Chương 3
“It came loose when he dragged me. Caught in my vest.”
“And you kept it for eight months?”
“I tried to return it.”
“To whom?”
“His parents were listed as next of kin. They refused delivery.”
“Why?”
“They said the Army had already given them his personal effects. His mother thought I was running some kind of fraud.”
Claire thought of the child in bed seven, her family field marked UNCONFIRMED, the father’s name supplied by the mother before she lost consciousness. “Did you know he had a baby coming?”
“I knew there was a woman.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“No. I didn’t know about the baby.”
“Did you know her name?”
“Hannah.”
Claire’s face changed before she could stop it.
Earl noticed. “That’s her.”
Claire closed the chart.
The infant’s mother was Hannah Reed.
“She was using another last name when Daniel talked about her,” Earl said.
“What name?”
“Mercer.”
Claire’s mind moved through the chart details. Hannah Mercer Reed, twenty-seven, admitted under the surname printed on her driver’s license and insurance card. Emergency cesarean at twenty-six weeks after severe placental abruption and cardiac complications. No local emergency contacts reached. One number belonged to a disconnected line. Another reached a property management office in Colorado.
“Why were you searching for her?” Claire asked.
“Because Daniel asked me to.”
“You said you promised to find his family.”
“That was the family he meant.”
“Did he give you contact information?”
“A number. It was dead by the time I could call.”
“Address?”
“Old apartment.”
“Email?”
“He said she’d blocked him.”
Claire frowned. “Why?”
“None of my business.”
“It becomes my business when you enter her child’s unit carrying her dead husband’s tag.”
“Boyfriend.”
“The chart lists him as her husband.”
Something unsettled moved across Earl’s face.
“He never told you they married,” Claire said.
“No.”
“Could he have been lying about the relationship?”
“Yes.”
The answer came without defense.
Claire had expected loyalty or outrage. The plainness of his response made the room feel smaller.
“Could the tag be stolen?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Could you be mistaken about this woman?”
“Yes.”
“Could this baby have nothing to do with the Daniel Reed you knew?”
“Yes.”
Claire waited.
Earl’s eyes remained on the distant monitor. “But she does.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I can’t.”
The door opened before Claire could answer. Talia leaned in.
“Cardiac ICU is calling. The mother is awake.”
Claire stood so quickly her chair scraped the floor.
“Is she oriented?”
“Intermittently. They want someone from neonatal to update her before they sedate her for a procedure.”
Claire turned toward Earl.
He was already getting up.
“You stay here,” she said.
He looked through the glass at bed seven. “Wasn’t planning to go anywhere else.”
Hannah Reed lay beneath a heated blanket in cardiac intensive care, her face pale against the white pillow. The ventilator had been removed, but oxygen flowed through a nasal cannula. Adhesive pads covered her chest. An arterial line entered her wrist. Her hair, dark and usually worn long according to the photograph in her electronic chart, had been gathered into a loose knot by someone who did not know her.
Claire introduced herself and pulled a chair close to the bed.
Hannah’s eyes opened halfway. “The baby.”
“She’s stable at the moment.”
“That means not stable.”
“It means she is premature and requires support, but she is responding to treatment.”
“Did she breathe?”
“Yes.”
“By herself?”
“With oxygen assistance. She had a brief apnea episode this morning and recovered with stimulation.”
Hannah swallowed. Her throat worked painfully. “Can I see her?”
“Not yet. Your cardiac team needs to complete a procedure, and you’re not safe to transport. We can arrange a video connection afterward.”
“No video.”
Claire had heard similar refusals. Some mothers could not bear to meet their babies through screens. Others feared that seeing the tubes and sensors would make the separation impossible to survive.
“We’ll take it one step at a time,” Claire said.
“Did anyone hold her?”
The question pulled Claire back to the conference room.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“One of our trained volunteers.”
Hannah closed her eyes. “A stranger.”
“A vetted neonatal support volunteer. A nurse was present.”
“I wasn’t.”
The words barely carried past the oxygen flow.
“No,” Claire said. “You weren’t.”
Hannah’s fingers moved across the blanket, searching for something. Claire placed the call button within reach, though it was not what Hannah wanted.
“Her father,” Hannah whispered. “Did you put him down?”
“His name is in the chart.”
“Dead?”
“The chart lists him as deceased.”
“Good.”
Claire watched Hannah’s face.
A tear moved from the corner of her eye toward her ear. She made no attempt to wipe it away.
“Good that it’s in the chart,” Hannah said. “Not good that he’s dead.”
“I understood.”
“No, you didn’t.”
Claire accepted the correction.
A cardiology fellow entered and checked the arterial line. He asked Hannah three orientation questions, received two correct answers, then told Claire they had less than five minutes.
Claire leaned forward. “Hannah, we are trying to locate someone you trust. Is there a family member or friend we should call?”
“No family.”
“Anyone from work?”
“Lost the job.”
“A neighbor?”
“Moved.”
“Someone named Mercer?”
Hannah’s eyes opened more fully.
Claire regretted the question at once. She had crossed from clinical necessity into the edge of Earl’s story without knowing whether she had a right to be there.
“Why did you say that name?” Hannah asked.
“It appears in a record connected to your admission.”
This was not entirely false, but Claire heard the evasiveness in it.
“Which record?”
“Hannah—”
“Who told you?”
The cardiology fellow looked up from the monitor.
Claire lowered her voice. “A man in the neonatal unit knew Daniel.”
The effect was immediate. Hannah’s pulse increased on the bedside display.
“What man?”
“His name is Earl Ransom.”
Hannah stared at Claire.
May you like
The fellow stepped closer. “We need to keep her calm.”
“I’m calm,” Hannah said, though the monitor disagreed. “What does he look like?”
