Chương 13
She raised one hand.
No.
“You have thirty seconds,” Maya said.
My mother’s voice sharpened enough that I could hear individual words.
“I don’t know what David has told you—”
“Twenty-five.”
“Maya, this situation has gotten completely out of control.”
“Twenty.”
“I was trying to protect Liam.”
“From what?”
Silence.
My mother recovered quickly.
“From an unstable environment.”
Maya’s hand tightened around the receiver.
“What environment?”
“You weren’t yourself.”
“I had surgery.”
“That is exactly my point.”
Maya stared straight ahead.
“You put cameras in my home.”
“For safety.”
“You took my medication.”
“I removed something I believed was dangerous.”
“You took my baby’s food.”
“There was other formula.”
“You took our passports.”
This time my mother hesitated.
That hesitation was the first real crack I had ever heard in Eleanor’s certainty.
“Those documents are safe.”
“Why do you have them?”
“I was trying to prevent a rash decision.”
“What decision?”
“You were threatening to cut family out of Liam’s life.”
Maya’s voice became quieter.
“So you took my passport.”
“I was afraid you might leave.”
“With an eleven-day-old baby after abdominal surgery?”
“You were emotional.”
Maya looked at me.
For a moment I thought she might scream.
Instead she said, “You weren’t protecting Liam.”
My mother began speaking over her.
Maya continued.
“You were protecting your access to him.”
“Maya, that is ridiculous.”
“You thought being his grandmother gave you authority over his mother.”
“Do not twist this.”
“I don’t have to.”
“Maya—”
“You did all the twisting yourself.”
She hung up.
Her hand shook afterward.
I took the receiver and placed it back in the cradle.
Neither of us spoke for almost a minute.
Then Maya whispered, “I’ve wanted to do that for five years.”
“Worth the wait?”
“No.”
She began crying.
I moved toward her and stopped.
She noticed.
“Come here.”
I sat beside her.
She leaned against me carefully so she would not disturb Liam.
“I hate her,” she said.
I did not tell her not to.
“I hate that I hate her.”
I put my cheek against her hair.
“She made me feel stupid.”
“You aren’t.”
“She made me feel weak.”
I stayed quiet.
“She made me think you agreed with her.”
That one went through me.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
This time the words did not sound like forgiveness either.
But they sounded like something that might someday live beside it.
At three eleven, Officer Patel called again.
She had spoken with a detective assigned to review the report because of the combination of missing identity documents, unauthorized recording concerns, and the disposal of medication.
She warned me not to interpret that as a guarantee of charges.
I said I understood.
I mostly did.
Then she asked whether Maya would be willing to provide a separate detailed statement once she felt medically able.
Maya heard the question.
“Yes,” she said.
Patel continued.
“And there’s one more thing.”
My stomach tightened automatically.
“The memory card from the living-room device appears to contain recordings.”
Maya stopped moving.
“How much?”
“I don’t have that information.”
“Did they watch them?”
“They conducted enough of a preliminary review to determine there is recorded material relevant to your complaint.”
“What does relevant mean?”
Patel paused.
“It means you should let the detective explain after proper review.”
That answer frightened me.
Maya’s fingers closed around mine.
I asked, “Is there something we need to know right now?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
I stood.
“What?”
“One of the recordings appears to show someone deliberately removing property while discussing how the missing items would affect your wife’s credibility.”
I could hear my heartbeat.
“Who?”
“I am not going to identify anyone from a preliminary review over the phone.”
Maya whispered, “Ask about the nursery camera.”
I did.
Patel’s voice softened.
“That device is being handled separately.”
“Why?”
“Because of where it was positioned.”
Maya closed her eyes.
I understood enough not to make her ask again.
Patel added, “The detective will contact you.”
After the call ended, Maya sat completely still.
I expected tears.
None came.
Instead she said, “I want to go home.”
“Not until they discharge you.”
“I know.”
“You mean after.”
“Yes.”
I hesitated.
“We could stay somewhere else.”
“No.”
“Maya.”
“That is my home.”
Her voice strengthened.
“I am not letting your mother turn it into a place I’m afraid to enter.”
I looked at her.
“That doesn’t mean you have to prove anything.”
“I’m not proving anything.”
She adjusted Liam’s blanket.
“I want my couch.”
Despite myself, I smiled.
“Our couch?”
“My couch.”
“I paid half.”
“You picked it.”
“So?”
“It is ugly.”
“You approved it.”
“I was pregnant.”
“You were not pregnant when we bought it.”
She looked at me.
“Then I have no defense.”
For thirty seconds we were simply married.
Then my phone rang again.
Mark.
This time there was no message.
I declined the call.
He texted immediately.
I have the folder.
I sat forward.
Send a photo.
A photograph arrived.
Our blue document folder lay open on a hotel bed.
Maya’s passport was visible.
Mine beside it.
Birth certificates.
Social Security cards.
Insurance papers.
Everything.
Almost.
Maya looked closer.
“Where’s Liam’s birth certificate?”
My stomach dropped.
It was not in the photograph.
I typed the question.
Mark answered.
Not here.
Then another message.
Mom took one document out last night.
Which document?
He replied after a long pause.
The baby’s.
I stared at the screen.
Why?
This time Mark did not hesitate.
She said she needed proof that Liam belonged to this family.
The sentence did not make sense at first.
Maya read it over my shoulder.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“Proof that he belongs to this family?”
Her face went pale in a way that had nothing to do with the infection.
I typed, What exactly did she say?
Mark answered almost immediately.
She said she needed his birth certificate because people lie about fathers.
For several seconds, I forgot the hospital room existed.
May you like
Maya did not.
She shifted Liam higher against her chest and looked down at him.
