Chương 8
“Who?”
“I said not over the phone.”
I looked through the glass wall beside me.
Inside the donor lab, a technician was labeling tubes.
My name had been printed on one of the stickers.
“Did you verify it?”
My mother hesitated.
That hesitation told me more than her answer.
“I had no reason to pursue it.”
“You had every reason.”
“The marriage was over.”
“That doesn’t end a pregnancy.”
“No, but it does change what is appropriate.”
I stared at the floor.
There were small blue arrows printed into the tile leading toward phlebotomy.
“Did you intercept my emails?”
She went silent again.
My stomach dropped.
“Mom.”
“Your old company inbox was being screened during the merger.”
“By Caroline.”
“Yes.”
“Did Caroline send you Grace’s messages?”
“I was helping manage your personal exposure.”
My fingers went numb.
“My personal exposure.”
“You were negotiating the acquisition, Ryan.”
“I was having children.”
“You did not know that.”
“Because you made sure I didn’t.”
“That is not fair.”
I nearly shouted.
The employee shifted his weight.
I lowered my voice.
“Did you delete them?”
“No.”
“Then where are they?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s convenient.”
“Caroline handled most of the archive.”
“Where is Caroline now?”
“I have no idea.”
“You recommended her.”
“That was years ago.”
“Find out.”
“I am not your employee.”
“For once in your life, act like my mother.”
The sentence came out before I could stop it.
My mother did not respond.
I had never spoken to her that way.
For several seconds, all I heard was breathing.
Then she said, “You are emotional.”
I looked through the glass again.
A technician waved to the employee waiting for me.
“Yes.”
“That is exactly when you make bad decisions.”
“No.”
My voice steadied.
“That is exactly when I notice the decisions you made for me.”
I ended the call.
My hand shook so badly I almost dropped the phone.
The employee pretended not to have heard anything.
“Ready?”
“No.”
He blinked.
Then I forced myself to nod.
“Sorry.”
He opened the lab door.
The technician introduced herself as Monica and asked me to confirm my full name and date of birth.
I did.
She asked whether I had ever donated bone marrow before.
I had not.
Whether I had any major medical conditions.
No.
Whether I was currently taking medication.
No.
She tied a band around my arm.
I watched my vein rise.
“Needles bother you?”
“No.”
“You’d be surprised how many people say that and then pass out.”
“I’m not going to pass out.”
“Everybody says that too.”
I almost smiled.
She cleaned my skin.
The needle went in.
I thought about Noah pretending not to cry.
Medicine crying is different.
The memory nearly undid me.
Monica filled several tubes.
“What happens next?”
“We send these for HLA typing.”
“How long?”
“It depends, but the transplant team can usually explain the timeline better than I can.”
“Can they rush it?”
“If medically necessary, the team handles priority.”
She changed tubes.
“Are you related to the patient?”
I looked at the label.
Noah Bennett.
“Yes.”
The answer came easily.
Too easily, maybe.
“My son.”
Monica nodded as if that settled something.
I wished it did.
When I returned downstairs, Grace and the children were gone from the cafeteria.
For one irrational second, panic hit me.
I walked quickly toward the elevators.
Then I saw Sophie’s paper crown lying beneath a chair.
Grace would not leave that behind if Sophie knew.
I picked it up.
One of the stars had fallen off.
I found them near the hospital entrance.
Grace was kneeling beside Noah, fastening his coat.
Lily was trying to spin the stroller wheel with one finger.
Sophie looked furious.
“My crown.”
I held it up.
Her face changed instantly.
“You found it.”
“Under the chair.”
She took it from me.
“One star is gone.”
“I noticed.”
She stared at the blank spot.
“That was the best star.”
Lily said, “They were all the same.”
“No, they weren’t.”
“They were.”
Grace stood.
“They were.”
Sophie glared at both of them.
I looked at Grace.
“They took the blood.”
She nodded.
“Okay.”
“My mother knew.”
Every part of her went still.
The children were close enough to hear.
Grace looked toward the doors.
“Not here.”
We stepped outside beneath the covered entrance while the kids stayed close.
The rain had softened to a thin mist.
Cars moved slowly through the pickup lane.
A hospital volunteer pushed wheelchairs into a row.
“My mother admitted she knew about the pregnancy.”
Grace’s expression did not change.
“She also admitted your emails went through Caroline.”
That did change it.
“Caroline Voss?”
“Yes.”
Grace stared at me.
“You remember her?”
“I remember calling her.”
“When?”
“After your mother.”
My stomach tightened.
“What happened?”
“She said you weren’t available.”
“That sounds like Caroline.”
“I asked her to give you a message.”
“Did she?”
Grace looked at me with something close to pity.
“You’re asking me?”
“No.”
I rubbed the back of my neck.
“No, I guess I am.”
Grace turned toward the street.
“She told me you had instructed her not to put through personal calls from me.”
I tried to remember.
During the separation, my attorney had told my staff to redirect legal communication.
I had been angry.
I might have said I did not want calls from Grace.
For a week.
Maybe two.
The memory was ugly because it was plausible.
“I may have told Caroline not to interrupt meetings.”
Grace nodded.
“There you go.”
“That’s not the same as hiding a pregnancy.”
“No.”
Her voice stayed flat.
“It isn’t.”
I looked at her.
“My mother says someone told her I might not be the father.”
Grace’s face emptied.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
“Who?”
“She wouldn’t say.”
Grace looked away.
“Do you know?”
“No.”
“You reacted like you did.”
“I reacted because I’m tired of being surprised by people deciding my life in rooms I wasn’t in.”
May you like
“That makes two of us.”
Her eyes snapped back to mine.
