The Midwife's Confession (21 page)

A few hours later, I was in my kitchen with the coffee brewing as I waited for Emerson. I’d made a fruit salad the night before, some of which I’d tried to push on Grace before driving her to the Animal House that morning, but she’d wanted a Pop-Tart and that was it.

Emerson was bringing over some of her zucchini and Gruyère cheese quiche and homemade coffee cake. How she could cook with everything that was going on was beyond me, but baking and eating had always been the way she coped with stress. I coped by straightening up, which was why I’d cleaned the windows in the kitchen before I made the mimosas. Now I opened the cabinet above the coffeemaker to get out my blue-and-white floral cups. Tucked behind them, sticking up like sore thumb, was the ugly old purple-striped travel mug Sam had used every day. It stopped my heart every time I saw it and I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t gotten rid of it when I’d donated his clothes and cleaned out his desk. I took out two of the blue-and-white cups and set them on the counter. Then I carefully reached behind the rest of the cups for the travel mug. I carried it to the mudroom and tossed it in the box I’d take to Goodwill sometime this week. The box was now full, ready to go. For some reason, getting rid of the mug seemed even more final than taking Sam’s name off the voice mail and I felt sad as I folded the cardboard flaps down tight. Back in the kitchen, I pictured him with that mug heading out the door each morning—except that last morning. If the doorbell hadn’t rung at that moment, I might have pulled the mug out of the box again.

Emerson and I carried platefuls of quiche and cups of coffee into my living room and sat on the sofa. On the coffee table, Emerson had stacked Noelle’s record books along with a copy of the newspaper article she’d found about Anna Knightly. I’d read it already—several times—but I read it again now. The few lines made me shudder.

“Well, I think it’s clear this is our woman,” I said. “Our Anna.” I didn’t know why I’d started thinking of her as “our Anna.” It was as though she’d become our responsibility.

“Now we have to figure out who has her baby,” Emerson said.

“We’ll have to involve the authorities if we get that far,” I said.

Emerson sighed. “I know. I just… This is such a mess. I haven’t been able to find anything to pinpoint exactly when her baby was taken. The article makes it sound like it was around 2000, but Noelle says ‘years ago’ in the letter she wrote, which makes it sound like more time had passed.”

“Although Noelle wrote that letter in 2003,” I pointed out.

“True,” Emerson said. “Still ‘years ago’ sounds like a long time.”

“Which is the last record book?” I asked, and Emerson handed the top volume to me.

“We know the ‘last baby’ theory doesn’t hold water, since it was a boy,” she said, “but I have to say the last six months or so of her records are not as…I don’t know, as complete and orderly as they used to be.”

I looked at the last record. “Nineteen ninety-eight.” I shook my head. “Still hard to believe that’s when she stopped practicing and we never knew it.”

“And if you look, you’ll see she really slowed down before then. There are weeks between each delivery toward the end. The only other possibility is if there were records she kept someplace else. I went through every sheet of paper in her house, though. Ted and I have emptied the whole place out now. I didn’t find anything else.”

“Maybe she destroyed some records before she died,” I suggested as I flipped through the pages. “She never would have wanted us to know about this.” I came to a page that was completely obliterated by a black marker. “This might be it, don’t you think?” I asked. “Why else would she black it out?”

“That’s my guess, too,” Emerson said. “And look.” She reached for the book and I stood to hand it to her. Emerson flattened it open on the coffee table, spreading the pages apart. Leaning over, I could see that a page had been torn out.

“Is that right next to the blacked-out page?” I asked.

“Uh-huh,” Emerson said.

“That must be it.” I ran my finger down the torn sheet. “Have you tried to read what’s under the black?”

“It’s impossible to make out,” Emerson said.

“What year is it?” I asked.

“The babies born before and after this record are both in ’97,” Emerson said.

“Why didn’t she just tear that page out, too?”

“I think because there are notes about another case on the back of it.”

“Maybe that boy baby
wasn’t
actually her last delivery,” I said. “Maybe she tore out the pages on the last one, too.”

“She didn’t,” Emerson said. “No torn pages after that baby was born.”

“Can I tear this page out?” I pointed to the page that had been blacked out by the marker. “We could hold it up to the light and maybe be able to read the writing behind the marker.”

“Okay.”

“Let me get a knife.” I hopped to my feet. In the kitchen, I pulled the paring knife from the knife block and carried it back to the living room. Emerson took it from me. She ran the blade carefully along the inner edge of the page, then tore the sheet of paper cleanly from the book as though she did that sort of surgery every day.

“Here.” I reached for the page since I was already on my feet. I carried it to the window and pressed it against the glass. It was hard to see the letters behind the black marker and they bled into the writing on the back of the page. “I think it’s an R-a-b-a-e-e-a…oh, those first two
a
’s are
e
’s. Rebecca?”

Emerson stood behind me now, so close I could feel her breath on my neck. “Can you see the last name?” she asked.

My eyes were already tearing from trying to make out the letters. “Is the first letter a
B?
” I stepped aside to let Emerson take my place at the window.

“Baker?” she said. “Rebecca Baker.”

“Good job!” I said. “Of course, now we have to figure out what we
do
with the name.”

“I can’t make out the address at all.” Emerson was still scrutinizing the sheet of paper against the windowpane.

“We can check online for her.” I was looking at the record book again. “I still think Noelle would have stopped after it happened,” I said. “Don’t you, Em? I mean, there are a bunch of babies born after this one. After Rebecca’s. Have you read the entry for the last girl born.”

“Yes,” Emerson said. “The last baby was a boy, but the baby before him was a girl. And the records look fine, just a little…sloppy.”

I read the name of Noelle’s second to last patient. “Denise Abernathy. That’s the girl’s mother,” I said. “I think we should check her out in addition to Rebecca.”

Emerson sat down on the sofa again, the blacked-out sheet of paper in her hand. She tapped her fingers to her lips. “How exactly are we going to do this?” she asked. “Try to meet these women and see if their daughters look like them or what?”

I gnawed my lip. What
would
we do with these names? “Well,” I said, “I guess we need to make up a reason to talk to them. I know it’s…creepy, but how else can we do it?”

She nodded. “I’ll try to find the Denise woman and you try to find Rebecca?” She sounded very unsure of herself, but in spite of the somber nature of what we were doing, I felt my usual thrill at taking on a new project. But then I remembered Grace’s words.
You just stay busy so you don’t have to think about anything,
she’d said.
So you can forget about how messed up your life has gotten.

Well, I thought, what’s so wrong with that?

25

Anna

Alexandria, Virginia

Haley sat at the kitchen table doing her homework Sunday morning while Bryan and I straightened up after a late breakfast. She had on her blue-and-yellow-dotted bandanna today, her favorite. She’d been home all weekend, riding bikes with Bryan, helping me play catch-up in the office and watching movies with a friend in our basement den. Today, the Collier cousins were coming, as they did every year for Alexandria’s fall festival, and Haley was excited. The streets of Old Town Alexandria would be roped off and booths set up with food and artwork and handcrafted things. My town house was only a couple of blocks from the heart of Old Town and the girls could walk there easily while Marilyn, Bryan and I hung out at the house. In years past, it had been just Marilyn and me and I wondered how Bryan would fit in. Marilyn was divorced, too, and she and I had always gotten along well, talking mostly about the kids. In the early years, we commiserated about Bryan and what an asshole he was to walk out on Haley and me, but after a while he no longer figured into our conversation or our lives. She’d been as shocked as I was when he suddenly showed up two months ago. She still nursed some anger at him, but I’d told her I was done with it now. Life’s too short, I wrote her in an email last week. He’s back now and he’s wonderful with Haley. That’s what matters.

The first week’s search for a donor had come up empty, but Dr. Davis told us that wasn’t uncommon and not to panic. I’d only panicked—truly panicked—once in my life, and that was when I realized that Lily had vanished into thin air as though she’d never been born. I didn’t panic when Haley had her first bout with leukemia or even when she was diagnosed this second time. It was as though I’d worn out my ability to reach that level of anxiety with Lily’s disappearance. I was scared now, yes, but we had to take things one day at a time and the fact that Haley was doing well made that easier.

Her blood work looked good.
She
looked good. I sometimes wondered if her diagnosis could possibly be wrong. I knew that was crazy, but when she looked and acted so healthy, it was hard to believe she was actually so sick.

“Check out the cardinals,” Bryan said from where he stood at the kitchen sink. Haley and I looked out the sliding glass doors to see the male and female cardinals on the bird feeder.

“Cool,” said Haley. She got up from the table to move closer to the glass. “The cardinals never come to the feeder,” she said. “It’s that new seed we got, Mom.”

“Could be,” I agreed, but I wasn’t watching the cardinals. I was watching Bryan, who was leaning closer to the window, absorbed in the birds. Since his return, I’d barely noticed how he looked except to see that he had a few lines in his face now and that his hair was slowly on its way to gray. But the sun filled his eyes as he stood at the sink, and for the first time since before Lily was born and my world collapsed I felt a physical yearning for a man. For
him
. It had been so long since I’d experienced anything approaching desire that I barely recognized the feeling.

My life since Bryan had been all about children—taking care of Haley and looking for missing kids as a way to deal with my own lost child. It hadn’t been about men. I had women friends, both married and unmarried, and they were always talking about guys. They’d shake their heads at my total lack of interest. All I wanted was to get Haley safely grown up and to make the Missing Children’s Bureau more effective at performing miracles for frightened families.

I hadn’t completely withered away as a woman, though. There were certain celebrities who could still make me weak in the knees. I just wasn’t up to dating real-life, complicated and—too often—untrustworthy guys.

Suddenly, though, Bryan was back. In these past few weeks since I felt myself softening toward him, I realized that I liked him as a person. He was no longer the handsome young guy I’d fallen in love with when I was twenty-one, and he was no longer the man who’d deserted me when Haley got sick. He was someone new. Older, wiser, braver, contrite. He cared deeply about Haley and her sense of security with him was growing. Now I wondered if there could be something more between us. Not what we once had, but something different. Something better.

He was serious about not leaving. He’d had a job inter view in D.C. a few days ago and now the company had asked him to fly to San Francisco for an interview at their headquarters. He’d told them yes, as long as the job itself would be in D.C. He wasn’t leaving.

“What time is it?” Haley took her seat at the table again.

“Nearly eleven,” I said. “They should be here any minute.”

“I wish they’d hurry up!” She closed her history book and got to her feet. She was antsy this morning. She had to return to Children’s tomorrow for more of the maintenance chemo and I knew that had to be on her mind.

“It’s got to be hard to think about going back to the hospital tomorrow,” I said as I poured water into the coffeemaker.

She screwed up her face at me. “That’s why I
don’t
think about it, Mom,” she said. “Why’d you even have to bring it up?”

“Sorry,” I said, and Bryan gave me a sympathetic smile. Haley’s steroid-induced irritability was in full force, but I didn’t blame her for snapping at me. She did a better job of living in the moment than I did. Today, she had no nasty poison pumping into her veins and I needed to let her savor every second of that freedom.

I was pushing the start button on the coffeemaker when we heard a car door slam out front.

“They’re here!” Haley yelled, and ran toward the living room. I followed her into the room and saw her pull the door open, then freeze. “Holy shit!” she shouted loud enough for people on the other side of Alexandria to hear. “Mom, look!”

I walked to her side and saw Marilyn getting out of her car as four bald-headed girls ran up the front walk.

“Oh, my God.” I laughed, stunned and moved. Haley ran out the front door and down the walk and I watched the four bald heads and one blue-and-yellow-dotted ban danna bouncing up and down as the girls hugged one another. “Bryan!” I called toward the kitchen. “Bring your camera.”

He came to the door. “Look at that,” he said with a smile as he snapped a picture. Then he put his arm around me and it felt right. He gave my shoulder a squeeze before dropping his hand to his side again.

Marilyn skirted the clot of girls on the walk and smiled at me as she climbed the front steps. “It was their idea.” She gave me a big hug, then a shorter, more anemic one to her brother.