The Perfect Child(78)

FORTY-EIGHT

CHRISTOPHER BAUER

Every time one of Cole’s monitors sounded, I was sure we were going to lose him, even though the doctors assured me his scans looked clear. He was no longer intubated and was breathing on his own, but he still hadn’t woken up. His CT scan showed he’d suffered a seizure after hitting his head. They assured me infants often had difficulty breathing when they came out of seizures, but their words did nothing for the fear surging through me.

I paced the room. Six steps from the back wall to the door. Four steps across. My head swirled with questions. What had they been doing in the bathroom? Why had the kids had their clothes on? How had they gotten so wet? If only Hannah would talk. She held all the answers, but she still wasn’t making sense or acting right.

I was as worried about her as I was about Cole. The effects of the Valium had long worn off, and she’d barely moved from the chair. Every now and then, she’d get up and robotically move to Cole’s enclosed crib. She’d stick one of her fingers through the hole and stroke his arm, tears streaming down her face. I asked her what happened twice, but she acted like she didn’t hear me. She’d disappeared somewhere inside herself, and I couldn’t reach her. Nobody could.

“What’s wrong with her?” I kept asking the doctors.

But none of them cared all that much about her. Their primary concern was Cole. His was the life in danger, not hers. The only one who paid attention to her was the hospital social worker, Holly.

The first time she entered the room, she washed her hands at the sink like she was one of the doctors, serious faced and all business. She introduced herself to us with her back turned, blotting her hands with the paper towels above the sink. Since there was only one chair in the room, we stood facing each other in front of Hannah.

“Hannah, I’d like to ask you a few questions about what happened today.” She turned toward Hannah and peered down at her, taking in her disheveled state.

Hannah didn’t make eye contact. She twisted her hands on her lap.

Holly didn’t waste any time getting down to business. “Can you tell me how Cole got injured?”

Hannah didn’t respond.

“How did Cole get hurt?”

Hannah’s hands trembled. Something registered on her face, passed through her—a memory—and then it was gone. That was more than I’d gotten from her, so maybe we were going to get somewhere.

Holly knelt in front of her. Hannah kept her head down. “Your son is seriously injured, and we need to know what happened. I understand you’ve been through a lot today, but we need answers.”

A lone tear escaped from Hannah’s eye and traveled down her cheek.

“Hannah?” Holly prompted.

I jumped in to save her. It was cruel to push her like this. “The doctors gave her Valium to help settle her down, and she always has strong reactions to drugs,” I explained.

Holly didn’t acknowledge me. She kept her attention focused on Hannah. Nobody had pushed her to talk yet. What would happen if Holly pushed her too hard? My heart twisted in my chest.

“You can ignore me all you want, but eventually you’re going to have to talk, and the sooner you talk, the better.” Her gaze never wavered. “I’m having a difficult time understanding what kind of mother wouldn’t do everything she could to help her child.”

“It was an accident.” Hannah’s voice was barely audible.

Holly nodded, pleased she’d broken through. “Go on.”

But Hannah didn’t know how to go on. I watched helplessly as she struggled to find words. “It was an accident.”

“Yes, you said that. Tell me more about the accident.”

She waited for her to answer. Hannah’s body trembled. She gripped the armrests with both hands.

“Please, stop,” I said. I couldn’t take any more. By the looks of it, neither could Hannah.

Holly finally shifted her gaze to me. “She seems very upset.”

“Are you serious?” My finger shook as I pointed to the crib. “Have you seen our son? Read the reports?”

She stood up, facing me. “Yes, I have, and that’s why I’m here.” We stood in an awkward stare-down. The silence stretched out between us until it was uncomfortable. Finally, she spoke. “Were you angry when you got home?”

“Me? Why would I be angry?”

“It’s understandable that you’d be angry about having to leave work again for something going on at home. I mean, that can only happen so many times before it starts getting on your nerves.”

Who had she been talking to?

I forced myself to stay calm. “I wasn’t angry.”

“Was Hannah angry?”

“No.” My voice was clipped.

“Did Hannah ever get angry with the baby?”

“Cole?”

She cocked her head to the side. “Is there another baby?”

“Can’t we do all of this with Piper?” I asked.

Piper would never talk to us like this. I was sure it had something to do with Holly being so young. She compensated by being cocky and arrogant, trying to establish some kind of authority over me, but I didn’t like it.

She glanced down at her iPad. “Piper Goldstein?”