big part of our lives in spite of Bryan’s absence. Haley loved her cousins and they loved her. Tears burned my eyes as I listened to her talking a mile a minute to Madison/Mandy. I hated spoiling the moment.
I knocked lightly on her open door.
“Whoops!” Haley quickly turned off the screen. She swiveled her chair to face me, all innocent green eyes. “I finished my math, Mom, so I was just Skyping for a minute with Mandy.”
I couldn’t have cared less if she was lying. Let her Skype. Let her do whatever she wanted.
“That’s okay,” I said, then sighed. “Dr. Jackson just called, honey. He said your blood count’s low.”
“Don’t say
“You say it all the time.”
“Yeah, well, I shouldn’t.”
“I don’t want to go in, Mom.” Her eyes pleaded with me to let her stay home and my heart cracked in two.
“You’ve got to, honey. I’m sorry.”
She dragged herself to her feet. “This totally sucks.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
“Does this mean I won’t be able to get chemo next week?”
I couldn’t tell if she was hoping she wouldn’t have to have chemo or if she was worried the weeks of chemo would have to be drawn out that much longer.
“It depends on how your blood work looks by then,” I said. “Get what you need and we’ll hit the road.”
She frowned at me, her hand gripping the arm of her chair. “Mom?” she said. “Don’t tell Dad, okay?”
Maybe another mother wouldn’t have understood, but I did. She was scared. It was her illness that had caused Bryan to turn tail years ago. Now they’d spent a healthy, happy few days together, and she was afraid of appearing sick to him again.
“He won’t leave, honey,” I said, and I walked out of her room, hoping against hope that I hadn’t just told her a lie.
17
Emerson
“My God,” Tara breathed. She grabbed the letter and read it through in silence.
I felt my heart beating in my ears. I touched the paper in her hands. “I don’t know what to do with this,” I said.
Tara looked up from the letter. “I can’t believe Noelle would do something like that,” she said.
I shook my head. “Neither can I. It seems impossible.”
“Here we go!” The waitress appeared at our table again, this time with my salad and Tara’s steak. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted your dressing on the side or on the salad,” she said as she set the plate in front of me.
“This is fine,” I said, looking at the little cup of dressing. I wasn’t going to eat the salad either way, so it didn’t matter. I just wanted her to put the food on the table and leave.
“Is there anything else I can get you right now?” she asked.
“No,” Tara said. “Thank you. We’re fine.”
The waitress walked away and Tara pushed her plate to the side of the table, her appetite apparently gone, as well. “Maybe this is why she stopped being a midwife,” she said.
“I feel like I didn’t know her,” I said. “I know I’ve said that a lot lately, but now I really,
“Is there a chance this is…just not true?” Tara asked. “I mean, maybe she was writing a novel or…a short story or something and this was just a literary experiment.”
“I love that idea, Tara,” I said. “But do you really believe it?”
Tara gave a small shake of her head. “She killed a baby,” she said slowly, quietly, as if trying the words on for size. “Some poor woman didn’t even know that her baby died.”
“And that she was raising another woman’s child.”
“And
“I’ve wondered that myself,” I said. “But wouldn’t we know? Wouldn’t it have come out? Wouldn’t there have been a monumental lawsuit?” I reached for my wineglass, but the room was beginning to spin and I lowered my hand to my lap.
“Did you find any documents in her house that might be related to a suit?” Tara asked.
“No, nothing like that,” I said.
“Maybe she did actually mail a letter, but made it anonymous so Anna couldn’t figure out who she was.”
