Chương 3
I stopped.
Lizzy picked at the paper edge of the exam table.
“He said keep it under my shirt.”
My stomach twisted.
“He said if I got scared, I could call you.”
A long silence passed between us.
Marisol asked, “Did Grandpa know you were going into the closet?”
Lizzy’s eyes lowered.
“He said Grandma was mad.”
“About what?”
“I spilled.”
“What did you spill?”
“Milk.”
Her voice became smaller.
“I tried to clean it.”
The curtain moved abruptly.
Gloria stepped through before Marisol could stop her.
“Enough.”
Lizzy recoiled so fast that the back of her head nearly struck the wall.
I stood.
“Get out.”
Gloria ignored me.
She looked directly at Lizzy.
“You know better than to tell stories.”
Marisol moved between them.
“You need to leave this treatment area.”
“I am her legal guardian.”
“And right now you’re interfering with her care.”
“You don’t have the authority to—”
“I do have the authority to call security.”
Gloria stared at her.
Something in Marisol’s expression must have convinced her, because my mother stepped backward.
Then she pointed at me.
“This is exactly what she wants.”
I laughed once, a hard ugly sound I didn’t recognize.
“Yes, Mom, I broke into your house at one in the morning because my master plan was to spend the night in pediatric emergency.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You always did love an audience.”
The insult landed deeper than it should have.
I saw myself at sixteen, crying at the kitchen table after a boy humiliated me at school, Gloria telling me to lower my voice because my father was watching television.
Marisol pulled the curtain closed in her face.
A few seconds later, we heard security arrive.
Gloria protested loudly.
Walt did not.
Lizzy was staring at my hands.
I looked down and saw that I had curled them into fists.
I opened them.
“Sorry.”
She whispered, “Are you mad at me?”
“No.”
“Grandma gets mad when people make trouble.”
“I’m mad because someone scared you.”
That answer seemed to confuse her.
She considered it for a while.
Then she said, “I didn’t mean to spill.”
Marisol turned toward the counter and busied herself with a package of gauze.
I suspected she was giving me privacy.
I sat back down.
“Lizzy, spilled milk is just spilled milk.”
“She said I waste things.”
“Kids spill things.”
“Noah does?”
“All the time.”
That was not entirely true.
Noah was annoyingly careful with drinks because Adam had taught him to use two hands when he was three, and now he carried cups like ceremonial objects.
Still, he had spilled plenty.
Lizzy looked skeptical.
“He spilled orange juice on my laptop once.”
That was true.
“What happened?”
“I said a bad word.”
The corner of her mouth moved.
It was barely a smile, but it was the first one I had seen.
“And then?”
“I cleaned it up.”
“You didn’t lock him anywhere?”
“No.”
“What bad word?”
Marisol coughed into her fist.
I looked at her.
She was smiling despite herself.
“I’ll tell you when you’re thirty.”
Lizzy’s almost-smile disappeared when a man in navy scrubs entered with Denise.
He introduced himself as Dr. Patel and spoke to Lizzy before he spoke to any of us.
He told her he wanted to check her body because she had been hungry and thirsty and because sometimes being in a small space could make people feel sick.
He explained every step before he touched her.
When he asked permission to listen to her heart, Lizzy looked at me first.
I nodded.
He listened.
He checked her eyes, mouth, abdomen, arms, and legs.
He asked about pain.
She said her stomach hurt.
He asked when she had last eaten a full meal.
Lizzy shrugged.
Gloria’s voice carried faintly from beyond the doors.
Dr. Patel paused.
“Would you like that door closed?”
Lizzy nodded.
Marisol closed it.
The room became quieter.
Dr. Patel asked, “Do you usually eat breakfast?”
“Sometimes.”
“Lunch?”
“At school.”
“And dinner?”
She shrugged again.
“What happens if you don’t finish dinner?”
Her eyes went to the apple juice.
“I save it.”
“Save what?”
“Food.”
“For later?”
She nodded.
That cracker in her pocket seemed suddenly heavier than a brick.
Dr. Patel did not react visibly.
He made a note.
Denise asked if she could speak with me outside.
Adam was waiting in the hallway when I stepped out.
Two hospital security officers stood near the main entrance.
Gloria and Walt had been moved to the far side of the waiting room.
My mother sat rigidly in a plastic chair.
My father had his elbows on his knees and his hands over his face.
Denise led Adam and me into a small consultation room.
There was a round table, three chairs, and a poster about handwashing.
No window.
No comfortable place to look when she said, “I have made a mandatory report.”
My heart stumbled.
“To child protective services?”
“Yes.”
Adam leaned forward.
“What happens now?”
Denise folded her hands.
“An investigator will determine the immediate safety plan.”
“How long does that take?”
“It varies.”
“Tonight?”
“With the circumstances described, they’re contacting the on-call unit now.”
I asked, “Can Gloria take Lizzy home?”
Denise chose her words carefully.
“I cannot tell you what the agency will decide.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“I know.”
My voice rose.
“Can my mother walk into that room, flash guardianship papers, and leave with her?”
Adam touched the edge of the table, not me.
Denise remained calm.
“The hospital can hold discharge while there is an immediate safety concern and an active protective assessment.”
“For how long?”
“Long enough for the proper people to respond.”
I hated the answer because it was procedural and careful and not the promise I wanted.
I also understood why she gave it.
“Your parents may also contact law enforcement about the entry into their home,” Denise continued.
Adam looked at me.
I said, “I broke the window.”
“I understand why.”
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“But?”
“But I’m not a police officer, and I can’t promise how another agency handles that.”
