Chương 4
I hesitated.
“Sometimes.”
“Whose cooking?”
I looked toward the half-closed curtain.
“My husband used to cook.”
Dr. Shah did not react.
“And after you separated?”
“My mother-in-law brought food sometimes.”
“How often?”
“Why?”
“Because patterns matter.”
The phrase made my skin tighten.
Patricia loved casseroles.
Not good casseroles.
Aggressively practical ones in disposable aluminum pans with masking tape across the foil.
CHICKEN RICE.
BEEF NOODLE.
TURKEY BAKE.
Even after Daniel moved out, she continued bringing them.
She said she worried about Lily eating properly when I was tired.
I had taken it as an insult.
Then as charity.
Eventually I stopped asking.
“She brought meals maybe twice a week.”
“When did that stop?”
“A month ago.”
“And your symptoms?”
I stared at him.
He stopped typing.
“Claire?”
“They got better.”
“How much better?”
“I stopped fainting.”
“Until today.”
“Yes.”
He asked whether I had eaten anything before court.
“Coffee.”
“Anything in it?”
“Cream.”
“From home?”
I shook my head.
“Courthouse vending area.”
“What did you eat last night?”
I could feel where the questions were going and did not want to go there with him.
“Leftover pasta.”
“Made by you?”
“Yes.”
“Any alcohol?”
“No.”
“Recreational drugs?”
“No.”
He studied my face for a second, then softened his voice.
“I’m not accusing you of anything.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I looked away.
The curtain moved in the air from the vent.
On the other side, a man complained loudly that someone had lost his belt.
“I’ve spent the morning being accused of making myself sick.”
Dr. Shah set the tablet on his knee.
“By whom?”
“My husband.”
A beat passed.
“Is he here?”
“No.”
“Do you want him here?”
“No.”
“Then we’ll mark that.”
He typed something.
“Do you feel safe at home?”
“Yes.”
“With him?”
“We don’t live together.”
“With his family?”
I did not answer quickly enough.
He noticed.
“Claire, I’m going to order a broad workup.”
“What does broad mean?”
“Blood counts, metabolic panel, inflammatory markers, thyroid, clotting, toxicology, a few other things depending on the first results.”
“Toxicology?”
“Given the neurologic symptoms and recurrent unexplained episodes, yes.”
My heart thudded once, hard.
“You think someone poisoned me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You asked who cooked.”
“I asked because exposure patterns can matter.”
“That sounds like poisoning.”
“It could also be supplements you forgot you took, contaminated food, a household exposure, medication interaction, heavy metals from work or hobbies, a dozen things.”
“I work in payroll.”
“That makes industrial exposure less glamorous.”
Despite myself, I laughed once.
It came out thin and ugly.
Dr. Shah smiled.
“There are still boring explanations available.”
A nurse entered with tubes and labels.
Dr. Shah stood.
“One more thing.”
He looked directly at me.
“If anyone arrives asking to speak with you and you don’t want them back here, tell the nurse.”
He left.
The nurse tied rubber above my elbow.
Her badge read JENNA.
“Good veins?”
“Usually.”
“Everyone says that right before making me work for it.”
She found one anyway.
While blood filled the first tube, my phone vibrated again.
Jenna glanced at it.
“You want that?”
“No.”
It vibrated a second time.
Then a third.
She raised an eyebrow.
“Persistent.”
“That’s one word.”
“Ex?”
“Technically husband.”
“Ah.”
She changed tubes.
“That’s a more expensive word.”
I almost laughed again.
The phone stopped.
Then a voicemail notification appeared.
Jenna finished, taped gauze over my arm, and lowered the rail.
“Call button’s here.”
“Thank you.”
After she left, I opened the voicemail.
Patricia’s voice came through low and controlled.
“Claire, I don’t know what stunt you’re trying to pull now, but Daniel is on his way to Lily’s school, and you need to stop creating confusion.”
I sat upright.
Pain flared behind my eyes.
The message continued.
“You embarrassed all of us today.”
All of us.
That was Patricia’s favorite unit of measurement.
Family as a single organism, with everyone expected to sacrifice whatever part hurt the group image.
“If you interfere with his custody time, his attorney will document it.”
She paused.
Then her voice became softer.
“And you should be careful what you say at the hospital.”
The message ended.
For several seconds I did not move.
Then I played the final sentence again.
And again.
You should be careful what you say at the hospital.
My hands were cold.
I called Maple Ridge.
Denise answered on the second ring.
“This is Claire.”
“I was hoping you’d call.”
“Is Daniel there?”
“He arrived about three minutes ago.”
“Don’t let him take Lily.”
There was silence.
“Mrs. Whitaker, I told you—”
“I have something now.”
“What?”
I looked at Patricia’s voicemail.
Not proof.
Not enough.
Maybe nothing.
“Her grandmother left me a message warning me to be careful what I say at the hospital.”
Denise lowered her voice.
“That sounds concerning, but it doesn’t change our release authorization.”
“Where’s Lily?”
“With the counselor.”
“Is Daniel with her?”
“No.”
“Keep it that way.”
“Claire—”
“Please.”
My voice cracked.
I hated that.
Denise heard it.
“I can buy you a little time.”
“How?”
“I can tell him the counselor is finishing a mandated student-safety assessment.”
“Is that true?”
A pause.
“It is now.”
I shut my eyes.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.”
“What happened?”
“Lily said more.”
I opened my eyes.
“What?”
“She told Ms. Ortega that her father gets angry when she doesn’t finish her juice.”
Every muscle in my body seemed to go still.
“What juice?”
“We don’t know.”
“Ask her.”
“They’re talking now.”
“What kind of juice?”
“I don’t know.”
“Denise.”
“I don’t know, Claire.”
I pressed my fingers to my forehead.
The metallic taste.
Dinner.
Patricia’s casseroles.
Orange prescription bottles.
Lily afraid of medicine.
Daniel angry about juice.
The pieces did not fit.
That frightened me more than if they had.
“Call child protective services.”
Denise exhaled.
“Ms. Ortega already did.”
My stomach turned.
“What?”
“She made the report before Daniel arrived.”
“Does he know?”
“No.”
“Don’t tell him.”
May you like
“I won’t volunteer that either.”
A male voice sounded faintly in the background.
