Chương 13
Emily wrote one.
Then deleted it.
Wrote another.
Deleted that too.
The third was six sentences.
She described the sound of the hospital door handle jumping.
She described holding a thirty-one-minute-old baby and realizing someone had changed his record.
She described how she still checked locks twice.
She did not call Janet evil.
She did not forgive her.
The court outcome mattered less to Emily than she had expected.
Janet had accepted money from a stranger because she was behind on debts and had convinced herself the record change was administrative.
She had not asked what the outside consultant intended to do once the maternal link was altered.
That was the sentence Emily could not stop thinking about.
She had not asked.
A person did not need to understand the whole harm to help build it.
At six months, Emily met Margaret again.
No lawyers this time.
That had been Emily’s choice.
They met in a café inside a busy bookstore, public enough to feel safe and ordinary enough not to resemble mediation.
Emily did not bring Owen.
Margaret noticed but did not comment.
She wore black instead of cream.
No pearls.
Emily noticed that too and hated that she noticed.
They ordered coffee.
Margaret drank hers black.
Emily added too much milk.
For several minutes, they talked about nothing.
Parking.
Construction on the street.
A toddler at another table repeatedly dropping a spoon.
The normal conversation felt more uncomfortable than arguing.
Finally Margaret said, “How is he?”
Emily looked at her.
“Loud.”
Margaret smiled before she could stop herself.
“Laura was loud.”
Emily’s body tightened.
Margaret saw.
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
“No?”
“Finish.”
Margaret looked surprised.
“Laura screamed for almost a year. Colic. That was what they called everything then.”
Emily looked down at her coffee.
“Owen screams every night from six to seven.”
Margaret’s eyes filled.
She looked away quickly.
Emily watched her.
The reaction was restrained.
That made it harder.
“Did Laura have any birthmarks?” Emily asked.
Margaret looked back.
“One near her left shoulder.”
“Owen has one on his back.”
Margaret swallowed.
“Michael had a dimple on one side.”
“Owen has no dimples.”
“Not yet.”
Emily almost smiled.
Then she stopped herself and immediately felt foolish for stopping.
Margaret folded a paper napkin in half.
“I brought photographs.”
Emily stared at the napkin.
“Of Laura?”
“Yes.”
“Did I ask?”
“No.”
Margaret reached toward her purse, then stopped.
“I can take them home.”
Emily looked at her.
“Leave them.”
Margaret did not move for a second.
Then she placed a small envelope on the table.
Emily did not open it.
Not there.
They sat in silence.
After a while, Emily asked, “Did you know the man would forge anything?”
Margaret’s face closed.
“No.”
“Do you know his name now?”
“No.”
“Do you believe that bothers me?”
“Yes.”
“You keep saying you didn't know.”
“I didn't.”
“You hired people who did.”
“Yes.”
“You wanted access to Owen.”
“Yes.”
“You wanted paperwork changed.”
Margaret hesitated.
“I wanted the hospital to recognize that there was a dispute.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No.”
Emily leaned forward.
“What did you ask for?”
Margaret looked down.
“I asked the investigator if there was a way to stop you from leaving with him before I could make a claim.”
There.
No euphemism.
Emily felt heat rise into her face.
“And he said yes.”
“He said there were administrative methods to flag a newborn record.”
“So Janet changed it.”
“I did not know her name.”
“You didn't need to.”
“No.”
“And the release form?”
“I did not ask for it.”
“But your plan made it useful.”
Margaret closed her eyes briefly.
“Yes.”
Emily sat back.
She had wanted Margaret to say that.
Now that she had, it did not feel satisfying.
“What happened when you saw him behind the door?”
“I realized he had lied to me.”
“About what?”
“He told me he would never be physically present.”
“Why would that matter?”
“Because it meant the hospital wasn’t simply being placed on notice.”
Margaret’s fingers tightened around her cup.
“I understood then that he expected something else to happen.”
“Taking Owen.”
“I think so.”
“By you?”
“I don't know.”
Emily laughed without humor.
“The famous answer.”
Margaret nodded.
“Yes.”
For a moment they were both quiet.
Then Margaret said, “I was still going to argue with you.”
Emily looked at her.
“I was still going to tell you he was Laura’s son.”
“Owen.”
“Owen.”
Margaret corrected herself immediately.
“I did not become a good person because I got scared of him.”
Emily watched her.
That honesty moved something she did not want moved.
“Good,” Emily said. “Because you weren't.”
Margaret nodded.
“No.”
Emily took the envelope of photographs home.
She left it unopened for nine days.
On the tenth, Owen fell asleep unusually early.
Emily sat at the kitchen table.
She opened the envelope.
Laura Hale was seven in the first photograph, missing two front teeth.
Sixteen in the second, glaring at whoever held the camera.
Twenty-four in the third, laughing so hard her eyes were closed.
Margaret had been right about the laugh.
You could almost hear it from the picture.
The last photograph showed Laura with Michael in front of a cheap-looking motel sign somewhere in Arizona. Michael had his arm around her. Laura held two paper cups. Both were sunburned.
They looked ordinary.
Not ghosts.
Not genetic sources.
People.
Emily cried for them.
Then she cried for Aaron.
Then she felt guilty for crying for strangers.
Then she became annoyed with herself for turning grief into a competition.
Owen woke and began yelling from the bedroom.
Emily wiped her face.
“Coming.”
She picked up the photograph of Laura laughing.
For a second, she considered putting it away.
Instead she left it on the table.
Owen’s first birthday arrived without a final court ruling because, by then, there was almost nothing left for the court to decide.
May you like
Margaret had withdrawn all custody claims.
Emily agreed that Margaret could receive annual updates and request supervised contact twice a year, with no guarantee beyond what Emily believed remained healthy for Owen.
