Chương 6
“You cannot exclude me from medical information.”
“I can protect my patient.”
That shut her up for almost three seconds.
Then she said, “I want the hospital administrator.”
Marisol appeared behind him.
“I’ll let the charge nurse know.”
The sarcasm was nearly invisible.
Nearly.
Adam and I followed Dr. Patel back into Lizzy’s room.
She had finished the apple juice.
The empty cup sat on the tray.
The cracker was still in her pocket.
A second blanket had been pulled around her legs.
Dr. Patel closed the door.
“She is stable.”
My knees softened with relief so immediate that I had to grab the edge of the counter.
He continued.
“She is mildly dehydrated, and her weight is lower than I would expect based on the records available to us.”
“What records?”
“Prior pediatric visits in the health system.”
“When was the last one?”
“About four months ago.”
I tried to remember whether Gloria had mentioned it.
Nothing came.
Dr. Patel said, “She has multiple bruises.”
Adam asked, “Can you tell how they happened?”
“Not with certainty.”
His answer was careful.
“Some could be consistent with ordinary childhood injuries.”
He paused.
“Some locations are less typical.”
My mouth went dry.
“Her back.”
“Yes.”
“And her arms?”
“Yes.”
“Could someone gripping her cause those?”
“It could.”
“Did someone?”
“I can’t tell you that from bruising alone.”
I nodded because I appreciated the honesty even while hating it.
“We are documenting everything,” he said.
“There are also older marks.”
“What kind?”
“Linear marks on the backs of her legs.”
Adam’s face hardened.
“From what?”
“Again, I can’t determine the object with certainty.”
Lizzy was listening.
I hated that she was hearing adults discuss her body like evidence.
Dr. Patel seemed to notice too.
He lowered his voice.
“We’re going to let her rest soon.”
I asked, “Does she need to stay?”
“I’d like to observe her for several hours, repeat fluids by mouth, and have pediatrics reassess in the morning.”
“Can she sleep?”
“Yes.”
Lizzy looked at me.
“Are you staying?”
“Yes.”
The answer came before anyone else could speak.
Adam nodded.
“So am I.”
Dr. Patel glanced between us.
“One adult can stay bedside overnight if she’s admitted.”
“I’m staying,” I said.
Adam did not argue.
He only said, “I’ll be close.”
Lizzy’s shoulders loosened a little.
A knock came at the door.
Denise stepped in.
“With your permission, I need to speak with Natalie privately for a moment.”
Lizzy’s eyes widened.
I touched the blanket beside her hand.
“I’m right outside.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Adam stayed with her.
Denise led me to the same consultation room.
Officer Bennett was waiting there.
The sight of her made my stomach drop again.
She motioned toward the chair.
“You are not under arrest.”
I sat.
“Thank you for leading with that.”
One corner of her mouth moved.
“You looked like you needed it.”
Denise remained near the door.
Officer Bennett opened a small notebook.
“Your father has given us additional information.”
I braced myself.
“He says the closet was used as punishment on at least six occasions that he remembers.”
Six.
The number felt absurdly precise compared with the child behind the wall.
“Over how long?”
“Several months.”
I pressed my lips together.
“He also says food was sometimes withheld.”
My hand went to my stomach.
“Sometimes?”
“He described it as missing dinner.”
“That’s withholding food.”
“Yes.”
“He let that happen?”
Bennett did not soften the answer.
“Yes.”
I looked down at the floor.
A strip of gray vinyl near my shoe had peeled slightly at the edge.
I stared at it because otherwise I was going to cry.
Officer Bennett continued.
“He says your mother told him they needed to break certain behaviors before your brother returned.”
I looked up.
“What behaviors?”
“He mentioned crying, refusing chores, bedwetting, taking food to her room, and calling relatives without permission.”
For a moment I could not understand the sequence.
Then one phrase separated itself.
“Before Ian returned?”
“Yes.”
“My brother?”
“Yes.”
“He’s in treatment.”
“That is what your father told us.”
“When is he coming back?”
“He said he expected him to finish the residential portion next month.”
I had not known.
Ian had called me twice since entering treatment.
Both conversations had lasted under five minutes.
He had sounded embarrassed and brittle and kept saying he was doing fine.
I had not pushed.
Our family had always mistaken not pushing for kindness.
Officer Bennett watched my face.
“Were you aware of any plan for him to resume custody?”
“No.”
“Did your parents discuss that with you?”
“No.”
I laughed softly, but there was nothing funny in it.
“They barely discussed anything about Lizzy with me.”
“Did you have regular contact with her?”
“I tried.”
“What does that mean?”
“My mother controlled visits.”
I heard how weak it sounded.
“She’d say Lizzy was tired, had homework, had a cold, was grounded.”
“How often did you see her?”
“Maybe twice a month.”
“Sometimes less?”
“Yes.”
“Did that concern you?”
“Yes.”
“What did you do?”
The question hurt because it was not accusing.
I wished it had been.
I could have defended myself against accusation.
“I argued with my mother.”
“And?”
“I backed off.”
“Why?”
I looked at Denise.
She did not rescue me.
“My mother makes everything expensive.”
Officer Bennett waited.
“Not money,” I said.
“She makes disagreement cost something.”
My voice grew quieter.
“If you push, she calls you unstable or ungrateful or selfish.”
“If you keep pushing, she involves other people.”
“Family.”
“Church.”
“Friends.”
“She makes you prove you’re not the person she says you are.”
Officer Bennett wrote something.
I hated watching her write it.
It made my family sound clinical.
Then I remembered the latch.
Clinical was better than hidden.
She asked, “Did she ever physically discipline you as a child?”
I hesitated.
“Yes.”
“What did that involve?”
“Spanking.”
“With a hand?”
“Sometimes.”
“What else?”
I could hear the ticking of a cheap wall clock.
“A wooden spoon.”
May you like
“Anything else?”
I stared at my hands.
