“It is very difficult when a parent has to accept circumstances other than what they expected,” Jon continued.
She still made no response. He considered whether another approach would be more effective. Mrs. Salazar was certainly not the first new mother he’d tried to help in the six years he’d worked at University of California, San Diego Medical Center, but she was by far the least interested in what he had to say. How was she supposed to care for a special-needs child if she was this closed off? She wasn’t even crying.
“The important thing to keep in mind is that this is not your fault. With today’s technology . . .” He trailed off as Mrs. Salazar pulled the blanket over her head like a child. He had seen her face for only a moment, long enough to see the bruise the nurses had told him about. No one had come with her to the hospital, and she wouldn’t answer any questions about the father of her child. Although she did say she was married, she didn’t use her married name. The nurses insisted she spoke very good English. She’d come in dilated to an eight and delivered her baby within the hour. At first, they wouldn’t allow her to see the child while they did a general assessment. When they did show her the baby, she had refused to hold him. Certainly a shocking experience all the way around.
After almost a minute of silence, hoping she’d respond to him or get angry or sad or . . . something, his beeper went off. Jon stood and placed the grief pamphlet on her bedside table. “I’ll come back later,” he said as he headed for the door. “If you decide you want to talk before I return, just tell your nurse. She’ll page me.”
He left the room, updated the nurse at the nurse’s station, and called his secretary about his latest page. Two parents in the pediatric wing had just learned their son’s cancer had spread to his spine, and they needed someone to help them work through the heartbreak of realizing their child would not get better. It was going to be a difficult afternoon.
Almost two hours later, overloaded by the heaviness of the day, Jon headed for his office. He had some notes to enter into the computer before leaving for home. Tomorrow would be his first day off in more than a week and he was looking forward to it. That’s when he remembered Mrs. Salazar. He paused mid-step, and then went to the elevator and pushed the button for the maternity ward on the fifth floor. He was exhausted, but he’d told Mrs. Salazar he’d check in on her. She was due to be discharged sometime tomorrow, though the baby would need to stay for another week at least. His mother needed training on how to care for him, and she needed to understand the follow-up care he would need as well. Jon worried she might not be up to it, but it wasn’t his job to make that assessment. At least not yet.
“Dr. Nasagi,” one of the nurses said as soon as he turned the corner into the maternity wing that held the patient rooms. “Thank goodness you’re here. Dr. Larsen wanted to talk to you about Mrs. Salazar.”
Jon noticed a different kind of tension in the air. Something had happened. “She wouldn’t talk to me,” Jon said. “What’s going on?”
“She left, and I think you were the last one in the room.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Left?”
The nurse nodded. “I went on my rounds forty minutes ago and she wasn’t in her room. I thought she was at the NICU, but when she wasn’t back in time for her medications, I called down there. They hadn’t seen her.”
Jon let out a breath. “Any idea when she left?”
“Sometime between two-twenty and four o’clock. Security is checking the videos.” She shook her head and met his eyes. “I’m getting tired of mothers like her.”
Jon knew the sad truth was that hundreds of babies born in hospitals all through Southern California never went home with their parents. Usually it was because of drugs. Sometimes the parent needed some help before the baby could be released, and sometimes, like this, the mother just left—unable or unwilling to care for her child.
But something about Mrs. Salazar didn’t fit this situation. She had health insurance. She claimed to be married. Maybe she’ll come back, he told himself, but was unable to take much comfort in the possibility. A woman who wouldn’t hold her own baby and wouldn’t stay in the hospital twenty-four hours wasn’t likely to be up to the role she would need to play in the life of this child. Once a mother left, the chances of the child being reunited with her was very slim and because of the Safe Haven laws that protected mothers from any criminal charges, it wasn’t a police matter to try to track her down. Jon visualized the process of dealing with an abandoned child. And not just any child either.
“Dr. Nasagi?” the nurse asked.
He turned to look at her, moving on autopilot. “Yeah?”
“Dr. Larsen still wants to talk to you.”
Chapter 18
Idaho Falls, Idaho
Thursday, May 8
Chrissy was not perfect. She had a vice, and Thursday morning found her watching General Hospital to the pattering sound of rain on the windows. It had been almost a week since the water party at Amanda’s and the traditional May showers were in full force. Now that Chrissy wasn’t working, her past weakness for the soap opera had woven its way into her daily life, and it had only taken a couple days for her to understand all the new twists and turns of the show. She loved rainy spring days like this, when there was nothing better to do than curl up on the couch and watch sappy soap operas or read a book . . . or, as was the case today, hand-sew the beading on a bridesmaid dress. Chrissy was grateful for the extra income and for something to do. Idle hands were the devil’s playground, after all.
Apparently she’d grown up since her last stint of unemployment; it wasn’t nearly as fun as she’d thought it would be. Last night her dishwasher had gone on the fritz and her home teacher had come over long enough to assure her it was not eligible for resurrection. It was fifteen years old—practically an antique—but knowing she needed a new one put her finances into even sharper perspective. She knew she needed to make a plan—but was putting it off today in favor of Carley and Jason and the secret that could destroy them both! Intense drama made Chrissy feel better about her own life, or so she told herself.
When she heard the sound of footsteps on the porch, she paused for just a moment. The mail. She stood quickly, placing the dress on the couch and securing the needle before heading for the door. She’d had to buy new contacts a few weeks ago, and the fifty-dollar rebate check should be here any day. She could really use the money to take some of the pressure off her savings account.
She reached the door in time to make the postman jump when she pulled it open. “Sorry,” she said, offering a smile.
He smiled politely, but his gray eyes remained guarded. Chrissy imagined it was days like this that would send many a postal worker to the Help Wanted section of the newspaper.
“It’s okay,” he said as he held out a stack of mail, rain dripping off the slick sleeve of his poncho. At least she had a covered porch.
She took the stack of mail. “Thanks,” she said as she shut the door with her foot while thumbing through the stack of envelopes. Phone bill, junk, junk, junk—she paused when she encountered a letter from Bedis.
“Already?” she said, sitting down at the kitchen table and ripping open the envelope as her excitement built. She hadn’t expected anything regarding her application for another week at least. She took a deep breath while pulling the paper from the envelope. She read the opening line with a smile on her lips, expecting good news, but then stopped and went back to the beginning to read it again.
Dear Ms. Salazar,
After a thorough examination of your application for employment, we regret to inform you that we are unable to approve it. Because of our federal contracts, we can only accept the most impeccable employees, which is why, even in the early stages, we conduct such an extensive background check . . .
She read through the letter twice, her heart rate increasing each time, then picked up the phone. They couldn’t just send a cryptic letter like this and leave it at that. Something was wro
ng.
“There isn’t anyone I can talk to?” Chrissy said several minutes later, pacing and glancing at the clock and trying to keep her brain focused. In a few minutes Livvy’s kids would come through her door, and the house would come alive. Now that she was home during the day, Chrissy had been having them come over right after school.
“I’m sorry, we can’t tell you any more than what’s in the letter.”
Chrissy took a breath. “All it said was that my background check was insufficient, but there has to be some kind of mistake. I have a perfectly clean record, and my finances are in order.” She hadn’t had so much as a late payment on anything for at least three years except for that missing gas bill and the gas company said they didn’t report it unless you were sixty days late.
“I’m sorry, I—”
“Please,” Chrissy interrupted as her hand fell to her side. “Please give me something. Help me understand what I can do.” Her face was tingling and she felt panic rising. Whatever was happening wasn’t fair. She wondered if it was some kind of discrimination. But why would Bedis do that? She knew several Hispanics employed there.
“Your federal clearance application has been rejected,” the woman said, but there was just enough sympathy in her voice to keep Chrissy’s anger in check. “You cannot reapply so there is no help I can give you.”
Cannot reapply? Chrissy’s eyes widened as the woman continued. “If you have ever had an arrest in any state, or filed bankruptcy or have any other questionable accounts, it will show up in our check and the application will be rejected. We simply have no margin for error.”
“But I’ve never gotten more than a speeding ticket. I’ve never filed bankruptcy, and I have a near perfect credit score. I don’t even have a late payment on my mortgage,” Chrissy said. “This doesn’t make sense. Can I get a copy of the reports?”
“I’m very sorry, but we’re unable to release that information.”
They both waited for the other to speak—Chrissy trying to think of some way to talk her way through this problem and the woman on the phone not wanting to be rude and hang up.
The front door burst open, with Carlos pulling on Nathan’s backpack and both boys arguing about something while they dripped water all over the entryway. Part of her was grateful for the interruption.
“Thank you for your help,” Chrissy said before hanging up and trying to force a smile. She turned to the boys, but her thoughts were still on the rejection. She felt . . . guilty. As if she had done something wrong. Only, she hadn’t. “So, how was school?” she asked the boys.
“Horrible,” Carlos said, dropping his backpack and sagging into a kitchen chair. “Monson tripped me at recess and then Nathan took my reading book and said it’s his.” He glared at his brother and she turned her eyes on Nathan.
“Is that true?” Chrissy asked, trying to care about their petty argument.
Nathan gave her a bored look, cocky as usual. He was three minutes older than Carlos and used it to his advantage as often as possible. He shrugged one shoulder and then collapsed onto the couch. “Who said life was fair?”
Who indeed.
Chapter 19
Chula Vista, California
Come home,” her father said into the phone.
Chressaidia stood at the window of the beach house, watching the waves, almost able to believe she was back on the beaches of Guatemala and full of youthful vigor for her father’s campaign. Back then she’d been so eager for the day when she’d be old enough to help him. How little she’d understood.
Her head still throbbed, and her bones ached from the birth and from the beating Frederico had welcomed her with once she finally returned home a few days after leaving the hospital to tell him the baby had died. But her body would heal, and with it, her spirit and her mind. Sometimes it was necessary to be broken in order to heal. It was something she believed about her country—that it had been broken by years of corruption and now it was up to the People’s Army for Freedom to rebuild.
“I will not come home a disgrace,” she said. “I want a different mission to prove myself.”
“You have already failed us.”
His words stung. She’d told everyone her child had died. Had he no compassion? No, he didn’t. Compassion would get in the way of his goals. As it would her own. “Which is why I need redemption. Give me another task.”
“You were only meant to be there two months,” her father reminded her. “There is nothing left for you to do.”
“That’s not true—give me another task!” she shouted into the phone as the anger overtook her. “Do you want your daughter to return dishonored? Do you want your generals to know that my being here was a complete waste, that all their work was for nothing?” She’d learned a great deal about what Frederico was doing, and she knew she could do it better, but she didn’t dare get too close too fast. Not now. But she had other options. She only needed to convince her father to let her stay.
“You were to give us an heir—me an heir.”
“And I did not do it, but I will try again. Right now I am here. Your operations are still in need of repair. Do you really think breeding is my only ability?”
“It is your calling.”
“You are the commander—give me another calling. Pretend I am a son and not a daughter. Let me prove to you and to the other generals that I am capable of the power that is mine.” She paused for a moment, gathering her courage. She had never spoken to her father this way, so strong and so determined. “Let me find Mr. Holmes.”
There was a pause. She knew her father was not used to being surprised. “Frederico has looked for him,” her father said carefully.
“And he failed. Let me try.” Mr. Holmes had disappeared months ago and the generals had given up on recovering his shipment. She’d overheard her father and his generals discussing it on several occasions, but their battle was too fierce to spare anyone to go after it and so they had given the task to Frederico. When his search turned up nothing, they had no choice but to let it go. Since returning to the beach house she’d studied Frederico’s files even more, desperate for a way to redeem herself, and learned that Frederico had actually done very little in his search. If she could find the man they knew as Mr. Holmes, she would not only prove her worth, but perhaps trump Frederico in the process. “I am not needed with the army.” It stung to say those words out loud. “Let me find him, Let me restore my honor—and yours.”
Her father was silent for a moment. Chressaidia kept staring at the waves, every muscle tense as she waited for an answer. Surely he could see her reasoning. Surely there was room for another chance.
“Do you think you can find him?”
She relaxed just a bit. He still had some faith in her. She still had an opportunity. “Yes.”
“I will not tell the others unless you succeed. You do not have much time. Has your new identity been discovered?”
“No,” she said, surprised to learn he didn’t know about her arrest. Or maybe he did and, like her, did not see it as a problem. “The identity is flawless.”
“You have one month,” he said finally. “Then you will return to us, with or without the shipment.”
Chressaidia nodded, then winced at the stabbing pains the movement erupted in her face and neck. “I will bring the shipment with me when I return,” she said.
I have to.
Chapter 20
Idaho Falls, Idaho
Sunday, May 11
Where is it?” Chrissy muttered through clenched teeth as she dug through her church bag in search of the visual aid for today’s Primary lesson. She’d woken up with a headache that Tylenol hadn’t touched before it was time for her to round up the kids and make a dash for church. As was usually the case, being in a bad mood seemed to attract more frustration. It was also Mother’s Day, which was second only to Valentine’s Day in lousy holidays if you were a single Mormon woman. It hadn’t been the best of weeks and it was by far not the best of sacramen
t meetings.
Rosa leaned over. “What are you looking for?” she whispered. Nathan and Carlos were busy coloring in their notebooks.
“The Liahona,” Chrissy said, still digging. “I need it for class today.”
“Is that the Christmas-ornament thing you made?”
Chrissy paused, did it really look like a Christmas ornament? She hadn’t thought of it like that but she supposed it did. “Yeah, I swear I put it in my bag.” Chrissy had been teaching the seven- and eight-year-old kids in Primary for almost four months now and loved it. As they prepared for baptism, their excitement kept her enthusiasm high for the covenants she had made and now lived. She felt sure the reason she’d been called as a Primary teacher was because Nathan and Carlos were in her class, and they were by far the most . . . spirited kids that age. But she liked that, too. Having never learned the gospel from someone in her family, it was exciting to teach her nephews herself. Or, at least it was when she didn’t feel like stale toast.
“It was on the table when we left,” Rosa whispered.
Chrissy’s head snapped up and she looked at her niece. “Really? I thought for sure I put it in here.”
Rosa shrugged. “I saw it on the table.”
Chrissy let out a breath and glanced at the clock. There were still fifteen minutes left in sacrament meeting. She let her eyes move to the boys. If she made them get up and go with her, chances
were good that they would want to stay home, but for now they were occupied. She turned her eyes to Rosa and gave her a pleading look.
“Fine,” Rosa said with a dramatic sigh. “I’ll watch them.”
“Muchas gracias,” Chrissy whispered as she dug her keys out of her bag. “I’ll hurry.”
She smiled at the other ward members as she left the chapel and got into her car. She could be back in five minutes. Maybe she’d take another Tylenol before coming back. Too bad she didn’t drink. Abuelita had always said tequila was the only treatment for headaches.
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