Chương 3
His stop was next.
He reached for the yellow cord.
Before he could pull it, his phone vibrated with a text.
It was from his sister, Mara.
CALL ME NOW.
Under it came another.
The hospital called me.
Daniel stared at the words.
A third message appeared.
They said Laura revoked the discharge consent.
His hand went cold around the phone.
Owen made a soft sound against his shoulder.
Ruth was no longer looking out the window.
“What happened?” she asked.
Daniel read the message again.
The bus announced his stop.
He stood too quickly, grabbing the diaper bag with one hand while holding Owen with the other.
Ruth rose halfway from her seat.
“Daniel.”
“I have to go.”
“Your bag’s open.”
He bent to zip it, and the discharge papers slid onto the floor.
Ruth reached them first.
Daniel saw her eyes move across the page before she handed the packet back.
This time there was no mistaking what she had seen.
The signature line for Laura Mercer was blank.
Below it, in the space reserved for additional discharge notes, someone had written that the mother was medically unable to participate in infant discharge planning.
Daniel snatched the papers from her.
The bus doors opened.
Cold air swept inside.
“Daniel,” Ruth said, quieter now, “who told you that you could take Owen home?”
He stepped toward the door.
His phone rang again.
This time the caller was not the hospital.
The screen displayed a number he recognized from the business card a hospital social worker had placed beside his coffee the night before.
Daniel stopped on the bottom step.
Behind him, Ruth said his name once more.
Outside, the bus shelter stood less than two blocks from his apartment, close enough that he could see the brick corner of his building.
Home was right there.
So were the unopened formula samples, the assembled crib, the clean sheets, the stack of diapers, and everything he had spent five frantic days convincing himself would prove he was ready.
The phone kept ringing.
Daniel looked down at Owen, warm and sleeping now against his chest.
Then he answered.
“Mr. Mercer,” the social worker said, without greeting, “do not take the baby to your apartment.”
“What does that mean?”
Daniel stood on the bottom step until the driver snapped, “Sir, you getting off or staying on?”
“Just drive,” Daniel said, stepping backward.
The doors folded shut, and the bus pulled away from the curb.
On the phone, the social worker said, “Mr. Mercer, are you somewhere safe with Owen?”
“He’s with me.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Her name came back to him from the card she had left beside his coffee: Cynthia Bell, Family Support Services.
Daniel pressed his free hand against a chrome pole as the bus turned.
“My apartment is safe.”
“I need you to listen carefully.”
“I’ve been listening to people carefully for five days, and somehow nobody can give me the same answer twice.”
Owen stirred against his chest, and Daniel immediately lowered his voice.
Cynthia waited through the silence.
“Laura regained enough orientation this morning to speak with Dr. Patel and me,” she said.
Daniel stared at the scratched gray floor.
“When?”
“Approximately forty minutes after you left.”
“You told me she was sedated.”
“She was.”
“You told me she might stay that way most of the day.”
“That was the expectation at the time.”
“So I followed the discharge plan.”
“There has been a change.”
Behind him, Ruth sat down again, although Daniel could feel her attention on him.
He turned toward the window.
“What change?”
“Laura has withdrawn her consent for Owen to leave the hospital in your care.”
Daniel’s grip tightened around the pole.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“I understand this is upsetting.”
“No, you don’t understand what I’m saying.”
He heard his own voice climbing and forced it down.
“She wanted me to take him home.”
Cynthia did not answer immediately.
“She told me to take him home,” Daniel said.
“Did she tell you that today?”
Daniel looked at Owen.
A week ago, Laura had stood barefoot in their kitchen at two in the morning eating dry cereal from a mug because heartburn made lying down impossible.
She had rested one hand on the enormous curve of her stomach and said, If they keep me for any reason, you do not let them keep him just because they’re keeping me.
At the time, Daniel had told her hospitals did not work that way.
Laura had laughed and said, You’ve obviously never met a hospital.
“Daniel?”
“She told me.”
“When?”
He said nothing.
Cynthia’s voice softened.
“That matters.”
“Why?”
“Because Laura is telling us something different now.”
The bus passed Daniel’s stop and continued east.
His apartment disappeared behind a row of brick buildings.
“What exactly is she telling you?”
“I would rather discuss that in person.”
“No.”
“Daniel—”
“You called me and told me not to go home with my son.”
“Yes.”
“So you can tell me why.”
Another pause followed, but this one felt less procedural.
“She says she did not authorize you to remove Owen from the hospital.”
Daniel’s mouth went dry.
“That’s not true.”
“She is also asking that Owen be returned while the discharge circumstances are reviewed.”
“He was discharged.”
“The paperwork is being reviewed.”
“I signed it.”
“Yes.”
“The pediatrician signed it.”
“Yes.”
“So what are we reviewing?”
“Whether everyone who needed to participate in that decision was in a condition to do so.”
Daniel almost said Laura had not been in a condition to do anything, but the sentence stopped before it reached his mouth.
That was precisely the problem.
He looked toward Ruth.
She was watching traffic through the opposite window, giving him the privacy of someone who could hear every word.
“What happens if I don’t come back?” Daniel asked.
Cynthia exhaled slowly.
“Please don’t make decisions based on what you think that answer might be.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
May you like
“No, it isn’t.”
“Can they take him from me?”
