he started in crying again.
It was like that all day. Dr. Nolan examined the boy for gas and then infection, but he couldn’t find anything and the baby couldn’t talk. All he could do was yell and cry.
At four thirty in the afternoon, after what seemed like three years of tears to the doctor and Ahn, the telephone rang. Minas rushed to it, hoping for some heart attack or stroke that would take him to the peaceful operating room.
“Dr. Nolan?” a woman asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m calling from the ICU at Helmutt-Briggs. We were told that you’re familiar with a woman named Branwyn Beerman.”
“Yes.”
“Well, Doctor,” the woman said, “we think that she removed her son from the isolation unit he occupied. He’s 1 7
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gone from the hospital, and the number we have for her on file has been disconnected.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Do you know how we can get in touch with her?”
Eric was screaming two rooms away.
“Don’t you have an address for her on file?” Minas asked.
“We don’t have the staff to send, Doctor, and the head of the unit has ruled out calling the police.”
“So, again, what do you want from me?” Nolan asked.
“We thought that maybe you knew how to reach her. Her baby might die outside of the isolation unit.”
“No.”
“No what?”
“No, I don’t know how to reach her.”
M i nas N olan, th e Vietnamese nanny, Ahn, and Eric all piled into the silver Mercedes and drove down to a street off Crenshaw. There were no buzzers at the front door, and the mailboxes had numbers but no names.
On the first floor of the dilapidated, modern building, only one apartment door in the long corridor of doors was open; just inside sat an extraordinarily thin black man wearing only a pair of black cotton pants.
“Evenin’,” the man said to Minas as he hurried by with his son and the nanny looking for some sign of Branwyn.
“Hello,” Minas replied. “Excuse me, sir.”
“You lost?” the old man asked. “You look lost.”
“I’m looking for Branwyn Beerman.”
“You from that hospital?” the man asked suspiciously.
“I’m a friend of hers.”
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“Then why don’t you know where she live at?”
“I’ve never been up to her apartment. I’ve only ever dropped her off at the door.”
“Oh,” the man said, smiling now. “You’re that doctor always takes her home after she visits with her poor baby.”
“Yes. That’s me.”
“You not comin’ to take her baby away now are ya?”
“No, sir. I’m the one who suggested that she take Tommy out of there.”
The whole time in the car and while they stood in the hall talking to the old man (whose name was Terry Barker), Eric screamed deafeningly. Nothing that Ahn or Minas did or said could stop him.
Terry told them that Branwyn lived on the fifth floor, but the elevator didn’t work.
They scaled the stairs and made it to 5G. The door came open before they knocked. Branwyn was standing there, beautiful with babe in arms.
“I heard Eric from out on the street,” she said. “I would have come down to meet you, but I didn’t want to jostle little Tommy.”
Thomas Beerman was small and still in his mother’s arms.
He moved his head only to keep an eye on her face. His hands were holding tight to her thumb and forefinger.
Eric stopped crying when Branwyn appeared.
“Can we come in?” Minas asked, relieved at the silence Branwyn brought into his life.
M i nas N olan c h e c ke d baby Thomas for signs of disease or decay.
