Chương 10
“You are a little.”
“I probably am.”
Lauren appreciated the admission.
Claire lowered her hands.
“She raised me.”
“Your mother?”
“Dead when I was nine.”
Lauren had not expected that.
“Margaret raised you?”
“Yes.”
“That explains some things.”
Claire gave a small laugh, then winced and held her incision.
“What does it explain?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Fair.”
Lauren looked at the empty bassinet.
“How is Henry?”
Claire’s face changed.
“The doctor says the next twenty-four hours matter.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s enough.”
Lauren nodded.
Claire picked at a loose thread on the blanket over her legs.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to ask you.”
“You don’t have to ask me anything.”
“I want to know if your baby is okay.”
“He is.”
Claire closed her eyes.
Relief crossed her face.
It was unmistakable.
Lauren hated that it moved her.
“Did you know Lionel Pierce?”
Claire opened her eyes.
“Not really.”
“Your grandmother said he worked for your family.”
“He started showing up after Ben died.”
“Your husband.”
“Yes.”
“What did he do?”
Claire frowned.
“Everything nobody wanted to deal with. Insurance paperwork. Reporters after the accident. Some lawsuit with the contractor. He helped with the house because I couldn’t stand being there. He knew people.”
“Did you trust him?”
“I didn’t think about him enough to trust him.”
Lauren considered that.
Power often looked like not having to think about the people who made difficult things disappear.
“Did he talk to you about adoption?”
Claire stared.
“No.”
“Another baby?”
“No.”
“Did your grandmother?”
Claire’s face went pale in a different way.
“No.”
Lauren believed her.
Not because she wanted to.
Because Claire looked insulted before she looked horrified.
Lauren had learned in one day that the order of emotions mattered.
Claire swallowed.
“Was she going to give me your baby?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
Claire looked toward the empty bassinet.
“That’s a terrible answer.”
“Yes.”
“My grandmother came in this morning and asked if I was strong enough to hear bad news.”
Lauren said nothing.
“I thought Henry had died.”
Claire’s fingers tightened around the blanket.
“Then she said he was alive, and I became so relieved I didn’t notice she was shaking.”
She wiped beneath one eye angrily.
“I’ve seen Margaret Vale at funerals where she didn’t shake.”
Lauren watched her.
“What did she tell you about me?”
“That there had been an identification error involving another family.”
“Error.”
Claire laughed without humor.
“Her word, not mine.”
“Convenient word.”
“She has a lot of those.”
There was resentment in Claire’s voice now.
Old resentment.
Lauren recognized it because she had used the same tone talking about her father when he called controlling behavior concern.
“Why did you send the note?”
Claire looked at her.
“Because I heard your baby crying this morning.”
Lauren’s throat tightened.
“You heard him?”
“I think so. Around four.”
Lauren went still.
“From where?”
Claire pointed toward the wall.
“Recovery room was down the hall. I was mostly out of it. There was a baby crying, and someone said, ‘He’s not supposed to be here yet.’”
Lauren leaned forward.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Man or woman?”
“Woman.”
“Did you see her?”
Claire closed her eyes.
“I remember teal.”
Dana wore teal.
So did half the maternity nurses.
“Anything else?”
“A bracelet.”
Lauren felt her pulse jump.
“What bracelet?”
“I don’t know.”
“You remember one?”
Claire rubbed her forehead.
“I remember somebody saying the name was wrong.”
Lauren’s skin tightened.
“Which name?”
“I don’t know.”
“Try.”
Claire shook her head.
“I’m sorry.”
Lauren sat back.
There it was.
A memory triggered by nothing more dramatic than a conversation, incomplete and probably useless.
Human memory refused to become evidence on command.
Lauren asked, “Did you tell police?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Claire looked at her for a long time.
“Do you hate me?”
Lauren almost answered too quickly.
She stopped.
“I don’t know you.”
Claire nodded.
“That’s probably healthier.”
Lauren stood.
Her body ached.
At the doorway, Claire said, “Lauren?”
She turned.
“If Henry dies, I don’t want anyone pretending another baby could have fixed it.”
Lauren stared at her.
Claire’s voice shook.
“I need someone to know I said that.”
Lauren nodded once.
“I know.”
Back in her own room, Noah was crying against Evan’s chest.
Lauren’s body reacted before her mind did.
Milk leaked through the front of her gown.
Evan looked down.
“Wow.”
“Don’t.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Not one word.”
He handed Noah to her.
She sat on the bed and fed him.
Only after his crying stopped did she tell Evan about Claire.
He listened.
At the end he said, “Do you believe her?”
“Yes.”
“That simple?”
“No.”
He waited.
Lauren looked down at Noah’s moving jaw.
“I believe she didn’t ask for him.”
Evan nodded.
“What about Margaret?”
“I think she told herself ten different stories until she found one that let her keep moving.”
“That’s generous.”
“It isn’t.”
“No?”
“No.”
Lauren looked at him.
“It’s worse. If she knew exactly what she was doing, then she’s just a monster. Monsters are easy. If she kept changing the reason every time the last one became indefensible, then she had a hundred chances to stop.”
Evan was quiet.
“Yeah.”
At 7:30 that evening, Dana asked permission to speak with Lauren again before police took her downtown for formal processing.
Evan said no.
Lauren said yes.
They argued about it in whispers for two minutes.
Dana waited outside.
Eventually Evan muttered, “I hate today.”
Lauren said, “That might be the first completely sensible thing either of us has said.”
Dana entered without her badge.
That detail made Lauren’s chest hurt unexpectedly.
She looked different without it.
Less official.
Smaller.
Dennis remained at the open door.
Dana stood near the sink.
“I lied about one thing.”
Evan made a disgusted sound.
Lauren said, “Which one?”
“I told you I took the Kerr bracelet off Noah at four ten.”
“You didn’t?”
“I did. But that wasn’t the first time I saw it.”
May you like
Lauren waited.
Dana looked at Noah.
