Chương 6
“She was supposed to call me.”
Nora put the call on speaker so Sophie could hear her aunt’s voice.
Sophie stood several feet from the phone.
“Aunt Rachel?”
“Oh, honey.”
“You sound weird.”
“I’m driving.”
Nora immediately said, “Please pull over.”
“I am pulling over.”
A horn sounded in the background.
“You’re not.”
“I’m pulling over now.”
Sophie frowned.
“She always lies about driving.”
Rachel laughed and cried at the same time.
“I do not.”
“You do.”
“Okay. Sometimes.”
The ordinariness of the argument helped.
Sophie sat down.
Rachel reached the hospital shortly before midnight carrying an overnight bag, two phone chargers, a bag of grapes, and one child’s winter coat despite it being early September.
“I panicked,” she explained when Nora looked at the coat.
Sophie ran into her arms.
Rachel held her so tightly Sophie complained that she could not breathe.
That seemed to reassure both of them.
Daniel was not there.
His shift had ended two hours earlier.
He had remained anyway until Claire told him to go home.
“You smell like antiseptic and self-destruction.”
“That’s not a recognized odor.”
“It is on you.”
He drove home in silence.
His house was eight miles from the hospital, a small two-story place he had bought with his wife, Beth, when Grace was two.
Beth no longer lived there.
They had divorced three years after Grace died.
The failure had been quiet and unsurprising.
They had never screamed at each other. Never cheated. Never thrown plates.
They had simply become two people who could not survive the same room without remembering the same missing child.
Daniel still received Christmas cards from Beth.
She had remarried the previous year.
He kept the cards in a kitchen drawer he almost never opened.
That night he stood in front of the refrigerator for several minutes before realizing he had come home without groceries.
He ate cereal for dinner.
The milk was fine.
He thought about Sophie saying the milk smelled weird.
Then he put the bowl in the sink and did not wash it.
At 2:14 in the morning, he woke because he thought someone had kicked metal.
There was no sound.
He lay awake until dawn.
Emily woke late the next morning.
The first thing she tried to say was Sophie’s name.
The second was, “Babies?”
Rachel stood beside the hospital bed and cried.
Emily looked irritated.
“Don’t.”
Her voice was weak around the oxygen tubing.
Rachel wiped her face.
“I drove two hours to cry. You don’t get to manage me.”
Emily closed her eyes.
“Where’s Soph?”
“Eating breakfast.”
“Is she okay?”
Rachel hesitated.
Emily opened her eyes again.
“What?”
“She got the twins here.”
Emily stared at her.
Rachel pulled a chair closer.
“In a wheelbarrow.”
For several seconds Emily’s face did not change.
Then her hand moved beneath the blanket.
A searching motion.
“She what?”
“She brought them to the hospital.”
“No.”
“She did.”
“No.”
“Em.”
“No, I told her—”
Emily tried to sit up.
Pain stopped her.
A nurse came to the bedside.
“Mrs. Miller—”
“Where is my daughter?”
“She’s safe.”
“Bring her.”
“We need to—”
“Bring her.”
Rachel touched her arm.
“Emily.”
“What?”
“There are police.”
Emily went still.
The monitor beside her continued its soft electronic rhythm.
Rachel watched her sister’s face.
“You knew that.”
Emily stared at the ceiling.
“Where’s Mark?”
“In custody.”
Emily closed her eyes.
For the first time Rachel looked less frightened than angry.
“What did you do?”
Emily whispered, “Don’t.”
“What did he do?”
“I said don’t.”
“Your kid pushed two newborns through town in a wheelbarrow.”
Emily turned her face away.
“You don’t understand.”
“No. I absolutely do not.”
The nurse said gently, “I’m going to ask you both to stop for a minute.”
Rachel stood.
“Fine.”
She picked up her purse.
Then set it down again.
Then sat.
“I brought grapes.”
Emily looked at her.
“What?”
“I don’t know. It seemed like hospital food.”
Despite everything, Emily made a small sound through her nose.
It hurt.
She winced.
Rachel began crying again.
“God, I hate you.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
Emily looked toward the window.
“I know.”
Police did not question her that morning.
The surgeon would not permit it.
Neither would the hospital social worker.
Emily needed blood transfusions, monitoring, and rest. Her blood pressure remained unstable. She could barely stay awake for ten consecutive minutes.
But she asked for Sophie repeatedly.
When Sophie finally entered the room, she stopped in the doorway.
Emily looked smaller in the hospital bed than Sophie remembered.
Children usually believed adults became larger when sick because illness was frightening.
Emily looked reduced.
Sophie took two steps forward.
Then stopped again.
“Hi.”
Emily’s mouth trembled.
“Hi, bug.”
Sophie hated being called bug.
Usually she corrected her mother.
She did not that day.
“Your face is puffy.”
Rachel covered her mouth.
Emily almost laughed.
“I know.”
“They put the babies in boxes.”
“I heard.”
“They’re called something.”
“Isolettes.”
Sophie looked surprised.
“You know?”
“I’m a mom.”
“You didn’t know the milk was bad.”
The room changed.
Emily’s smile disappeared.
Sophie stared at the floor.
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
Emily tried to extend her hand.
The IV line caught.
“Come here.”
Sophie did not move.
Emily waited.
Finally Sophie approached the bed.
She did not hug her mother.
She placed the crumpled hospital bracelet on the blanket.
Emily looked at it.
“You kept that.”
“You told me to.”
“I know.”
“You told me if Daddy came, take it and run.”
Rachel looked sharply at Emily.
Sophie continued.
“You said somebody at the hospital would know your name.”
Emily’s eyes filled.
“Yes.”
“I ran.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t wake up.”
“I know.”
Sophie’s voice became smaller.
“I shook you.”
Emily covered her mouth.
The monitor accelerated.
Rachel stood but did not interrupt.
“I pulled your hair.”
Emily whispered, “Okay.”
“I poured water on you.”
“Okay.”
“You got mad when I did that before.”
“I remember.”
May you like
“You didn’t get mad this time.”
Emily began to cry.
