Chương 7
“You had a small mark beside your ear.”
He enlarged the photograph.
Both ears were partly covered.
“You can’t see it.”
“I remember.”
The word sounded weaker than she intended.
Noah studied her younger face.
“You look scared.”
“I was.”
“Did you love both of us?”
Rachel sat down at the kitchen island.
“Yes.”
“Already?”
“Yes.”
“You only held him once.”
“I held you once then too.”
“That’s different. You kept holding me.”
She reached for him.
He stepped back.
The rejection was small, almost polite.
“I need to think,” he said.
Rachel watched him go upstairs.
At ten thirty, her phone rang from an unfamiliar number.
She answered before the first ring ended.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then Eli said, “Is anyone bleeding?”
Rachel closed her eyes.
“No.”
“Then why did you answer fast?”
“I hoped it was you.”
He breathed into the phone. In the background, a television played softly.
“The room has stars on the ceiling,” he said.
“At the Thompsons’ house?”
“They glow.”
“That sounds nice.”
“They’re fake.”
“Most indoor stars are.”
He was quiet.
“Did Marlene die?”
“No. She’s very sick.”
“Can I see her?”
“I don’t know. Priya and the police will decide.”
“She didn’t steal me.”
Rachel’s grip tightened on the phone.
“What did she do?”
“She found me.”
“When?”
“I don’t remember the first time.”
“Did you live with her?”
“Sometimes.”
“Where were you before?”
“Places.”
Rachel waited.
Eli said, “You’re doing that quiet thing.”
“What quiet thing?”
“Where adults wait so you fill it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Marlene does it worse.”
Rachel looked at the banker’s box.
“Did she ever tell you how she got the bracelet?”
“She said it fell where it wasn’t supposed to.”
“Where?”
“She said the wrong baby went through the wrong door.”
Rachel stood without deciding to.
“Did she say which door?”
“No.”
“Did she work at Mercy Bridge?”
“She drove babies.”
Northstar Neonatal Transport Services.
Rachel opened the box with one hand and found the settlement agreement. The transport company had dissolved six years earlier after filing for bankruptcy.
“Eli, did Marlene tell you anything else about that night?”
“She said snow was hitting the windows sideways. She said alarms kept stopping because the power was bad. She said two boxes looked the same in the dark.”
“What boxes?”
“The baby beds.”
“Incubators?”
“Maybe.”
“What happened after that?”
“She wouldn’t say.”
“Did she know you were my son all along?”
“No. She found out later.”
“How?”
“She saw me when I was little and said I made a face she remembered.”
“What face?”
“He’s tired,” Andrea said gently in the background.
Eli ignored her.
“The one Noah makes when he’s trying not to cry.”
Rachel pressed her palm against the kitchen counter.
“I’m not trying to make you sad,” Eli said.
“You didn’t.”
“You sound sad.”
“I am sad. That isn’t your fault.”
Another pause.
“Okay.”
It was the first thing he had accepted from her.
The next morning, Rachel hired an attorney.
Samantha Cole specialized in child welfare and complex custody cases. She had blunt-cut hair, a crowded office, and no patience for Rachel’s attempts to manage the conversation.
“You are not filing for full custody today,” Samantha said.
“He is my biological child.”
“Probably.”
“He is.”
“The court operates on documents, not maternal recognition.”
“We’ll have DNA tomorrow.”
“And then we will have evidence that you are his biological mother. We will not have evidence that immediate placement is emotionally safe for him.”
“His current placement is temporary.”
“With experienced foster parents he appears willing to remain with for several days.”
“He belongs with his family.”
Samantha leaned back.
“Be careful with that sentence.”
Rachel stared at her.
“Children are not luggage. He does not belong to whichever adult proves ownership first.”
“I didn’t mean ownership.”
“I know. The court may not.”
Rachel folded her hands.
“What should I do?”
“Complete the emergency home study. Consent to background checks. Provide financial records. Arrange a bedroom without turning it into a monument to the son you imagined. Attend every supervised visit offered. Do not contact the media. Do not promise Eli that he is coming home. Do not interrogate him about Marlene.”
“I have questions.”
“So does he.”
“What if the hospital destroys records?”
“Police have preservation orders in progress. We can send our own.”
Rachel disliked being told to wait.
Waiting was what other people had made her do nine years earlier.
Samantha seemed to read the objection.
“Action is not the same as control,” she said. “Right now, useful action looks boring.”
Rachel completed forms until her hand cramped.
That afternoon, a police detective named Marcus Hill interviewed her and Daniel separately. He had reviewed the transport logs found in Marlene’s car.
At 2:13 a.m. on the night the twins were born, two neonatal transport units left Mercy Bridge.
Unit Twelve carried BENNETT, BABY B, to Children’s Regional.
Unit Eight carried UNKNOWN, MALE INFANT, to St. Agnes Community Hospital for transfer into county custody.
The departure log listed Baby B in Unit Twelve.
The arrival log at Children’s Regional listed Baby B in Unit Eight.
Someone had corrected the number by hand.
The unknown infant’s receiving record had been signed by a nurse who died four years later. The child was placed in county custody after no parent was identified.
“What happened to the infant who died?” Rachel asked.
Hill turned one page.
“A male newborn died at Children’s Regional at 4:07 a.m. The chart identified him as Baby B Bennett.”
“Was there an autopsy?”
“Yes. Cause of death was respiratory failure complicated by prematurity.”
“DNA?”
“No.”
“Footprints?”
“Poor quality.”
“Photographs?”
“One postmortem photograph, sealed with the autopsy file.”
Rachel’s stomach turned.
“Have you seen it?”
“No.”
“Will you?”
“If a judge authorizes access.”
May you like
“What happened to the unknown infant?”
“That’s where the records become difficult. St. Agnes reported receiving an unidentified premature boy at 3:01 a.m. His original wristband was missing. He remained hospitalized for six weeks, then entered foster care under the name Elijah County.”
