now, and part of me wants to strangle him for keeping people like Joanna and Joseph apart. But I remind myself that he doesn’t know any better, and I force my tone to remain friendly. “Well, I work in the newborn nursery, caring for the babies whose information is in those files, so it’s interesting to me.”
“I see. You protect them before they’re adopted, and I protect them after.”
“Hmm, I’m not sure ‘protect’ is the word I’d use to describe what you do.”
He crosses his arms with a look of amusement. “What word would you use?”
“Complicate.”
“Complicate?!” He laughs, but I can tell I’ve insulted him. “How does upholding patient privacy laws complicate things?”
“From what you’ve told me, these privacy laws seem to be designed to keep people apart.”
“Boy, you really call things like you see them, don’t you?”
“Look, I didn’t mean to offend you. I know you’re just doing your job.” Suddenly, a plan takes shape in my mind. “Let me make it up to you,” I offer, cringing at how unnatural my flirtation sounds. “Let me take you to lunch.”
The injury in his eyes immediately gives way to flattery. “All right. But only under one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“No cafeteria food.”
W HEN I RETURN HOME after work, the house is cold and dark. I turn on the lights, crank up the thermostat, and put on an extra sweater for warmth. The message light blinks on the phone.
“It’s me,” Paul’s voice echoes through the speaker. “I’m going to be a little late getting home. I have to stop at the zoning office and pull some permits for the Muellers’ house. I’ll be home around seven.”
Beep.
“Catharine, it’s Mom. Just listen.” My finger hovers over the delete button, but the urgency in her voice stops me. “Margaret Pearson died. She had a heart attack yesterday morning.” I slide onto the wooden bench beneath the phone. “Tommy called to tell me. She’s going to be cremated, and her ashes will be buried at her family’s plot here in Angel Falls. They’re having a memorial service this Saturday at two. I know you’re still upset with me, but I think you should come. Tommy and Maddie Rae are traveling a long way to be here. I know it would mean a lot to them if you came. Let me know.”
The news knocks the wind out of me as I remember the woman I used to babysit for. Margaret Pearson had the energy of a southern Baptist church on Sunday morning. Her hair was the color of rubies, her eyes were like turquoise pendants, and her rolling laughter could spread through a room like wildfire. I started babysitting for her and her husband, Tom, the summer after I lost Emily. I was drowning in depression, and Mom was tired of me moping around the house, so she dragged me over to the Pearsons’ and unloaded me on Margaret.
Tommy and Maddie Rae were the first children I encountered after losing Emily. Tommy was four and he had spiky blonde hair that looked like lemon meringue pie. Instead of saying “hello,” he stabbed me in the leg with a sword and a victorious “raaawwwhhh!”
“Tommy,” Mrs. Pearson scolded as he jabbed me again and again. “What I did I tell you about slaying people?”
“Sorry, Mommy. I thought she was a dragon.”
To my surprise, Tommy was easy to be around, and I actually looked forward to our time together because it meant escaping into his mystical world of fire-breathing dragons and forgetting about my own misery for a little while. It was his baby sister, Maddie Rae, who was the real challenge. Even though she was a happy baby who rarely cried, she was close to Emily’s age and she was a painful reminder of the daughter I’d never see again.
For the first two weeks, I refused to hold Maddie Rae, and I left her in her bed all day. Tommy was more than happy to pretend that she was our prisoner, peering out at us from behind the bars of her crib. But then one day she bawled until her face was red and her
“I see. You protect them before they’re adopted, and I protect them after.”
“Hmm, I’m not sure ‘protect’ is the word I’d use to describe what you do.”
He crosses his arms with a look of amusement. “What word would you use?”
“Complicate.”
“Complicate?!” He laughs, but I can tell I’ve insulted him. “How does upholding patient privacy laws complicate things?”
“From what you’ve told me, these privacy laws seem to be designed to keep people apart.”
“Boy, you really call things like you see them, don’t you?”
“Look, I didn’t mean to offend you. I know you’re just doing your job.” Suddenly, a plan takes shape in my mind. “Let me make it up to you,” I offer, cringing at how unnatural my flirtation sounds. “Let me take you to lunch.”
The injury in his eyes immediately gives way to flattery. “All right. But only under one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“No cafeteria food.”
W HEN I RETURN HOME after work, the house is cold and dark. I turn on the lights, crank up the thermostat, and put on an extra sweater for warmth. The message light blinks on the phone.
“It’s me,” Paul’s voice echoes through the speaker. “I’m going to be a little late getting home. I have to stop at the zoning office and pull some permits for the Muellers’ house. I’ll be home around seven.”
Beep.
“Catharine, it’s Mom. Just listen.” My finger hovers over the delete button, but the urgency in her voice stops me. “Margaret Pearson died. She had a heart attack yesterday morning.” I slide onto the wooden bench beneath the phone. “Tommy called to tell me. She’s going to be cremated, and her ashes will be buried at her family’s plot here in Angel Falls. They’re having a memorial service this Saturday at two. I know you’re still upset with me, but I think you should come. Tommy and Maddie Rae are traveling a long way to be here. I know it would mean a lot to them if you came. Let me know.”
The news knocks the wind out of me as I remember the woman I used to babysit for. Margaret Pearson had the energy of a southern Baptist church on Sunday morning. Her hair was the color of rubies, her eyes were like turquoise pendants, and her rolling laughter could spread through a room like wildfire. I started babysitting for her and her husband, Tom, the summer after I lost Emily. I was drowning in depression, and Mom was tired of me moping around the house, so she dragged me over to the Pearsons’ and unloaded me on Margaret.
Tommy and Maddie Rae were the first children I encountered after losing Emily. Tommy was four and he had spiky blonde hair that looked like lemon meringue pie. Instead of saying “hello,” he stabbed me in the leg with a sword and a victorious “raaawwwhhh!”
“Tommy,” Mrs. Pearson scolded as he jabbed me again and again. “What I did I tell you about slaying people?”
“Sorry, Mommy. I thought she was a dragon.”
To my surprise, Tommy was easy to be around, and I actually looked forward to our time together because it meant escaping into his mystical world of fire-breathing dragons and forgetting about my own misery for a little while. It was his baby sister, Maddie Rae, who was the real challenge. Even though she was a happy baby who rarely cried, she was close to Emily’s age and she was a painful reminder of the daughter I’d never see again.
For the first two weeks, I refused to hold Maddie Rae, and I left her in her bed all day. Tommy was more than happy to pretend that she was our prisoner, peering out at us from behind the bars of her crib. But then one day she bawled until her face was red and her
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