The Mother's Promise(22)

“Yes, Zoe.”

“And where is Zoe now?”

Alice might have been imagining it, but it felt like Sonja’s eyes had become vaguely beady.

“She’s at home. Hopefully getting ready for school.”

“Hopefully?”

“She is.” Alice made a mental note not to joke with Sonja. “She is getting ready for school.”

“Is she at home unsupervised often?”

The only other people in the waiting room were a middle-aged couple. The man—paunchy and balding—had his hand on the woman’s thigh. They glanced around the room, pretending they weren’t listening.

“She’s fifteen, so it’s hardly neglect,” Alice snapped.

“I wasn’t suggesting—”

“—but, as it happens, no, she’s not home unsupervised often. Major abdominal surgery is something of a rarity in our household.”

Sonja opened her mouth again, but before she could speak, a nurse crouched in front of Alice.

“Alice Stanhope?”

“Yes?”

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said. “My name is Kerry and I’ll be looking after you prior to your operation.”

Alice frowned. “But … where’s Kate?”

“She’s not on today, hon.”

“Well, where is she?”

“Couldn’t tell you, I’m afraid,” she said, shrugging. “Can I take your bag? Come this way.”

Kerry had thick auburn ringlets and a wide gap between her front teeth. She seemed perfectly nice. And yet Alice felt irrationally put out. She felt comfortable with Kate. There was just something about her—Alice couldn’t put her finger on it—that made her feel cared for. Being greeted by another nurse, Alice felt like she was starting all over again.

“All … right,” she muttered.

Alice found her feet and trundled off after Kerry. Sonja, unfortunately, followed. When they got to her room, Sonja sat in the corner scribbling into a notebook while Kerry dispatched a gown and confirmed that Alice had followed her pre-op instructions. While she was finalizing her paperwork, Dr. Brookes came in.

He was nicer than Alice remembered—introduced himself as Chris. Maybe he’d been nice last time and she just hadn’t noticed? Or maybe her mind was playing tricks on her now, needing to believe that someone in the operating room cared about her. His hair, Alice observed, was still wet from the shower, which made her picture him in the shower—not an entirely unwelcome thought—and then think about his morning routine thus far. Had he flicked through the newspaper while eating a bowl of cornflakes? Made love to his wife? Fed the dog? Had he done all the regular things one did before heading off to work in the morning, unmoved by the fact that he’d be scooping organs out of his patient in just a few hours?

Dr. Brookes introduced Alice to another doctor, an anesthesiologist who trotted out some jokes that Alice somehow knew he used on every patient. As such, they failed to make her laugh. He explained to her what drugs he was going to use, his post-op pain-management regime. He did all the things he could to make her feel at ease. Then they waved good-bye to Sonja (who hastily put down her notes and wished her luck) and the three of them—Kerry, Dr. Brookes, and the anesthesiologist—rolled her down the hallway to the operating room, where at least another four people were setting up for surgery. For the first time since arriving, Alice felt in grave danger of falling apart.

She lay there for a while, watching as people buzzed about her, wheeling carts, carrying trays. The anesthesiologist put a needle in her hand and attached a tube. Alice thought back to the balding man in the waiting room, patting his wife’s thigh. No one was waiting for her. When more people arrived in the operating room, Alice marveled. How many people did it take to scoop out some organs? She must have said it out loud, because Dr. Brookes laughed and said, “Yes, I’m sure it does seem like a lot of people are in here. But everyone has an important role, I assure you.”

A few minutes later, the anesthesiologist told her to count backward from twenty. Soon, he said, she would feel sleepy. Alice thought of the waiting room again, of the fact that there was no one waiting for her.

“Alice? Can you count?”

“Twenty, nineteen, eighteen…,” she started.

Once upon a time she would have had a roomful of people waiting for her. Her mother, her father. Maybe even her brother. Not anymore. How sad would it be if she died on this table and no one was waiting? What would happen to Zoe? Who would give her the news?

“Alice?”

“Seventeen, sixteen, fifteen…,” she continued.

Alice had a sudden urge to rip the tube out of her arm and run away. What was she doing, lying on this table, leaving her daughter alone to fend for herself? What if the worst did happen? She had an almost overpowering yearning for Zoe. But she also felt drowsy. She couldn’t be bothered counting anymore, so she ignored the anesthesiologist when he called to her. She felt something brush her eyelashes.

“Okay,” the anesthesiologist said. “She’s out.”

No, she wanted to say, I’m not. I’m not out! You have to let me go and see my daughter.

But then, a moment later, she was out.





16

Zoe had a secret. That, in itself, was pretty hard to believe. She wasn’t the kind of teenager who kept everything from her parents—of course she didn’t, she didn’t have anything to keep from her mom. Except this. She did it when she was alone in her bedroom when the house was empty and quiet. To unwind, but more important, to chase away the voices of self-loathing. To help her get up in the morning.