Neighborly(70)

“Her temperature spiked, and she had more diarrhea. They say it’s ‘back under control’ now.” Tears fill her eyes. “But for how long?”

“They’re taking good care of her. It just takes some time for the antibiotics to work.”

“They’ll only work if it’s bacterial. The nurses and the doctors are supposed to be more attentive on the PICU than on the regular floors, but even so, they left the leads on her chest for two whole shifts. There were red marks!” The table next to us looks over briefly, then turns away, realizing that you can’t judge here. “They’re supposed to change those every shift. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to help her. I just have to depend on these people. I just have to hope . . .” She puts her head in her hands, and I think she’s going to start sobbing.

I remind myself that no matter what, I will not feel for her. I can’t. It would be so much easier if I were some kind of monster. But she fucked up my family; I have every right to fuck up hers.

Besides, Sadie’s going to get better. I can’t miss my opportunity; I might not get another this good. Katrina cannot stay in my neighborhood. I wouldn’t be able to survive.

This is my moment. I have to seize it, monstrous as it might seem.

She looks up, and her eyes are dry. That helps me a little. “Why are you here?” she asks, none too friendly. That helps, too.

“I’ve been through this before,” I say. “I’ve had a sick child, too.”

“In this hospital?”

I nod. “I remember being in this very cafeteria.”

It’s a gamble, what I’m about to do. I read this book once about going undercover, and it said you should always use your real name and lie as little as possible. That way, you won’t have so much to remember, and you’re less likely to trip yourself up.

The book also said that you should find something to like in even the vilest people. Find an area of common ground. See if they love their families like you love yours, if you’re into the same sports team, even. You want to like them, at least a little, in order to make them like you.

Fat chance of that.

So lying isn’t recommended when you’re undercover, but I need to build trust quickly. Besides, it doubles as kindness. She wants to know about another child who went through this and survived.

“What happened?” she asks.

“Same thing. Some weird virus at maybe six or seven months old. Eight days in the hospital and then a full recovery. The staff here is amazing. They know what they’re doing.”

“Some seem to care. Others just seem so rushed.”

“That’s because they have to be everywhere at once. It’s because they’re working so hard. And how could anyone not care about Sadie? They’d have to be total monsters.”

“Sometimes,” she whispers, “I think this wasn’t an accident.”

“What do you mean?”

“That someone tried to hurt her. Is that crazy?”

If she’s telling me this, then she doesn’t think I’m the one who did it. Unless she’s telling me because she thinks I’m the one who did it. She could be baiting me.

I keep my face as composed and empathetic as I can. “When your child is sick, you have all kinds of crazy thoughts. Believe me, I know. I remember.”

She’s got her fingers back in the croissant in a manner that’s oddly proctologic. “You’re going to tell them, aren’t you?”

“Tell whom?” She doesn’t answer. “What happens in the hospital stays in the hospital. I’m the one who wanted to be here with you.” She stares at me. “I mean, a bunch of the neighbors wanted to be here. We thought I’d be the best choice because I’ve been through it.”

I see from her face that she’s not quite ready to buy what I’m selling.

Speaking of buying and selling, I wonder if before all this happened, she was going to opt in or out, which way she was leaning. I was the one who pushed the hardest to make her a regular so quickly. Sure, the others liked her, and sure, the spreadsheet could use some new possibilities, but I thought a proposition like that, so soon, would send her running for the hills. Instead, she was supposedly still thinking about it, and then we all got invitations to a barbecue. Maybe Katrina really has changed. Or maybe I’m just really bad at this.

“You’ve got enough to worry about,” I tell her. “Don’t stress at all about my repeating anything we say. Everything is off the record.”

Eyes down again. “You met Scott and Melody?”

“Yes.”

“What were your initial impressions?”

It’s clearly a test. If I say they seemed great but she hates them, or if I say they seem like pieces of work and she adores them, or if I give some milquetoast answer . . . With abuse survivors, you might not get that many chances. You can lose credibility in an instant, and the relationship will never recover.

So I’ve got to go with my gut. “Scott seemed OK, but I’d watch out for her.”

Her eyes widen. “That’s what I think, too! Doug says I’m totally off base.”

“I’m into people who are kind, not nice. You can’t trust nice. And she’s got nice written all over her.”