Saving Meghan(41)

Ms. Hope straightened her business suit after fussing with her hair, which needed no fussing. She stood extra tall in her sturdy shoes, and a self-satisfied grin parted her lips, the outburst seeming to have confirmed her doubts about the Gerards’ fitness as parents. The guard who had manhandled Becky unclipped his two-way radio. He was about to call for backup, or so Becky believed, when Knox Singer waved his hands frantically to make him stop.

“Let’s not make this situation any worse than it already is,” Singer said, his perfectly styled mane now slightly unkempt.

Nobody said a word. Nobody was going to sit down.

Carl glared at Singer with daggers for eyes. “I want to see my daughter,” he said with authority.

“I’m afraid at the moment it is not possible to grant you even a supervised visit with Meghan.” Ms. Annabel Hope slipped her hands behind her back to signal no negotiation.

Shock replaced Becky’s anger. She glared wide-eyed at Ms. Hope with utter bewilderment, as though assessing something alien and wholly foreign to her.

Becky had never seen Annabel Hope before today, had not known that they were in the same city, let alone shared the same planet. And yet this woman had in an instant become an integral part of Becky’s world. She, this random person, was in charge of her daughter’s life. Becky thought of it like a car accident: two strangers, unknown to each other moments before impact, collide in a life-altering way.

Cora. That was who flashed in her mind. This was her mother’s fault. This was karma coming back to get her. Cora had played games with health-care providers for herself and for the sake of her family, and Becky had played similar games to help her daughter. Now both were paying a price—Cora stricken with cancer and Becky confronting a nightmare case of medical kidnapping.

Karma.

“When can I see my daughter?” Becky asked. Her voice came out shaky and soft, weaker than she had intended.

“I can’t answer that. Not now, anyway,” Singer said.

“When will you know?”

“When I do, you will. I promise,” Singer said.

“How can I talk to her?” Becky asked, her top lip stiffening. She felt the tears pressing against her lids again.

“We’re not allowing her phone contact or visitation right now,” Dr. Nash said, looking to Dr. Levine, who hesitated before nodding in agreement.

“You can’t do that!” Becky sensed Carl was going to raise a ruckus again. She tugged his arm to get him to look her in the eyes. The last thing she wanted was for her husband to leave in handcuffs. She needed him now more than ever.

Ms. Hope, perhaps sensing Becky’s commitment to de-escalate, came around the table and confidently stood within striking distance.

“When can we speak to Meghan?” Becky directed her question to Ms. Hope.

“Communication with Meghan will be worked out when we’ve completed our assessments,” Ms. Hope said with the same emotion a service manager might use when discussing a car repair timetable.

Becky noticed how she said “Meghan” and not “your daughter,” as if the judge’s ruling had erased the last fifteen years of Meghan’s life, and Becky and Carl no longer factored into it.

“I have only one bit of advice to offer you at this moment, Mrs. Gerard, if you’re receptive to hearing it,” Ms. Hope said.

Becky returned a slight nod.

“Get a lawyer, and a damn good one at that.”

Becky straightened. Anger blossomed in her eyes. “You do the same,” she said, pulling Carl’s arm to go.

“This isn’t over,” Carl said, a growl in his voice.

When they were finally out in the hall, Becky counted four guards sent to escort them out. She felt as though she were walking without limbs. She no longer thought of herself as the person she was before. She’d been carved, cleaved, separated from an integral part of herself; cut off suddenly, brutally, from what mattered most; given no clear explanation or even an indication for when she’d speak to, let alone see, Meghan again.

Carl took hold of Becky’s hand. They walked numbly out of the automatic double doors into the ER waiting room. Those seated there gawked at the strange processional passing before them—two beleaguered parents trailed by four guards, one of whom wore a bloody shirt. The guards followed Becky and Carl outside into a chilly night devoid of stars. Before long, Becky and Carl were inside the gleaming spotless Mercedes, driving away from White Memorial with no passenger in the backseat—just the two of them, without their precious daughter.





CHAPTER 20


They drove interred in a weighty silence. Becky was too stunned and numb to even attempt conversation. The hostility radiating from Carl distressed Becky because she sensed it was directed at her.

“It’s not true,” Becky said, willing herself to speak. “None of what they’re saying is true. You know that, don’t you?”

Carl did not respond, nor did he glance her way. His focus stayed fixed on the road, but his intense concentration was obviously a means to avoid her. Becky shriveled inside. She feared what might be coming. During the fight with the guards, Carl had been her champion, her protector, but now she realized that had been his alpha-male instincts taking over. With time and distance, he was thinking other thoughts. Thinking it might all be true.

They arrived at home not having spoken more than a dozen words between them. Carl pulled into the garage and came to a hard stop. He got out of the car, slamming his door shut with a bang that made Becky jump.