time for dinner.

I asked Tessa, “Do you want me to whip up some soup?”