Chương 12
She checked anyway.
Sometimes she dreamed that plastic bracelets grew beneath his blanket no matter how many she removed.
Other names.
Other mothers.
Other lives.
She would wake with her hand already reaching into the bassinet.
Evan began sleeping badly too.
At first they competed about it.
“I was up from two to four.”
“I was up at one.”
“I fed him at three fifteen.”
“I changed him at three twenty.”
The arguments were petty and mean.
One morning Lauren told Evan he was loading the dishwasher like a person who had never seen a plate.
He stared at her.
“You’re mad because of a bowl?”
“Yes.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I can be mad about more than one thing.”
He slammed the dishwasher shut.
Noah began crying in the living room.
Both of them ran.
They collided in the hallway.
For one absurd second neither would let the other pass.
Then Evan started laughing.
Lauren tried not to.
Failed.
They stood there exhausted, blocking each other while their son screamed fifteen feet away.
“This is stupid,” she said.
“Extremely.”
They went together.
The criminal case developed in fragments.
Dana pleaded not guilty initially on advice of counsel, then later entered a cooperation agreement on charges related to unauthorized handling of a patient and conspiracy. Lauren did not follow the exact legal language closely.
She learned quickly that legal systems turned horror into nouns.
Access.
Tampering.
Conspiracy.
Interference.
Evidence.
They were accurate and somehow insufficient.
Celeste’s attorney argued that she had believed she was participating in an illegal but consensual private adoption, not a kidnapping.
Dana contradicted that.
So did messages recovered from Pierce’s devices.
Margaret Vale was charged months later with conspiracy-related offenses and obstruction after investigators established that she had transferred money after learning Lauren had not consented.
The hospital placed Rebecca in interim authority over maternity operations during an outside review.
Three administrators resigned.
The lawyer Lauren had disliked left for another job.
Dennis kept working.
He sent Noah a stuffed giraffe with no note.
Lauren knew it was from him because the hospital gift shop receipt remained in the bag.
Lionel Pierce turned out to have done versions of the same thing before.
Not identical.
Nothing as dramatic as a successful infant switch.
He had built a business around wealthy families who wanted difficult personal problems handled quietly and workers who needed money badly enough to stop asking questions.
He found caregivers with debt.
Clerks with gambling losses.
Assistants supporting relatives.
Security employees going through divorces.
Then he sold access to people who wanted rules bent.
Most of the time the corruption involved medical records, visitation restrictions, photographs suppressed, addiction treatment hidden from employers, family members quietly moved between facilities.
No babies.
Until Noah.
Lauren sometimes wished there had been ten other babies.
Then she hated herself for wishing it.
Being first felt lonely.
Claire visited when Noah was seven weeks old.
She came alone.
Lauren nearly canceled twice.
Evan thought she should.
“Why do you need this?”
“I don’t.”
“Then don’t.”
Lauren looked at him.
“You really believe everything you do is because you need to?”
“No.”
“Exactly.”
Claire arrived carrying nothing.
No flowers.
No gift.
Lauren liked that immediately.
She stood in the living room looking uncertain while Noah slept in a portable bassinet.
“He’s bigger.”
Lauren smiled faintly.
“That’s generally the plan.”
Claire laughed.
The sound startled them both.
They sat at the kitchen table.
For several minutes they talked about nothing important.
Traffic.
A construction detour.
Whether newborn socks existed solely to disappear.
Claire said she had found one of Henry’s socks inside her pillowcase after coming home from the hospital and still had no idea how it got there.
Then both women became quiet.
Lauren looked at Claire’s hands.
No wedding ring.
A pale mark remained.
“How is he?”
Claire looked down.
“Stable.”
It was a complicated word.
Henry had survived.
He had also spent six weeks in intensive care and would likely have long-term developmental and medical needs that no one could predict accurately yet.
Claire refused language like miracle.
Lauren admired that.
“He smiled yesterday,” Claire said.
“On purpose?”
“Probably gas.”
“Counts.”
“Thank you.”
They drank coffee.
No one touched the subject waiting between them for nearly twenty minutes.
Finally Claire said, “Margaret wants to write you a letter.”
Lauren stared into her cup.
“She can write one.”
“You’ll read it?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Claire nodded.
“Fair.”
“How is she?”
Claire leaned back.
“Angry.”
“At me?”
“At everyone. Mostly herself, which she experiences as anger at everyone.”
Lauren smiled despite herself.
“That sounds exhausting.”
“You have no idea.”
“I have some.”
Claire looked toward the bassinet.
“My grandmother thinks money is a kind of apology.”
Lauren’s smile vanished.
“She offered?”
“To cover Noah’s college.”
Lauren laughed in disbelief.
Claire covered her face.
“I know.”
“College?”
“I told her if she sent you a check you might set it on fire.”
“I might.”
“She said that would be wasteful.”
Lauren laughed again.
That one lasted longer.
Noah shifted in the bassinet.
Both women immediately looked over.
Claire’s face changed.
Lauren saw grief and affection arrive together.
She had expected jealousy.
Maybe there was some.
Human emotion rarely arrived alone.
“Do you want to hold him?” Lauren asked.
The question escaped before she could reconsider.
Claire stared at her.
“No.”
Lauren felt relief so quickly she felt ashamed.
Claire noticed.
“It’s okay.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
Claire looked at her hands.
“I want to someday. I don’t today.”
Lauren nodded.
That made sense.
Before leaving, Claire stood beside the bassinet.
She did not touch Noah.
“He has your mouth.”
Lauren laughed.
“Everyone says Evan’s.”
“They’re wrong.”
“You sound confident.”
“I’ve looked at your face for an hour.”
“Creepy.”
“A little.”
At the door, Claire hesitated.
“My grandmother did something unforgivable.”
Lauren said nothing.
Claire continued.
“I love her anyway.”
Lauren looked at her.
“I know.”
May you like
“No, I mean—I need people to understand those things can both be true.”
Lauren thought of Dana.
