The Midwife's Confession

“There’s a sign for the hospital.” Emerson pointed ahead of us. “Once we get inside, do you want Jenny and me to come with you, or would it be better if we found the cafeteria and hung out there while you find Grace? Having us underfoot might just add to the confusion. What do you think?”

I would have loved to have Emerson with me for moral support, but I was only going to get Grace and go, as Ian had advised. We didn’t need any big scene with all four of us. “You go to the cafeteria,” I said, “but keep your cell on and I’ll call if I need you, okay?”

The hospital came into view in front of us, a huge geometric collection of glass and metal. My daughter was in there. I couldn’t believe she’d had the courage to set foot inside. To actually drive herself there. She was just deep, Jenny had said. Yes, she was. I wanted to know every millimeter of that depth. I wanted it not to be too late for us and I was so afraid it was.

54

Grace

Anna moved around Haley’s hospital room, rearranging books and remote controls and tissue boxes and drinking glasses, and Haley chattered about a movie she’d seen and I kept looking at the doorway. We were all waiting for my mother to show up. It would change everything, having Mom here. She would take charge, and I realized how much I depended on that—on my mother taking charge of things.

The three of us were talking about the most unimportant things—my school and Old Town Alexandria and what Wilmington was like, as though I was just someone who’d dropped by for a visit, not their daughter or sister.

I jumped every time I saw someone in the hallway. Finally, there she was. My mother. She barely looked like herself, she was so pale and frazzled. I jumped up from the couch, the blanket falling from my shoulders, and ran into her arms.

“Mom,” I said, and suddenly everything I’d been through in the past twenty-four hours—Jenny showing me the letter, the horrible drive through the dark rain, the search for Anna Knightly—hit me all at once. My leg muscles felt like mush, and I knew I was only able to stand because my mother was holding me up.

“Sweetie,” Mom said, her voice quiet in my ear. “My sweetheart. It’s okay. I’m here.”

I held on to her. “I’m sorry I left like that,” I said.

“Doesn’t matter,” she said. Her eyes were wet. “None of that matters.”

I could have stayed like that for the rest of my life, wrapped safely in her arms, but I could feel Anna behind me and Haley staring at us from her bed. I pulled away from my mother.

“This is my mom,” I said to Anna.

My mother walked over to Anna, her hand outstretched. “I’m Tara Vincent,” she said.

“Anna Knightly,” Anna said. “And this is my daughter, Haley.”

My mother looked at Haley. “Hi, Haley.” She put her arm around my shoulders. “I’ve spoken with my attorney,” she said to Anna. “He’ll be in touch with you.”

Anna tilted her head to the side and I knew she didn’t like my mother’s attitude. “Could we talk for a minute?” she asked. “Please? Mother to mother?”

“We can’t just leave, Mom,” I said. I knew she didn’t get exactly what was happening. She didn’t realize there was a life-or-death situation going on in that room.

My mother looked from me to Anna. “All right,” she said, “but I want to talk to my daughter alone first.”

Anna nodded. I could tell she was afraid my mother would take me away. I wanted to leave. I did. But I wouldn’t. “There’s a lounge at the end of the hall,” Anna said. “It’s usually empty. Go ahead.”

My mother held my hand as if I were a little girl as we walked down the hall. As if I were her little girl.

If only I could be.

55

Tara

There was so much I wanted to say. I wanted to ask her a thousand questions about her fears and her confusion and to know everything she was thinking and feeling. I wanted her to know that she would always be my daughter, that I would never allow her to be taken from me and that her body was hers. She didn’t have to offer a single one of her cells to see if she was a match for the stranger in the hospital bed.

But I said none of it as we sat on the two love seats in the tiny room. I asked her no questions. I felt Sam in the room with us, holding me back. He would have listened to her without prodding. Without picking her brain. He knew how to love our daughter.

“I love you,” I said, and it turned out to be all I needed to say. She began to cry.

“I’m so sorry I just left like that,” she said again. “It was so stupid.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “All that matters is that you’re safe.”

“I wish I never found out you’re not my mother.”

“We’ll need a DNA test before I’ll believe that,” I said, “but a blood test will never change how I feel about you, Grace.”

She wound the end of her hair around her finger. “I get so mad at you,” she said. “I even hate you sometimes. And today I can’t even remember why I ever felt that way. I wanted to go see Cleve and you said no and I got so angry and now that seems really stupid.”

I nodded, just to let her know I was listening.

“Right now I’m not even thinking about Cleve,” she said. “He’s like the last thing on my mind.” She let go of her hair and leaned toward me. “I don’t know who I am, Mom.”

I wanted to tell her who she was. She was the sensitive writer in the family, the quiet girl who had so much to say on paper. She was the apple of her father’s eye and the thread that had always connected Sam and me, biology be damned. She was the beauty who, truth be told, looked like neither of us. She was the girl I wanted so much to get to know.