“Well, first I have to tell you that she was great when she delivered my son. I loved her. I couldn’t wait for a repeat performance with Petra. But when she showed up when I went into labor with Petra, she was a mess, like I said. So was I at the time.” She smiled. “I’d been having back labor for days and was not in a good place. So I wouldn’t have realized it if she’d shown up with two heads, but my husband did.”
“What do you mean, ‘she was a mess’?”
“Spaced out.”
“Spaced out?” I repeated. My head felt thick and stupid.
“She was on something and she was very, very loopy. With my son, she was totally in charge and calm and I knew I was in good hands with her.” I nodded.
“Well, that was not the woman who showed up when I went into labor with Petra,” she said. “She was stumbling over her own feet. Her eyes were glassy. If I hadn’t been so worried about myself, I would have been worried about her. I honestly wasn’t sure what to do. It was about 3:00 a.m. and I thought maybe she was still groggy from waking up suddenly, so I just rolled with it for an hour or so, but she didn’t get any better. Finally, my husband said she had to go. I knew he was right, but I was terrified. I figured I’d have to go to the hospital and give birth with a doctor I didn’t know. I heard my husband talking to her in the hall outside my room. He was totally frank, saying that she seemed drugged and he wasn’t comfortable with her taking care of me and he was going to take me to the hospital.”
“What did Noelle say?” I asked.
“Her voice was really quiet and I couldn’t hear, but my husband said she didn’t put up a fight. Almost like she agreed with him. She apologized and said she was having back pain and had probably taken too many pills. She was really upset and apologetic and my husband ended up comforting
“She sometimes did need to take pain medication,” I said.
“I’m sorry it had such an impact on you.”
“My husband thought maybe she was an addict.”
“I don’t think she was an addict,” I said, though what did I know? Our theory about the blacked-out name belonging to the woman whose baby had been replaced was crumbling. She was blacked out because Noelle didn’t deliver her baby at all. Still, Petra didn’t look like she came out of the body of this svelte blonde. Might something have happened when
“At least Noelle had the good sense to let someone else take over,” I said.
“That’s true,” Rebecca said. “I was angry at the time. My husband thought we should file a complaint against her, but she did the right thing by bringing in someone else and we had a beautiful healthy little girl and that’s what we focused on.”
“She’s adorable,” I said. “I have a teenage daughter, too.”
Rebecca smiled. “You know the challenge, then.”
I felt so comforted by those words. I was not the only mother trying to cope with a teenager. Emerson had so few problems with Jenny that we couldn’t really commiserate.
“Definitely,” I said. I got to my feet. “Thanks so much for taking the time to speak with me.”
“Did I help?” she asked.
“Yes, I think you did. We all missed something going on with her that you picked up on. I feel bad about it.”
“I know,” she said. “One of Petra’s friends killed herself last year and she’s been feeling guilty about it ever since, but everybody missed the signs. You can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped.”
As I drove away, it was no longer Noelle I was thinking about, but Rebecca’s comment about Petra’s friend. Teenagers killed themselves. I thought of Grace’s moodiness. Her nightmares. I’d been spending all this time trying to figure out what had been going on with Noelle while my daughter was the greater and more immediate mystery. I felt suddenly frightened. Could I be missing something going on with her, right under my nose? How would I ever know?
27
Emerson
Grandpa looked better when I walked into his room at hospice. Either that, or I was simply getting used to the emaciated, drawn features of his face.
“Hello, honey.” He smiled when he saw me, reaching a frail arm out to draw me into a hug as I leaned over his bedside.
“You look good,” I said, pulling a chair close.
“I let them shave me.” He ran a tremulous hand over his chin. “Just in your honor.”
“I brought you pumpkin bread,” I said. “I left it with your aide and she’s going to bring it to you with dinner.”
“Always loved your pumpkin bread,” he said.
“That’s because you’re the one who taught me how to make it.”
“Oh, hogwash.” He shook his head with a smile. “You outpaced me in the baking department by the time you were ten.” He looked directly at me then, and we both sobered. The nurse had said he wanted to see me alone, without Jenny or Ted, and I knew Grandpa must be seeing this visit as some sort of farewell. Just the thought put tears in my eyes.
