Chương 11
I thought of Linda’s text about seizures.
A false condition assigned to a baby who could not contradict her.
The pattern was older than Sophie.
Maybe older than Ryan.
“She told the family I stole money.”
Deborah’s voice hardened.
“I didn’t.”
Ryan opened his eyes.
“What happened seventeen years ago?”
Deborah took a long breath.
“I confronted her at your grandmother’s funeral.”
“About me?”
“About everything.”
“Why then?”
“Because your grandmother was dead and I was tired of pretending she had been some saint.”
Ryan looked at the scar on his wrist.
“What did you say?”
“I told Linda she had helped abuse you.”
He flinched.
Deborah did not soften the word.
“She told me if I ever said that around you, she’d make sure you thought I was crazy.”
Ryan let out a strange laugh.
“She succeeded.”
“Yes.”
“I thought you were crazy.”
“I know.”
He pressed his lips together.
“I’m sorry.”
“You were twenty-two.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“It makes it understandable.”
Officer Vega stepped forward.
“Ms. Deborah, this is Officer Marisol Vega.”
Deborah went quiet.
“I’m investigating what happened to Sophie today.”
“All right.”
“Would you be willing to give a formal statement regarding what you just described?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
Ryan looked at the phone.
“Deb.”
“I should have done it years ago.”
“You were a kid.”
“For part of it.”
“You were a kid when it started.”
“I was thirty-six when Grandma died.”
Ryan did not answer.
Deborah continued.
“I chose distance because distance was easier.”
Her voice was steady now.
“I told myself you were grown and it wasn’t my business.”
Ryan sat down.
“I probably would have called you a liar.”
“Maybe.”
“I did call you dramatic.”
“I remember.”
He rubbed his face.
“I’m sorry.”
“I already said.”
“No.”
He looked toward Sophie.
“I need to say it.”
Deborah went quiet.
Ryan swallowed.
“I’m sorry.”
This time she let him have the apology.
Officer Vega took Deborah’s number and arranged for another investigator to contact her.
Before hanging up, Deborah asked, “Can I come?”
Ryan hesitated.
I watched him.
Old loyalty and new pain fought across his face.
Finally he said, “Not tonight.”
“All right.”
“But maybe tomorrow.”
“I’ll wait for you to tell me.”
Ryan nodded even though she could not see him.
After the call ended, he sat with both hands between his knees.
Officer Vega waited.
Then she asked, “Are you okay giving a statement now?”
“No.”
It came without shame this time.
“Later.”
“That’s fine.”
“I want to stay with Sophie.”
“That’s fine.”
Vega put away her notebook.
“Your aunt’s testimony matters, but it won’t replace physical evidence.”
“I know.”
“She may remember things differently than other people.”
“I know.”
“We’ll corroborate what we can.”
Ryan looked up.
“Do you have to say all that because I look like I’m about to turn memory into proof?”
Officer Vega gave him the smallest hint of a smile.
“Yes.”
“Fair.”
She left the room.
I sat beside Ryan.
For a while neither of us spoke.
Then he said, “I hated her.”
“Deborah?”
“For years.”
“You thought she abandoned you.”
“She did.”
He looked at me.
“Both things can be true.”
I nodded.
That seemed to help him more than telling him forgiveness was required.
The neurologist returned near midnight.
By then my parents were somewhere between Cleveland and our city on a delayed connection through Chicago.
My phone was charging from Ryan’s cable.
The missing sock had been returned to us after evidence staff photographed it and determined it had no evidentiary value.
I held it in my lap.
Dr. Chen checked the EEG monitor before speaking.
“We have something encouraging.”
I stood too fast and bumped the chair.
Ryan caught it.
“What?”
“She is showing more spontaneous activity.”
I stared at Sophie.
“What does that mean?”
“It means her brain is producing responses we want to see.”
“Will she wake up?”
“We’re going to begin reducing some of the sedation carefully.”
Ryan’s hand found mine.
“How long?”
“Gradually.”
I nearly laughed from frustration.
Doctors measured hope in words designed not to break.
“Could she wake tonight?”
“She could.”
“Could she not?”
“Yes.”
There it was again.
Possibility refusing to become promise.
Dr. Chen must have seen something in my face.
“This is good news.”
I looked at her.
“I’m afraid to believe good news.”
“That’s understandable.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“I mean I’m actually afraid of it.”
Ryan squeezed my hand.
“If I believe she’s getting better and then she doesn’t—”
My voice disappeared.
Dr. Chen nodded.
“You don’t have to decide what this means yet.”
That was the first advice anyone had given me all day that I could use.
So I did not decide.
I stood beside Sophie and watched her chest rise with the machine.
A nurse dimmed the lights.
Ryan brought me a blanket without asking.
At 1:17 in the morning, Sophie’s left hand moved.
Barely.
Two fingers curled inward.
I thought I imagined it.
“Ryan.”
He was asleep sitting upright with his head against the wall.
“Ryan.”
He woke immediately.
“What?”
“Her hand.”
We both leaned over the crib.
Nothing happened.
Ryan looked at me carefully.
“I saw it.”
“You didn’t.”
“I’m choosing marriage here.”
Despite everything, a laugh escaped me.
It was tiny and wet and almost painful.
Then Sophie moved again.
This time her fingers closed weakly around the edge of Ryan’s knuckle.
He stopped breathing.
Neither of us called the nurse at first.
We simply stood there, afraid movement would frighten the moment away.
Then Ryan whispered, “Hey, bug.”
His voice cracked.
Sophie’s fingers tightened by a fraction.
I pressed my hand over my mouth.
The monitor changed rhythm.
Denise came in quickly, checked the screen, then Sophie.
“That’s okay,” she said.
“Is she waking up?”
“Maybe starting to.”
“Is this good?”
Denise smiled.
“Yes.”
Ryan bowed over Sophie’s hand.
His shoulders shook once.
I put my palm between them.
May you like
He did not pull away.
Twenty minutes later, Sophie opened one eye.
