The Girl in the Mirror(72)

Between reading Nina’s emails, I keep flicking back to my inbox, refreshing and refreshing, waiting for Ben’s message, Ben’s demands. His email doesn’t arrive, but by the time I’ve looked a dozen times, I know the truth.

I’m not leaving. I’m hanging on till the bitter end.

There’s no way I can fool so many people at once. They will unmask me. This is the end. But I can’t go.

I can’t leave my baby.





20

The Night Sky




“Mrs. Romain, you can see your baby now.”

The nurse invites me to follow her. We walk out of the maternity ward together. I fall behind a little, trying to memorize the route as she turns one way and another. We come up against double doors and I read the sign. neonatal care. This is it.

I push against the doors, but they don’t open. The nurse swipes a card against a control panel at the side. An automatic lock clunks. “We’ll get you a parental swipe card today,” she says as we push through the doors. “Don’t forget the antibac.”

She pumps fluid from a bottle fixed to the wall and smears it over her hands. I do the same.

We walk through more corridors. I catch glimpses of what look like stillborn fetuses in glass cages. Tall machines loom above them, blinking and beeping. An antiseptic smell mingles with the odor of sour milk.

Which baby is Esther? I’m afraid I won’t recognize her.

A muddle of voices. People converge on me from all sides. “Summer! Welcome back! It’s so good to see you! I’m sorry it’s not under better circumstances.”

They’re upon me. I am hugged, squeezed, smothered.

I can’t speak. I can’t think. I should be sneaking glances at name tags, listening out for names. At the very least, smiling at my old friends. But I can’t.

“Where’s my baby?”

It comes out shrill. Everybody backs off, apologizing. “We’ll give you some privacy,” they mumble.

The nurse leads me on.

I spot Esther at once. She lies in an incubator, plugged into a mess of wires and tubes. She is sweet, vulnerable, and unmistakably mine.

“Forgive me, little girl,” I whisper.

Nina is nearby, tapping at a touch screen. She greets me with a sad smile. “Baby’s sats are up,” she says.

What does this mean? It’s clearly significant news, but good or bad? I make a noise, “Mm-mm,” my tone calibrated to work for both.

“Her O2 is at ninety-eight and her pulse is around one-twenty.”

“Mm-mm.”

She takes my arm. “We’ll take her off the ventilator this afternoon.”

“No!” I cry. “Please! There must be something you can do!”

Silence. Nina stares at me. “Summer, this is hardly the time for jokes,” she says at last.

No more words will come out. I have no idea what is going on. Why are they taking my baby off the ventilator? Is she going to die? Or is she being discharged?

I just need to know.

“Please explain everything as though I’m not a nurse,” I say. “Why are you turning off the ventilator?”

I don’t want to be discovered. I don’t want to go to prison. But I can’t do this. I can’t be Summer anymore.



The hospital staff are patient. A lactation consultant shows me how to use a breast pump. A pediatrician explains Esther’s condition. She needs to grow; she will be discharged in a week or two. She’s going to be okay.

The late-shift nurse, who doesn’t seem to know me, sets me up in a recliner beside the incubator and settles Esther on my chest under a baby blanket. Esther’s monitors are still attached to her body, but I can feel her soft skin against mine.

“This is kangaroo care,” the nurse explains. “It’s better than the incubator. Your touch helps baby to grow.”

It takes a while to get hold of Adam, but when I do, he rushes back to the hospital. I overhear the nurse telling him that they want to keep me in overnight. She is whispering, but the sound travels. “We think her memory has been affected by stress. We need to tread carefully. Even after your wife is discharged, you’ll need to drive her to hospital every day. She needs to spend each day in here with baby. They need time to bond.”

Adam comes and sits with me, observing the precious bundle on my chest with concerned eyes. He places his hand on Esther’s back. Our daughter is cocooned between her parents, warm and safe.

I fill Adam in on Esther’s condition. He’s sorry for not being here earlier, but I won’t let him blame himself. “It’s my fault,” I say. “I should have realized she needed special care.”

“I can’t believe Colton was here,” Adam says a little later. “I chased all over town trying to track him down.”

“Why are you in such a hurry to sort out the money?” I ask.

Adam shrugs. “Esther coming early has messed up a lot of our plans.”

“Our plans?” I say. “Who do you mean?”

“Annabeth and me.”

“Since when do you make plans with Annabeth?”

“Since you’ve been pregnant, and since you’ve not been yourself after losing your sister.”

“So what are these plans?” I ask.