The Clone's Mother

by Cheri Gillard

  “Sheila? What’s she doing here?” I asked in a whisper so I wouldn’t bother my patient.

  “Said she’s well enough to work. She’s using her thumb and index. I gave her an easy assignment.”

  “Wow. I thought she didn’t like to work. If I had a reason as good as hers to stay home—”

  “People can surprise you.”

  “She probably came just so she could torment me.”

  “I’ll be back to relieve you in an hour.” And she left.

  An hour on the dot, Sarge returned and I went to lunch. Sheila, with her red fiberglass-encased hand, stood at the desk waiting for me. I mean, actually waiting for me.

  “Going downstairs?” she asked in a gruff voice. She must have wanted to know where I’d be so she could spring her trap.

  “Yeah. Sorry. Don’t wor—”

  “Let’s go. We’re wasting time.”

  Could it be she wanted to be with me?

  “You can help me with my tray.”

  I could help her with her tray.

  “I can help you with your smoke too, if you’d like. Your blood-nicotine levels must be pretty low by now.” I watched to see if she caught my sarcasm.

  “I don’t smoke anymore.”

  My High Tops fused to the tile. “You what?”

  “I quit.”

  “No way.”

  “Yes. Way.” She started again for the elevators. I got my sneakers unglued and caught up with her.

  “How’s that going?”

  “It’s a load of crap.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “These useless patches.” She pulled up her scrub top and showed me her flank. She had three patches on like they were plugging random air leaks. “I want a smoke so bad, I’m ready to rip these things off, roll them up, and smoke them.”

  (Hey, get a load of that. We were actually talking. Sharing. Wow. Will wonders never cease?)

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to wear three of those at once.”

  She shot me a look, like don’t push it, and we boarded the elevator in our newfound ability to tolerate one another.

  In the cafeteria, we ordered our food, then waited for the cook to fry up our grub. After he spread out the eggs for my omelet—I still hadn’t gotten my craving satisfied—he turned around, leaned on the counter, and grinned.

  “How are you ladies tonight?” he said in a flirty voice.

  “Where’s Betty?” Sheila said.

  “Nice to meet you too. Name’s Juan.” His smile didn’t waver.

  “Go get Betty. I want her to cook my burger.”

  “She’s out sick. I can cook anything you want. Even better than Betty.”

  “Like hell,” Sheila said. She looked out the wall of windows behind us, huffed, and massaged her nicotine patches.

  “Can you make one of Betty’s grilled cheese for me?” I chimed in. He only flicked a quick look in my direction. Then his attention went back to Sheila.

  “How’s the hand?” He flung a burger on the grill.

  She turned back around with another huff. “Broken.”

  “I knew it was the minute I saw it.”

  She scowled at him. “You moonlight as an orthopod or something?” She knew how to handle forward guys.

  “I was there when Diego slammed the door on your hand.”

  “You and everybody else.”

  “I’m crushed. You don’t remember me?”

  She snubbed him with some murmured profanity and turned away again.

  “How ’bout you?” he asked me. “You must remember me.”

  “Sorry.” Thought I’d try to imitate Sheila’s style and be indifferently nonchalant, cool.

  “I gave you some dinner napkins to wrap up her hand.”

  “I didn’t notice,” I said.

  “You said thanks.”

  “Hmm, guess I was distracted.”

  “I looked mighty sharp in my monkey suit.”

  “Hey. Don’t overcook my burger,” Sheila said.

  “How’d you get your hand in the door anyway?”

  “Diego wasn’t watching.”

  He ogled Sheila’s bust line. “Oh, you can bet Diego was watching. Just not your hand.”

  Sheila grunted. “I’ll wait at the table,” she said to me. “I don’t need this.” She tossed me some cash and left, using some of those choice words she always had at the ready.

  The fill-in cook laughed, like it’d all been a game to him. Then he turned back to the grill. Guess I didn’t have what Sheila had to keep a guy’s attention. After a few silent minutes, he turned and chucked two full Melamine plates on the stainless steel service counter and returned to the grill to scrape the crud off the surface with his spatula. I transferred the plates to my tray.

  Sheila had settled in at a long empty table at the far end of the room, well away from the probing eyes behind the lunch counter. She sat holding her left hand up in front of her, parallel to her sternum and nestled in close protection near her ample breasts.

  “How’s the pain control?” I asked, transferring the plates onto the table from the tray.

  “Throbs less when it’s up.”

  “What’s the damage?”

  “Middle and ring finger broken. Twenty odd stitches. A couple of pins in one finger. Tendons probably okay.”

  “What’re you on for pain?”

  “Tylenol. Worthless. When I’m home, I take Percocet.”

  “Try ibuprofen at work. It’s better for bone pain.”

  “Dr. Kate, Master pharmacologist.”

  “It’s a calling.”

  She snorted.

  “Were they able to salvage your ability to flip people off so splendidly?”

  She actually chuckled.

  “You tell me,” she said.

  Into my face she held forward her casted hand and the middle finger was already positioned nicely to suggest what she meant. The two metal pins protruding through the skin added to the menacing look of the implement.

  “Ooh, that hardware. What a look.”

  “Thanks.” She smiled, retracted her arm, and assembled her tomato, lettuce, and bun with her other hand. “I should have tried it out on that idiot with the spatula.”

  “Nah, he would’ve thought you were flirting.”

  She called him an idiot again, plus a few other choice things, while struggling to pick up her burger one-handed.

  “Vegetarian thing didn’t pan out?”

  “Can’t give up everything. Carl wants me to lay off the cigarettes.”

  “I heard kissing a smoker is like licking an ashtray.”

  “That’s the most stupid thing you’ve ever said.” She ripped a bite out of her burger with her incisors.

  Guess she was right. Probably a stupid maxim left over from junior high. Besides, what kind of moron would know what licking an ashtray was like?

  “You like him much—Carl, I mean?”

  “Are you a total idiot too?”

  The lack of tobacco must have left her more surly than usual.

  “I just wondered. You don’t seem like each other’s type. Been together long?”

  “A while. We connect. And for your information, yes, I like him.”

  “I don’t,” I said.

  “Well, so don’t sweat that one. Neither of us likes you much either.”

  Wow. Friendship with Sheila was going to be weird.

  “Isn’t he a bit older than you?” I asked. “And his eyes are, well, he’s not really a looker. Or in great shape.”

  “What makes you such an expert? You probably think Jim is really hot.”

  It hadn’t crossed my mind that everyone else didn’t think so. But I wasn’t giving her that. I thought he was handsome. What did it matter if Sheila, or anyone else for that matter, had a different opinion?

  “Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder, they say,” I said.

  She handed me a foil packet of catsup. “Open this for me.”

  After I squ
eezed some next to her fries and cut her burger in half for her, I asked, “Do you know him very well?” I went on like she hadn’t totally dissed my boyfriend. Smooth. Sly.

  “Whadya mean?” she said through a mouthful.

  “Oh, like what he does in his free time, does he have any unusual friends?”

  Sheila just shrugged and chewed.

  “Does he like babies?”

  She scowled at me. “Why all the questions?”

  “Just curious.” Not really. I wanted to know if she knew anything about kidnappings or the scary, hairy guy.

  “Don’t give me the fourth degree.” She sounded on her way to being peeved. Probably best not to push her. I stopped and changed the subject. We talked about TV shows for a while. And she even asked me about Anna and it looked like she had true sympathy in her expression. Then she tossed what was left of her burger onto her pile of fries and got up to leave. She pulled a cigarette out of her pocket and plopped it between her lips faster than I could say carcinogen.

  “Take care of the tray,” she said with one side of her lips closed around her cigarette, which jerked up and down with each word. “I want to be alone a few minutes.”

  “You going to smoke?” This gal puzzled me.

  “No, I told you I quit.”

  “The cigarette in your mouth confused me.” I snagged three of her leftover fries from under her discarded burger and chewed on them nonchalantly, like we were friends who shared food and this conversation wasn’t weirding me out.

  “You really ought to get an education. It’s not smoking if it’s not lit. See. No smoke.”

  “I get it. Like a pacifier.”

  She huffed. I think I exasperated her.

  “Something like that.” And she left.

  What a bizarre lunch. Though it did bring me a little peace to know I had one less enemy in my life. I knew we wouldn’t be going out for a movie or shopping together, but at least I didn’t have to worry she would slip poison into my Coke when I wasn’t looking.

  Maybe.

  After I finished a few more of her fries and dumped our tray, I got back to the unit and wrapped up my shift. Then I went back up to see Joe. I wasn’t there three minutes and Lieutenant Fosdick came in. Joe popped out of his chair like a Jack-in-the-box and looked to the detective with expectations of hearing his daughter had been found.

  “Can we step out of the room for a moment, Mr. McBride?”

  Joe nodded and followed after Fosdick, with me right behind, treading on his heels.

  Once we got to the hallway, he led us into the empty family waiting area.

  Lieutenant Fosdick sat down, I realize now, to get us to sit. His red perky hair wasn’t standing up as straight as usual. What he had to say was going to be hard to hear. My stomach tightened and my skin started to buzz.

  “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Mr. McBride, but the body of a baby we believe to be your daughter has been found.”

  My hand flew over my mouth to keep a scream from coming out. Joe didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. His sad eyes just stared.

  “I’m very sorry. We’ll need you to identify her.”

  Joe couldn’t talk. So I tried.

  “What…what do we need to do?”

  He looked to me like he was glad there was someone who could function. This had to be the worst part of his job.

  “She was brought to this hospital.”

  “She’s here? Now?” Joe choked out.

  “Yes, in the morgue. She wasn’t alive. Probably not for at least twenty-four hours.” I guess he needed to make sure Joe and I understood, so we wouldn’t hope in something that could not be.

  “When you’re able, I need you to go to the morgue and confirm her identity. Take your time. The coroner then will call me and take care of the rest.”

  Joe didn’t speak.

  I couldn’t now, so I just nodded.

  “Call me if I can help,” the detective said, then he stood and left us to digest the news.

  After a moment of silence, Joe stood.

  “Let’s get this over with.” His resolve surprised me. “You’ll come with me?”

  I shook off my shock. “Of course.”

  Going to the hospital morgue in the lower basement, we plodded like we were trying to move through neck-high mud. It felt like my leg bones were disappearing again. I could hardly put one foot in front of the other. We had to go through the underground tunnel which led to the adjacent building—the one across the street if we were outside.

  Just after traversing the tunnel, we came to the department that housed the morgue. As we approached the doorway, the hair on my neck stood up before I even saw him. Carl Schroeder appeared through the heavy door. He looked up, then quickly averted his eyes. But before he glanced away, I saw a wild expression glowing in his pupils. He didn’t look normal, or well.

  What was he doing here? Was he checking on the identity too, of this little girl, this child he thought to be the clone of his own Zoe?

  He slipped away and I followed after Joe into the morgue.

  Since Joe couldn’t think or speak, I explained to the morgue attendant why we were there. He nodded and had us wait in an empty room. I knew what he was doing—going to the giant refrigerator and picking from among all of the bodies wrapped in white plastic one tiny, precious infant girl who never got her chance to beat the odds and have a life of security and happiness.

  When everything was ready, he escorted us into another room where a wheeled cart held a bundle of blankets under some warming lights. Joe stopped short when he saw the mound. Then with the effort of a two hundred year-old man, he struggled to take one step after another until he arrived at the side of the dead baby.

  Gently, so gently, he lifted the tiny body of his daughter into his arms and snuggled her as near to his heart as he could. He lowered his face into her tiny, fragile body and started to cry, a sob so mournful, my heart shattered all over again.

  His knees gave out and he crumpled to the floor, still holding his precious baby to himself. I sank down next to him and wrapped my arms around them both and let the tears spill along with his, and we mourned the lost life of Charlotte.

  After forever, Joe’s tears subsided and he sat motionless and looked at his child.

  “She is beautiful.” My voice wobbled and nose was stuffy.

  “Angelic.”

  He waited a while.

  “How will I tell Anna? She’ll be devastated.”

  “We don’t have to. Not yet. Let’s see what happens, how she recovers, okay?”

  “Oh. Yeah. You’re right. Yes. Okay.”

  This poor man.

  He got up, still clutching Charlotte in his arms, and he left the room to find the attendant.

  We found him in an office area off on one side of the larger cavernous room. The man jumped up from where he sat eating his bagel and watching something on his iPhone. He threw the food and phone into a drawer and swiped at the crumbs on his mouth.

  “Finished then?” he asked awkwardly.

  Joe handed his daughter to him. “Be gentle with her, will you?”

  “Oh, yes. Will do, sir.”

  Joe gave her a last kiss on her forehead and staggered away in a daze.

  “It’s her then?” the attendant said.

  “Ah, ye-ah,” I answered sarcastically. Like we would have sat in there a half-hour sobbing over another baby.

  “Okay. I’ll let the coroner and police know.”

  “Can you tell me any more details about how she was found? I didn’t think to ask Lieutenant Fosdick.”

  “Some guy was Dumpster Diving for a couple of old chairs and he found her. He thought she was still alive, so he grabbed her, jumped into his car, and got here as fast as he could.”

  I shuddered.

  “Too bad,” he continued. “We had a decent guy willing to make a difference, and he had to find someone who was beyond hope. Goes to show you.”

  I didn’t know what it went to s
how me, but I knew I’d had enough. I wanted to get away.

  So I did. I went back up to see Anna, and hopefully Joe, before I left. He wasn’t there, but his parents were back. I’d let him tell them the bad news. I snuck away before they saw me. Joe had probably gone somewhere to grieve alone. I’d let him.

  Before going home, I went to see Mack in his lab. I hoped he’d be in by now. I had to talk to him, to have him put his arms around me and tell me everything was going to be all right.

  I got on the elevator to go downstairs. As the doors slid shut, some guy sprinted to get on with me. I pushed the button to close the door faster but a hand came in and knocked the bumper to reopen the doors.

  A guy in a lab coat pushing a wire messenger cart rolled onto the elevator.

  He broke the number-one rule of elevator riding and looked me in the eye. It was the last thing I wanted today.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  I mumbled back, hoping my eyes weren’t so red and puffy that he’d stare.

  “That was a great dinner, wasn’t it?”

  “Hmm.” I shuffled closer to the center of the doors.

  “Saturday. The 125th anniversary. I saw you there.”

  I glued my eyes to the crack between the doors and barely shook my head.

  “Name’s Jerry. What’s yours?” He stuck his hand out to shake mine.

  I took it weakly and with hesitation. I didn’t want to.

  “Oh, yeah.” I pretended to remember then stared at the numbers above the door.

  “Yup, bussed your table. I knew you’d remember.”

  He knew? He didn’t know me from a hole in the ground.

  “The hospital worked out a deal for employees to help staff the hotel johns, valet, clean-up. Stuff like that. They were short because they overbooked, too many events.”

  “Hmm-mm.” Man, I wanted out of there.

  “It was a great deal. In one night I made more than three days on the job here.”

  “Great.” I thought my reflection in the door might show him my real feelings.

  “Just finished your shift?”

  “Yeah.” Shut up!

  “Don’t you want to get out of here?”

  “I have stuff to do.” I did not want to be talking to this guy.

  “I’d be out of here so fast if I worked nights.”