The Midwife's Confession

by Diane Chamberlain

  I’d just decided I’d better pull over and wait for the rain to ease up when it suddenly did. I sat back a little and let out my breath. I could hear the music on the radio again. I pressed harder on the gas and got my speed up to fifty-five, which was as fast as I was willing to go until the sun was up. So much for that five hours and fifty minutes.

  It was light out by the time I crossed the border into Virginia, but it was still raining a little. I was going back and forth in my mind about whether I should call Jenny to tell her where I was when I had a horrible thought. I remembered changing the alarm on my phone to five o’clock. I could see the phone on my night table, but I had no memory of picking it up and putting it in my backpack. Oh, my God. I pressed the brake and swerved onto the shoulder of the road. A truck honked and I felt my car sway as it whizzed past me, way too close. I found the button for the emergency blinkers and put them on and then I started hunting for my phone in my backpack, the whole time knowing it wasn’t there. How could I have been so stupid? I was hours from home, on the highway, with no phone. I sat there paralyzed for a few minutes, glancing every once in a while at the floor of the car or the passenger seat as though a phone might magically appear. What could I do? I was two-thirds of the way there. I just had to keep going. Swallowing hard, I turned off my blinkers and waited for a long break between the cars. Then I pulled onto the road again.

  A couple of hours later, I didn’t know where I was, but I was good and stuck in traffic. People complained about rush-hour traffic in Wilmington, but they didn’t know what they were talking about. I’d sit still for five minutes, then move about ten feet, then sit still again. There were gigantic trucks on both sides of me and I felt trapped and claustrophobic. They were so big that I could see beneath them to the cars in the other lanes. At least when I’d been driving through the rain and the darkness, I’d had no time to think about anything other than staying alive. Now I was tired and worn-out and the plan that had seemed so right at three in the morning was starting to feel idiotic.

  I should have left a note for my mother, though I wasn’t sure what I could have said. When she figured out I was gone, she’d probably think I went to Chapel Hill. It didn’t matter. I was going to be in tons of trouble either way.

  Suddenly I remembered something Daddy told me once when I was angry at my mother. “You know how Mom arranges orange slices on a plate for your soccer team and has activities planned for your birthday parties two months in advance?” he’d asked me. “That’s the way she shows her love, Gracie.” Why was I thinking about that now? I could hear his voice so clearly, like he was talking to me from the backseat of the car. That’s the way she shows her love, Gracie.

  She loved me. I never really doubted that. It would hurt her to realize I wasn’t hers and to find out that her own baby died. I pictured Emerson sitting her down to tell her the truth and I could see my mother’s face crumple.

  The traffic was starting to move now. I let the trucks pull away from me and I could see old buildings and smokestacks and cranes, and everything was a blur through my tears.

  I clutched the steering wheel. “What are you doing?” I whispered to myself. “What are you doing?”

  44

  Tara

  Grace was sleeping in, and I thought that was a good thing. She’d been so upset about Cleve the day before and I knew I hadn’t handled the situation well. I’d had to put my foot down about the trip to Chapel Hill, of course, but could I have done it a different way? Some way that didn’t shut down communication? What communication? We had none. Next week, I’d call the therapist we’d seen a couple of times after Sam died. Grace wouldn’t talk to her, either, but maybe the woman could give me some ideas for a fresh start with my daughter. Grace and I needed a do-over.

  I sat at the kitchen table and made out a grocery list, trying to focus on something less nerve-racking than the deteriorating relationship between Grace and myself. I left a note for her on the table, telling her I was going to the store, then walked through the mudroom to the garage.

  In the garage, I stopped short. Sam’s old Honda was gone. It gave me such a jolt. I had a flash of irrational hope that Sam was alive and on his way to work. That the past seven months had been a terrible dream. But I was too much of a realist to dwell in that fantasy for long. Either the car had been stolen or Grace had taken it. I didn’t know which possibility seemed more unlikely.

  I went back in the house and knocked on Grace’s door, opening it when there was no answer. Her room was a mess as usual, her bed so heaped with junk that I had to move the books and clothing to prove to myself she was really gone. I felt no anger, only sheer unadulterated terror. My baby girl was driving, no doubt to Chapel Hill. It was raining and she was upset and not thinking clearly and she hadn’t driven in seven months. She’d be driving on the highway with complicated on-and off-ramps and speeding cars and drivers hungover from the night before. Sam had been killed at the familiar Monkey Junction intersection. What chance did Grace have to make it to Chapel Hill alive?

  I reached for the phone on Grace’s desk, but stopped myself from dialing. I didn’t want her to try to answer her cell phone while she was driving. Then I remembered Jenny’s older friend was with her and that she was probably doing the driving. I let out my breath in relief. At least I could stop picturing Grace behind the wheel. I only wished I knew Jenny’s friend and that she was trustworthy.

  I dialed Grace’s cell phone and jumped when I heard its distinctive ring coming from inches away on her night table. “Oh, no,” I said, grabbing her phone. The display was lit up, our home number prominently displayed. She’d left without her phone? I hung up and sank onto her bed, trying to figure out what was going on. Grace never went anywhere without her phone.

  I scrolled through the numbers on her phone and dialed Jenny’s cell. It took a few rings before she picked up and I knew I’d awakened her.

  “I thought about you all night,” she said, her voice thick and hoarse. “You okay?”

  She was obviously in on this grand adventure. “It’s Tara, Jenny,” I said.

  There was a beat of silence. “Oh,” she said. “Sorry. Why are you calling on Grace’s phone?”

  “I need the cell phone number for your friend who’s with Grace,” I said tersely. “I can’t remember her name.”

  Jenny was quiet again. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said. “Isn’t Grace there?”

  “No. She left the house before I got up this morning, and I assume…” Could I be wrong? “She took the Honda and forgot her phone. I assume she’s on her way to see Cleve. She told me yesterday she wanted to go and would have a friend of yours—an older girl—along as a supervising driver.”

  Jenny said nothing and I knew she was either hiding something or as much in the dark as I was.

  “Jenny?” I asked. “Do you know where she is?”

  “I’m totally confused,” she said.

  “Who’s your older friend? Helen or…Elena!” I suddenly remembered. “Her name was Elena.”

  “I…I’m not sure what’s going on.”

  I got to my feet. “Jenny!” I said, sharply now because panic was rising inside me. “What do you know? This is serious! Did she tell you she was going to Chapel Hill?”

  “No!” Jenny said. “I honestly don’t know where she is. Did you try calling her?”

  “I told you, she forgot her phone. I’m going to call Cleve. If you hear anything from her or from Elena… Do you have a friend named Elena?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Jenny!”

  “No,” she admitted.

  Damn it. “Call me if you hear anything,” I said, then hung up. I found Cleve’s number on Grace’s phone and dialed it, but my call was dumped into his voice mail. “Cleve, this is Tara,” I said. “Call me the second you get this. I’m serious!” I gave him my number so he wouldn’t have to dig it up.

  I hung up the phone and looked at my watch. It was a little after ten. She mu
st have taken off before I got up at seven. It was possible, though not likely, that she was in Chapel Hill by now.

  Through her bedroom window, I could see the rain battering the leaves of the maple tree in our side yard and I shook my head. I couldn’t picture her driving around the block. Imagining her driving in this rain was both impossible and horrifying.

  Please, God, let her be safe!

  Then I picked up her phone and tried Cleve’s number again.

  45

  Grace

  Alexandria, Virginia

  I was on a highway called the Beltway and I’d never seen so many cars going so fast at one time. It was like being stuck in a parking lot that was moving at sixty-five miles an hour, and my leg muscles shook as I pressed on the gas trying to keep up. I was so glad to see the exit for Alexandria. My GPS gave me a few turns to make and I was suddenly in the middle of a busy road in a little town. I needed gas and, even worse, coffee. I spotted a gas station and pulled in. I bought twenty dollars worth of gas and a comb. The only one they had was made for men and it had teeth so close together I’d probably never be able to get it through my hair. I bought a cup of coffee that tasted really old and lukewarm, but I didn’t care and I chugged it down right there in the disgusting gas station store.

  When I pulled back onto the road, my GPS said I was only a mile from my destination. Then half a mile. Then four hundred feet, and I began to think it was leading me the wrong way. Wouldn’t the Missing Children’s Bureau be in a big office building? All during the drive, that’s where I pictured meeting my mother. On the fourth or fifth floor of a big office building. But the buildings on this road were small and they looked more like little shops and town houses than offices.

  I was stuck at a red light when I noticed a banner about a block in front of me. It hung high in the air above the street. Columbus Day Parade! Oh, no. Oh, no. I’d forgotten about it being a holiday. Would the Missing Children’s Bureau be closed?

  My GPS said, “Arriving at destination.” I was certain it had screwed up, but the traffic wasn’t moving and I had a chance to look at the building numbers and there it was—237. It was a little yellow town house in the middle of a string of other little town houses. It had to be wrong, yet I could see some kind of rectangular plaque hanging next to the door, although I couldn’t read it from where I sat. I’d have to get closer.

  I couldn’t parallel park. I’d screwed it up every time I tried during my driver’s training and there was no way I could do it with all these cars around me. I turned down a side street and drove a couple of blocks before I found two spaces together and was able to slip the car next to the curb. When I finally turned off the engine, I just sat there for a minute as what I’d done really hit me. I just drove all the way from Wilmington to Alexandria, I thought, and even though I was doing the craziest thing I’d ever done in my life, I felt proud of myself. Whatever happened next, I’d done something pretty amazing.

  Now, though, came the really hard part.

  I looked at my face in the rearview mirror. I looked terrible. I did my best to comb my hair, but it was impossible with that stupid comb.

  Please be open, I thought as I got out of the car and started walking on the wet sidewalk toward the main street. I walked fast, my backpack over my shoulder, the folder inside it ready to tell the story.

  The rectangular sign next to the door read Missing Children’s Bureau, and I could see a light on inside. The door was unlocked and I pushed it open and walked into a small room filled with old-fashioned chairs and a love seat and a bay window overflowing with plants. There was a desk right in the middle of the room, but there was no sign of another human being and I wasn’t sure what to do.

  I heard a clinking noise coming from somewhere in the next room and a woman suddenly appeared in the doorway. She had really short gray hair, narrow little black-framed glasses and she was holding a stick of celery in her hand. Her eyebrows shot halfway up her forehead when she saw me.

  “You startled me!” she said, then smiled. “May I help you?”

  “I’m here to see Anna Knightly,” I said.

  “Oh, Ms. Knightly’s with her daughter at Children’s,” she said, sitting down behind the desk.

  I felt suddenly dizzy at hearing someone else talk about Anna Knightly like she really, truly existed. It had all started to feel like a fantasy to me. I had to balance myself with my hand on the edge of the desk.

  “Are you all right, honey?” the woman asked me, and then her words sunk in. Her daughter. My sister. And wasn’t I at the Missing Children’s Bureau?

  “Children’s?” I asked. “Do you mean…isn’t this the Missing Children’s Bureau?”

  “Yes.” She looked confused. “Oh. No, no. She’s at Children’s Hospital. Did you—” she looked at me strangely, then checked her computer screen “—you didn’t have an appointment with her, did you? I thought I reached everyone.”

  “No, but I need to see her.” A hospital? My sister was sick? “I know something about a missing child,” I said. “I need to talk to her about it.” I didn’t want to tell the woman who I was. What if she thought I was lying? What if she called the police?

  “Oh, well, you can give me the information. Ms. Knightly doesn’t generally deal directly with—”

  “No, that’s okay. I really need to talk to her. When will she be back?”

  “She’s taking some time off to be with her daughter. Would you like some coffee? A soda?”

  The woman was worried about me now. I imagined how I looked after a sleepless night, my hair half-combed, my teeth unbrushed. I’d totally forgotten about the toothbrush in my backpack.

  “No, thank you. I came a long way to see her, though.” I felt my voice break. “How can I talk to her? Please. I really need to.”

  She looked at me like she was trying to decide what to do. “Give me your cell phone number and I can—”

  “I don’t have one.” My voice cracked again and I knotted my hands together in front of me. “I forgot it when I left the house. Just tell me where the hospital is.” I could tell right away that was a mistake.

  The woman shook her head. “Now, look,” she said. “Ms. Knightly is dealing with a serious private matter and you can’t disturb her, all right?”

  I’m a serious private matter, I thought. “Oh, I know,” I said. “I wouldn’t.”

  The woman handed me a small notepad. “Write down your name and a way she can reach you.”

  “There is no way. I forgot my phone.”

  She sighed. “Tell me what this is regarding, honey, so I can help you.”

  “It’s private,” I said.

  She gave me one of those smiles that said she was getting annoyed. “Well, look.” She leaned back in her chair. “I’ll be here until five. I’m sure I’ll speak with her sometime today. I’ll ask her how you can get in touch with her, then you can stop back late this afternoon and I’ll tell you what she says. But if you could give me some more information, it would be very helpful.”

  I thought about those prepaid phones you could buy. I’d never used one, but maybe I could get one of them and give the number to this woman and she could give it to Anna Knightly.

  “Can I get your number?” I asked.

  “Of course.” She handed me a card from a little tray on her desk and I put it in my pocket.

  “Thanks,” I said, and turned to go.

  “You’ll come back later?” she asked, but I was already out the door, trying to figure out my next move.

  I passed a bank on my way back to my car and used the ATM to get some money. I had forty dollars with me, but I’d need more for gas and maybe a prepaid phone if I could find one. My mind was moving in a different direction, though. When I got to my car, I turned on the GPS and did a search for hospitals. There were a bunch of them, but the only one that had to do with children was called Children’s National Medical Center. Was that it? I liked the words medical center a lot better than I liked the word hospital.


  It was in Washington. I plugged the address into the GPS. It was thirty-two minutes away. Yesterday, thirty-two minutes of driving would have sounded impossible to me. Now it sounded almost as easy as taking my next breath. But…the woman had used the word hospital. I couldn’t deny that, and I saw my father’s torn-apart face. I quickly waved my hand in front of my eyes as if I could erase the vision that way. I’d go. I’d go into the lobby and ask someone to take a note to Anna Knightly. I’d just driven three hundred and eighty-two miles by myself on no sleep. I could handle a hospital lobby. I had to.

  46

  Emerson

  Wilmington, North Carolina

  The café was swamped. Even though it was a holiday, half the people in Wilmington seemed to have stopped by Hot! this morning. We’d run out of the raspberry-cream-cheese croissants I was becoming known for and Sandra and my waitress were having trouble keeping up. So I ignored my cell when it rang, not even taking the time to glance at the caller ID. Jenny was off from school, most likely lolling around the house, and I’d check my messages as soon as I had a break. But then the café phone rang and that I couldn’t ignore. Offices often placed their lunch orders in the morning to be picked up later, but I didn’t expect many of those calls on Columbus Day.

  I grabbed the phone near the cash register. “Hot!” I said.

  “Mom!” Jenny shouted in my ear, her voice raspy and frightened. “I have to tell you something.”

  “What?” I carried the phone into the kitchen, alarmed.

  “Please don’t kill me!” She sounded as though she’d set the house on fire. “I think Grace is on her way to find that Anna Knightly lady.”