Great. The ICU must have been a “dead zone,” like the pediatricians always complained about at Hopkins’ Pediatric ICU.
Her sister answered on the second ring.
“Are you okay? I worried when I couldn’t reach you.”
“I was with Mom and Aunt Ida.” And boy, did she have a story to tell her sister.
“How are they?”
“Aunt Ida’s fine. We had a nice brunch this morning at a deli. Mom’s the same. She’s having an EEG tomorrow. Guess I’d better put ‘shop for a nursing home’ on my list of things to do.” Sarah paused. “Are you sitting down?”
“Yeah. Is another shoe about to drop?”
“A whole shoe store.” Sarah told her sister about Aunt Ida’s surprise disclosures. As she repeated the story, the emotions she’d attempted to keep in check flooded her, choking her up. She wept softly at the end of the tale. If she’d known this before, she would have seen her mother in a different light. Would she have behaved differently towards her? Would she have thought less of her mother for it? Would she have stayed in Chicago when she received that fateful call? Would she still be with Dan?
“Oh my God,” Debra said. “We never knew. They’ve kept this secret for what—sixty years?”
“Longer. I’m still trying to wrap my head around this.” She sighed. “It’s as if we have Mom Version 2.0. I have to rethink all my feelings for her and put them in this new framework. On the one hand, I respect her for protecting her friend. On the other hand, it makes me wonder if she’s more resilient than I gave her credit for. Perhaps she could have handled her recovery from that car crash on her own, without disrupting my life and destroying my relationship with Dan.”
Despite the fact, Debra had the grace to remain silent and to withhold “I told you so,” Sarah still heard it echo in her mind.
“I do have a new sense of respect for Mom. She stuck up for Aunt Ida. No wonder they’re such good friends.”
“What happened to the babies?” Debra asked. “Did Aunt Ida lose her baby? What about Mom? Do we have a brother or sister out there looking for us?”
“I didn’t ask,” Sarah said. “I was so overwhelmed, and Aunt Ida was so distraught. “
“It’s going to take time for me to digest all this,” Debra said. “I’m great with other people’s psychological issues, but it’s different when it’s my family. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Be my sounding board. If you could help me get some sleep that would be good.”
“You’ve had a hell of a couple days.”
She could say that again.
“Oh, on a lighter note, you’ll never guess who Aunt Ida and I ran into.” Sarah recounted the “accidental” meeting with Gertrude Rosen at the deli.
Debra agreed. It was a set up.
“Aunt Ida, Match-Maker to the Pathetic,” Sarah said with a little laugh.
“Do you think Gertrude will come through and bring Dan to the deli? Or are you going to call him?”
Sarah cringed at the thought. “What would I say to him? ‘Hi, Dan, guess who? Oh, and guess what, you were right about my mother.’ Besides, his mother said he has a girlfriend.”
Debra snorted. “It didn’t sound like she liked Bobbi.”
“Gert’s not dating her,” Sarah said.
“Well, at least you haven’t started adopting stray cats, like all the old maids.”
“Me-yow. Very funny. I’ll just keep hanging around clinics and hospitals. That way, I’m sure to meet another doctor.”
* * * *
Sarah stared at the face of her alarm clock and wished the Everly Brothers would shut up and leave her alone. Instead, they continued to sing, “Wake up little Susie!” at the top of their lungs. Time for the morning routine: dog out, cat fed, coffee sucked down in large quantities.
Winston barked and refused to return when she called him. She went outside, coffee mug in hand. Once again, Winston ran back and forth in front of the invisible shield. Once again, no deer. Once again, a white van sat in the cul-de-sac. Was it the same van? Those white vans all looked alike.
She yelled and signed at Winston to be quiet. She didn’t need the Heckler’s harassment today. He ignored her. She grabbed his collar and dragged him back into the house, spilling coffee down the front of her robe. Even when she shoved him through the kitchen door, he continued to bark.
“Give it a rest. It’s just another white van. Have a cookie.”
Half past five, time to see if Aunt Ida was ready to go.
Sarah crossed the wet lawn, saw the white van, and approached it. The driver started the engine and drove away. She shrugged, headed up Aunt Ida’s back steps, and rapped at the door. “Anything left to put in the car?”
“No, but I have something for you to take to Sol Weinstein.” She handed Sarah a bulky manila envelope. “He’s expecting it. You’re making an appointment with him, right?”
“Yes.” It felt like a book, it was so heavy. Sarah hoped Sol didn’t charge by the page.
Aunt Ida gripped Sarah’s hand. “Do you think you might have time at lunch to take it over to him? I want him to have it as soon as possible.”
“Sure. Maybe he’ll have time to see me today, too.”
The older woman smiled. “Excellent. You have no idea what this means to me.”
A soft meow came from the cat carrier on the kitchen floor. “Mitzi, baby, you’re coming home with me. Winston and Neferkitty can’t wait to see you,” Sarah said. She set the envelope on top of the cat carrier and turned to Aunt Ida. “Okay, lady, this is it. I’ll walk you out to the car.”
Aunt Ida buttoned up her jacket and hoisted her purse onto her shoulder.
Sarah lifted Mitzi’s carrier and the envelope, then spotted the bottle of GHB on the counter. “I’ll come back and get that bottle later.”
They made an odd little parade to the car. As Sarah bent down to hug Aunt Ida, a feeling of déjà vu came over her. Love, anxiety, and sadness swirled together squeezing her heart so hard, she wondered if she’d ever catch her breath. She worried about Aunt Ida making it to Florida safely, but didn’t want to voice her concerns for fear of insulting the older woman. She was a competent adult, quite capable of making her own decisions. And she wasn’t ready to have her car keys taken away. “It feels like we’ve been doing this for a lifetime,” Sarah said, her voice thick with emotion.
“It’s a good feeling.” Aunt Ida gave her a fierce hug. “You’re the daughter I never had, Sarahlei. I love you. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do. I love you, too.” Sarah hugged her back, and then pulled away, her vision blurred with tears. Soon she’d be left to look after her mother and to make some gut-wrenching decisions. Part of her wanted to say “Don’t go, stay, I need you here.” The other part said, “Go. Take care of yourself. Have fun. Be safe.” Sarah was alone and on her own. Her childhood hadn’t been great, but her adulthood really was a bitch.
Sarah waved good-bye and watched Aunt Ida turn the large white Cadillac around in the cul-de-sac. It reminded her of a ship heading out to sea. Safe passage, Aunt Ida.
* * * *
Ida sighed and thought about the long journey ahead as she drove toward Stevenson Lane. Sarahlei was going to have her hands full with all those pets. Such a good girl. Ida thought of the daughter she gave birth to, the one she never got to know.
“Oh Mitzi, even though I knew you would have been different, I wanted you. I wanted you more than life itself,” she whispered.
But Mitzi had died at birth. The nursing supervisor told her the baby had been buried in the hospital rose garden. With the hysterectomy, all of Ida’s future children had been left behind, as well.
Don’t go there. Think about happy things.
She looked forward to catching up with her neighbors in Florida. She’d been going to Punta Gorda for over twenty years and it was truly her second home. Yet, the strong ties in Baltimore kept her from moving south full time. And, with Sarahlei back home
, there was no way Ethel would ever consider moving to Florida with her.
Ethel. In a coma, for God’s sake. What was she thinking? She’d always been there for Ida, keeping her spirits up when they met at the Florence Crittenton Home, looking out for her, making sure Ida always got the best piece of meat, the softest bed, first in line at the bathroom. Then the ultimate act of courage: protecting her from her drunken, violent step-father.
“What am I doing?” Ida pulled the car over to the side of the road, took a deep breath, and looked at herself in the rearview mirror.
“Shame on you, Ida Mae Katz! Go home and take care of your friend. She needs you!”
Putting the Cadillac in gear, she began to make a U-turn. As she crossed the street, a white van roared up and pulled alongside her car.
A man in a mechanic’s overalls, ski mask, and gloves jumped out of the van and ran over to her car door. Ida reached to put the car in reverse, but the thug smashed her side window and yanked the door open before she could escape.
“Who are you? What do you want?” Ida beat at his hands.
He reached over and grabbed the car keys.
“If you want the car, take it. Just leave me alone!”
He dragged her out of the car and pulled her to her feet.
“Let go of me! Somebody help me! Please, for the love of God, help me!”
The side door to the van slid open and a short man clad in the same mechanic’s overalls, ski mask, and gloves hopped out, holding a rag.
“I have money,” Ida sobbed. “Look in my purse. There’s six-hundred dollars. Take it.”
The first attacker held her arms and the second one pushed the cloth in her mouth, then duct taped it in place.
She struggled and bucked as they forced her into the van. One taped her wrists and ankles while the other held her down. Then they blind-folded her.
Ida heard the door slide shut, the Cadillac’s engine rumbled, and she passed out.
When she awoke, Ida found herself on a metal frame bed, covered with a ratty quilt. The tape had been removed from her hands, ankles, and mouth, but when she moved her feet, she found she was shackled. She sat up with care, rubbed her tape-burned wrists, and touched her hurting face with care. When she pulled her hand away, her fingertips were bloody.
Why didn’t they kill her?
Chapter Six
The sun rose as Sarah slogged across the wet grass to her house. She struggled with the weight of the bouncing cat carrier. Mitzi danced and emitted a steady stream of soft, plaintive mews. “Don’t worry baby, just one more minute and we’ll be in the house.”
Once inside, Winston raced over and head butted Mitzi’s carrier. Sarah put Mitzi and her belongings into her bedroom and locked the happy dog out of the room. Winston banged his head against the door and Neferkitty stood behind him.
“Go lie down. She’s not ready for either of you.”
The dog flopped down on the floor. His body language said, “Spoil sport.”
After throwing on black slacks and a purple sweater, she grabbed her backpack with the envelope for Sol Weinstein and headed out for her car.
“Groceries, must get new groceries,” she reminded herself.
She sipped her black coffee, listened to public radio, and chortled with glee when she found a whole row of good parking spots. Why didn’t she do this more often? This was a new personal best. She’d be in the office before eight o’clock in the morning.
She loved her job and felt honored to work for the Johns Hopkins School of Medicine. In addition to working on child abuse research, she taught epidemiology, research methods, and mentored the Pediatric Academic Fellows’ projects. Since she’d been a pediatric nurse before going to graduate school, Sarah knew the territory and loved working with the eager physicians-in-training.
After she sifted through the pile of requests for help from the residents, she checked her email. She had a message from Dr. Kirby. Marian Kirby had returned to medical school and become a pediatrician after teaching high school biology for several years. Her round, sweet face, blue eyes, and mild manner were deceiving. Years of working in a neighborhood riddled with gun violence had transformed her into a vocal advocate for gun control.
“Marian, this is Sarah. Do you have a few minutes? I need to speak with you.”
“Yes, I just finished up an early meeting. I’m free for the next thirty minutes.”
Swiping her ID card at the security device, Sarah walked through the corridor to Marian’s office.
Marian set down a sheaf of papers. “What can I do for you?”
“It’s my mother. There’s been an accident.” Sarah gave her the short version. “Right now, she’s stable. I wanted you to know, just in case there’s an emergency.”
“Don’t even give it a thought. You’re way ahead of schedule on all your work, not to mention that stunning discovery you made when you helped Peter re-analyze his data. The Baltimore City Police said they’d send someone around today to interview you.”
Mindful of her boss’s time, Sarah provided a run down on the residents’ projects and her availability for the day. She stood to leave. “Thanks, Marian.”
“Sarah?”
“Yes?”
“I’ll say a prayer for your mother,” Marian said. “And for you.”
“Thank you.” Sarah turned her face away, afraid her boss would see her cry. Emotional displays were not welcome here. The job required objective analyses and data interpretation, not guesswork and sensationalism. She needed to stay strong, not fall apart, even now when she felt as if a steam roller had flattened her.
Back at her desk, she called BGE about the overdue bill. The woman she spoke with didn’t care if Sarah owed five, fifty or fifty-thousand dollars. You can’t pay? Too bad. You should have thought about that before you were born. After an argument with a supervisor, Sarah paid the bill on the phone with her credit card. She wanted to slam the receiver against the wall, but needed it to call about the water bill. They informed her that she was lucky the bill was under two-hundred and fifty dollars or they would have turned off the water. Still more creditors to call, to pay something, anything to keep the gas going, the phone on, and her life going.
If it weren’t for bad luck, she wouldn’t have any luck at all. Could things get any worse?
* * * *
Ida surveyed the basement. Unadorned cement walls, narrow windows up too high for her to reach, a naked light bulb. It was the perfect prison. Wooden stairs appeared in a corner, rising up dim in the gloom. Toilet to the right of the bed. Left of the bed, a nightstand. Plastic pitcher of water. Disposable cups. A sandwich. Her purse. A note: “Eat and drink. You’ll be here a while.”
“Hello? Is anyone home?” she called out. No answer.
Ida picked up her bag, dumped it on the bed, and searched for her cell phone. Gone.
She collapsed on the bed and cried herself to sleep.
* * * *
Sarah watched the screen saver of tropical fish swimming across her computer monitor, the phone receiver glued to her ear. After five rings, someone picked up.
“Law Office of Solomon Weinstein. How may I help you?”
“This is Sarah Wright. Ida Katz referred me to Mr. Weinstein. I have an envelope she asked me to deliver. I’d like to set up an appointment.”
“Oh, yes, Ms. Wright. Mr. Weinstein told me you’d be calling today. Ida called him at home last evening to give him a heads up. He can see you at eleven-thirty. Will that work for you?”
“Perfect.”
Taps at the office door: “shave and a haircut, two bits,” the secret code she used with co-workers. That way, at any hour of the day or night, she knew no knife- or gun-wielding maniac was staggering around the corner from the Pediatric ER or upstairs from the Adult ER. Sarah had learned in her first year at her “convenient” location that ER activity sometimes began to resemble that of the streets outside the hospital. Once, she had delayed her departure for over an hour because sh
e heard gunshots and “Freeze! Police!” followed by the drumming of running feet.
“Yes? May I help you?” Sarah got up from the desk chair.
“You might say so,” a man said.
Peter Lassiter, one of the Pediatric Fellows, stood in the hallway, holding a large cardboard tube.
At the sight of the cylinder, Sarah couldn’t resist a feeble joke. “Is that a poster in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?”
“Correcto-mundo! It is a poster, and I’m happy to see you. Want to come around to the wall of fame and give me your feedback?” Peter’s grin faded. “You look awful. What’s wrong?”
Sarah filled him in on his mother’s accident and financial woes. She kept the other secrets to herself. “But, hey, I spent only half of my paycheck on my mother’s overdue utility bills. Still enough money to eat, drink coffee, and be merry. But enough about me and my woes. What about you? How about a latte?”
“I’ll have a little.”
Sarah groaned and weaved through the crowded corridors. Medical students, nursing students, runners, orderlies, clergy, nurses, physicians, researchers, administrators, patients, and visitors all walked purposefully toward their respective destinations. Mandatory badges identified everyone, faculty, staff, students and other employees, including contractors. Security required all others to wear self-sticking visitor labels dated to prevent unwanted overnight guests.
Even without a nametag, a visitor was easily identified by the fact that he was often found turning slowly in a circle, a piece of paper in hand and a puzzled look on his face. This morning was no different. A chaplain walked past her, explaining to a lost man that his destination was three buildings away. The medical complex was so extensive, that an employee could take a two-mile walk every day without going outdoors.
Some Other Child Page 6
