Page 50 of The Other Mother
I sit in my car for a full five minutes, engine running, air conditioning blasting, before I work up the courage to get out. Eva is asleep in her seat, and there’s no way I can leave her in the car. This isn’t a great neighborhood and the heat would kill her if the AC turned off for some reason.
The woman who answers my knock is thin andweathered, with gray hair pulled back in a ponytail that reveals too much scalp.
"You're not a reporter," she says. It's not a question.
"No. I'm Claire Matthews. I had a baby at Coachella Valley Medical a little bit ago. You were my nurse."
Her face changes, becomes more guarded. She glances at Eva in my arms, then back at my face.
"I don't remember every patient."
"But you remember me."
She's quiet for a long moment, studying me with those faded eyes. The wind chimes fill the silence.
"I suppose you'd better come in."
The inside of the trailer is dim and cluttered, but surprisingly cool. An ancient air conditioning unit rattles in the back wall. The television is tuned to a game show, contestants spinning a giant wheel while the audience cheers.
June turns off the TV and gestures toward a small dinette table covered with crossword puzzle books and pill bottles. I sit carefully, putting the car seat with sleeping Eva down next to me. I try not to look at the stacks of papers and boxes that fill every available space.
"You said you don't remember every patient," I begin.
"I don't."
"But you remember me."
She's quiet again, hands folded in her lap. Her fingers are stained yellow from cigarettes, and she smells like tobacco and something medicinal.
"You were ...upset," she says finally. "More than most.Kept asking about the baby. Where she was. If she was okay. We had to sedate you."
My heart starts to race. "Why?"
"You were hysterical. Wouldn't calm down. Kept saying things that didn't make sense."
"What kind of things?"
June looks uncomfortable now, glancing toward the door like she's calculating how quickly she could get me to leave.
"You kept saying you couldn't lose another one. That they promised you this time would be different."
The words hit me like cold water. I remember fragments of that night, pieces that float up from the sedative haze. The feeling of loss so profound it felt like drowning. But another one? What did I mean by another one?
"Do you remember what room I was in?"
"Room 2C. But we moved you partway through the night."
"Why?"
"There was a leak in the ceiling. Water damage. We had to relocate several patients."
I lean forward and Eva shifted in her seat. "What room did you move me to?"
June hesitates. "3B, I think. Maybe 3C. It was a busy night."
"June." I make my voice as steady as I can. "You were there. You remember me. You know that wasn't my baby."
The words hang in the air between us. The wind chimes outside grow louder.
