My conversation with Sam was terse and unsentimental. If anything, Sam was put out at the prospect of having to interview and hire another librarian.
And that was that. I was unemployed. After I hung up, I waited for the regret to flood me.
To my surprise, I felt fine. It wasn’t likely we would have another baby; I wanted to watch Sophie grow and change, day by day. I didn’t want to drop her off at a babysitter’s house or a child-care center every day. I didn’t want to be exhausted when I picked her up. I didn’t want to resent Robin because he worked from home and could see more of Sophie than I did.
I blessed Jane Engle (my fairy godmother) yet again, for giving me the financial freedom to make this choice.
I felt at loose ends, though I was following the same general routine I had since I’d had the baby. Somehow, it felt different now that it was the way things were going to be. Robin kissed me and went to work in his office, carrying a good sweater from his closet to replace the saggy baggy one he wore while he wrote. After I finished with Sophie, I put the doughnuts away. (They wouldn’t survive the day; Phillip would descend on them when he got home.) I took the monitor with me into the bathroom while I showered and Sophie was playing in her crib … if you can call watching rotating rabbits “playing.”
Just as I finished drying my hair, Avery called. “Dad’s a little better,” he said. He sounded exhausted. “I persuaded your mom to go home to get in bed for a while. If she can sleep and shower and eat, she’ll feel better. John David had to go to work, and I have to check in at my office. Melinda’s got the kids. I wondered…”
“I’ll be there in half an hour,” I said.
“Thanks, Roe.”
I finished dressing and went to talk to Robin, Sophie in my arms.
“I know it’s your work time, and I’m sorry to ask you … but today, I have to go sit with John. Everyone else is zonked out. If no one makes it back to take over, you might have to bring Sophie to the hospital, so I can nurse her in the waiting room.” I had a shawl for just such occasions, folded tightly in Sophie’s diaper bag. I thought of Robin’s absentmindedness (no keys had turned up, and no sweater).
“I think I’ll take the diaper bag with me,” I said. I felt like a camel when I carried both the bag and my purse, so leaving one at home would halve my burden. The green-and-white-striped bag, with its designer logo, looked a lot nicer than my purse, I had to admit. I tucked my driver’s license in one of the diaper bag’s many outer pockets.
“Sure,” Robin said. “I’ll put her in her bouncy thing right by my desk. We’ll do great, won’t we, Madame President?” I followed him to his office to watch him strap Sophie in.
Sophie had begun to conquer the bouncer seat. Sure enough, now she began flinging her arms and legs to make it move up and down. Our baby had learned something!
She was beyond cute. I swooped down to give her a kiss on her soft cheek, and stretched up to give Robin one on his wonderful mouth, and then I was out the door, bag slung over my shoulders. My hair resembled a bunch of streamers going in all different directions, but today that didn’t seem important. I was wearing my green-framed glasses, which hardly seemed appropriate for the ICU … but they did match the bag.
This morning, the hospital parking lot was not as crowded as it would be later in the day. As I approached the main door, my shoulders grew tight. The minute I walked through the automatic doors I would find myself back in a fog of unhappy memories. I gritted my teeth and forced a smile to my lips.
The elevator doors whooshed open at the ICU floor, and I waved at the nurse at the duty station as I walked by. They all knew us by now. The door to John’s room was ajar. I stood by the bed for a minute or two, searching his face, hoping something had changed. Maybe his color was a little better? I sighed, and took the more comfortable chair. I’d left my crossword puzzle book and a magazine here on the previous visit. I’d tucked a paperback into the diaper bag. I was all fixed for a couple of hours or more.
Nurse Deedee Powers (chiefly responsible for John on this shift) had written her name on the dry-erase board in John’s room. Every shift, the primary nurse wiped out the previous name and entered her own. I found it reassuring to know who was in charge. I stepped out to get an update from Deedee. By now, we were on a first-name basis.
“The doctor’s already been by,” Deedee told me. “He talked to your mom and Avery.” She was not callous, but she was brisk. This was her everyday work environment: caring for people very ill or close to death, talking to their relatives or loved ones, carrying out the doctor’s orders.
John’s ICU room was as quiet—but busy—as ever. Cleaners and nurses and lab workers, the food-tray deliveryman, all came in and out of the room. The pink-smocked volunteer lady with the cart of books and newspapers stuck her head in and whispered, “Do you need something to read?” I raised my book in answer, and she nodded and vanished. Other patients’ visitors passed the doorway regularly. Their faces, too, had become familiar. There was the very old man who walked with a cane, and a familiar-looking woman in her sixties who looked more worn down every day. This morning, the weary-looking woman whose child was two doors down was crying as she walked by.
I shuddered. There was too much pain here. I had to block it out. Thank God I had a good book.
I was the lucky recipient of John’s allocated lunch tray, which of course he couldn’t eat. The corn bread was dry. The banana pudding was okay. The grapes were a little rubbery, but still had a good flavor. The meat, which might have been beef, and the vegetables (overcooked to the maximum) were better left untouched.
At least I no longer felt guilty about my extravagant breakfast.
I finished my book. I was getting stiff, so I walked around the ICU for a few circuits. I paused at each big window to look out at the parking lot at the front, or at the quieter employee lot and utility buildings at the back. Then I resumed my watch in John’s room. I began to work on a crossword puzzle, glancing up at John’s silent figure from time to time. When I got bored with that (when I got stuck), I closed my eyes and tried to meditate, but I have never been good at letting go of myself. Before very long I abandoned the meditation and started flipping through the magazine I’d left. I didn’t have to remember a plot if I was studying red-carpet dresses worn by women I didn’t know.
Even celebrity gossip palled. I laid the magazine on the wheeled table beside my chair. I simply looked at John.
I recalled introducing him to my mother. She’d been dubious at first. John had some interests she didn’t share. But John’s pleasant manners and intelligence had gradually won her over; plus (truth be told) John was a good-looking man.
I smiled as I thought of this. And since I was watching John, I saw his eyelids flicker.
I leaped to my feet, knocking all my reading material to the floor. “John!” I said, trying to keep my voice low and even. But I couldn’t suppress my excitement.
The muscles in his cheeks and lips moved as if he were trying to form a word. I was sure he heard me and knew who I was.
He whispered, “Roe.”
Then Nurse Deedee hurried in and blocked him from my sight. Some reading on his monitor had changed. When she moved to the side, I could see his eyes had closed again, but there were muscles moving under the skin.
My mother would never forgive me if I didn’t tell her about this development. John had spoken! I wanted to stay in the room, because John might talk to me again, but I couldn’t phone from ICU.
Deedee made the decision for me. She “asked” me to leave while she did something personal for John.
I raced out of the ICU, cell phone in hand, and took the elevator to the lobby. I punched my mother’s speed dial. I could tell she was awake—either again, or she’d never slept. “Mother! His eyes opened! Just for a minute! He said my name!” I told her.
“I’m on my way.”
I returned to John’s room, feeling nothing but excitement and happiness. This development was
more than I’d ever hoped for. Deedee had left. John and I were alone again.
I stood by the bed watching him. His eyes flickered open once or twice, and he always looked directly at my face.
After ten minutes had passed, Mother appeared at the other side of John’s bed. She wasn’t there, and then she was. She looked like hell, but there was some hope on her face. She took his hand. “Honey,” she said, her voice steady. “I’m here.” John heard her and knew her. His fingers moved slightly in hers, and he smiled for a moment.
When I glanced at my watch, I realized it was time for me to return to Sophie. If Mother was sitting with John now, maybe I could go home, feed her there, and avoid the awkwardness of public breast-feeding. But I didn’t want to leave Mother alone, since I didn’t know what would happen if and when John returned to full consciousness. I assumed he would be in a lot of pain, and possibly very anxious.
I was relieved to see John David waving at me from the nurse’s station. Problem solved.
I hugged Mother and whispered, “I have to leave, call me if anything changes.” I turned away to gather up my belongings, and reached down for my diaper bag.
It wasn’t there.
I simply couldn’t believe it. I looked around the room, sure I’d see it any moment. Perhaps it had gotten in the way of one of the staff, who’d set it in another place?
It wasn’t in the room.
I glanced at the nurses’ station to see that John David was getting increasingly anxious to see his father. I could hardly make a big to-do about a diaper bag at this moment. It just wouldn’t be right. So I left John’s room with my head up, and my book and other items tucked under my arm.
“He’s waking up,” I told John David, smiling for all I was worth.
Before I could say boo to a goose, John David was standing by my mother at John’s bedside. His face was full of hope.
It seemed to me that having people gathering around you, really hoping you lived, was the greatest testament to your life.
And abruptly, I was back to the mundane. I stopped by the nurses’ station. “Deedee,” I said, “I hate to tell you this, but my bag was just stolen from John’s room, while I was downstairs telephoning.”
She looked up at me with no comprehension, just at first. Then she was dismayed. “Out of a patient’s room,” she said, disgusted. “I’m really sorry. I hope you didn’t have much in it?”
“My driver’s license,” I said. “Thank God I’d put my car keys in my pocket. The bag was actually for my daughter’s stuff, because I thought Robin would be bringing her here.” I described it to Deedee in case someone found the discarded bag somewhere in the building. “Who should I tell about this?”
“Officer Rodenheiser. His office is on the second floor,” Nurse Tallchief said, with a significant smile.
“He’s really nice,” Nurse Stanley added, grinning.
Deedee shook her head. “They’re just trying to tell you he’s quite a man. He’ll be back on active duty soon, and we’re sure going to miss him.”
I got directions to track down Officer Rodenheiser, necessary because this hospital was confusing even for a Lawrenceton native. I only took one wrong turn (at Pediatrics) before I found the correct doorway.
It was easy to see why the nurses were so enthusiastic. Brad Rodenheiser was tall and blond. He clearly got some exercise. Quite a bit of exercise. His eyes were blue and steady. Well, wow. When he got up, I noticed he had a brace on his knee. That’s why he’d been off active duty.
Brad Rodenheiser wasn’t all about the good looks. He struck me as a capable policeman. Within a couple of minutes, he’d called up a form on his computer and started filling it in.
“I gather this happens often?” I said.
“All the time,” he rumbled. “Date of birth?”
I gave him the information he needed.
“I’m afraid the chance of getting your bag back intact is very slim. But I’m sure you’ve figured that out.” Officer Rodenheiser handed me a copy of my report. I started to put it away, then remembered I had nothing to put it in. “People take personal belongings from the patients’ rooms, they steal medical supplies off the carts, they grab scrubs out of the dressing rooms. Even food, if you can believe it. At least the drugs are locked up and heavily monitored.”
The hospital was a den of iniquity, not the place of respite and calm I’d thought it. It was disillusioning, but not a shock.
“The diaper bag was a gift. We’re really fond of the people who gave it to us. I can fall back on another one, but this is kind of special.” I almost felt like apologizing that my loss was so trivial.
All the way home I thought about the theft. In the grand scheme of things, it was not a big deal at all. But I was upset in a hurt way, and I was upset in an angry way. Two sides of the same reaction. I strode (if a person of my height can stride) into the house not knowing which stance to take, and I made the bad choice of trying both of them.
Robin was sitting in the living room with Sophie, who was just beginning to fuss. “Look,” he told Sophie brightly. “There’s Mama! Yahoo! Food!”
“Robin,” I said tragically, “my bag got stolen.”
His eyes went first to my huge leather bag, sitting slumped in a corner of the kitchen counter. He almost told me it was right there, before he thought twice. “Your bag,” he said cautiously.
“The diaper bag,” I said. “The striped green one with the designer emblem on it.”
“The diaper bag got stolen,” he repeated, as if verifying my information.
Luckily, I was able to restrain myself. “Yes,” I said through gritted teeth. “From the hospital room. Just now. At least I had my keys in my pocket.”
Robin could tell I wasn’t going to take the baby from him until I got a reaction, so he hurried to supply one. “And no one saw anything?” His voice was an appropriate blend of disbelief and outrage. “Someone came in the room when John was by himself?”
“Apparently,” I said, and described my trip downstairs to call Mother.
“So John’s awake,” Robin said. “That’s great. But the bag getting stolen … um … incredible. I’m sure you called the police. What did they say?”
I was getting myself under control by then. “There was a policeman right there in the hospital. He told me things go missing all the time, and he wrote down a description of the bag,” I said. “Maybe the thief will drop it in a garbage can at the hospital or somewhere outside, when he’s been through it.”
“That would be great,” Robin agreed, feeling it was safe to hand Sophie to me now. “Though you know … well, I’m sure that was the very best bag, but we got another one, from Jeff’s wife. It’s on the shelf in Sophie’s closet.”
“I remember,” I said, and realized I sounded ridiculous and petty. Time to shut up. I sat down with Sophie and pulled up my T-shirt, unsnapping the nursing bra. It was the most unexciting piece of lingerie I’d ever worn in my life, and I am not someone who collects pretty lingerie.
If I had to be honest—I didn’t, but I was going to—the green and white bag had seemed a little pretentious to me. A designer label on a baby bag? And the fact that it really didn’t look like a diaper bag had not been a recommendation, in my eyes. Why shouldn’t it look like what it was?
Robin was still looking for ways to be helpful. “While you’re feeding Sophie, walk through the scene in your mind. Maybe you can picture who was outside the room when you left with your phone.”
“I was pretty excited and intent on getting to a place where I could call Mother, but it can’t hurt to try.” While Sophie partook of refreshment, I closed my eyes and tried to re-create the scene. I stepped out of John’s room. There was the orderly who usually bathed and shaved John, a little guy with a lot of tattoos. There were the nurses going in and out of the circular desk area. Most of them were familiar to me by sight. There’d been one I hadn’t seen before, a stout woman with iron-gray hair and a serious overbite. But she’d
been talking to a woman I did know, so she must have checked out okay with the other nurses. And she had all the requisite accouterments: aqua scrubs, heavy sneakers, a lanyard around her neck with an ID tag, a chart in her hand. If she wasn’t the real thing, she was a master of camouflage.
There’d been a doctor sitting at the little desk in a cubbyhole designed for doctors to enter their notes and instructions in privacy. Dark-skinned and clean-shaven, that’s all I’d been able to see. He’d been bent over his work like he knew what he was doing. Had he had on a lanyard or a name tag? His back had been to me. I couldn’t have seen one. Aside from that, there was a woman walking away from the room. I listed all the passersby to Robin, who was still hovering. “That woman was maybe in her forties. She had short brown hair. Wearing a skirt and blouse. I’ll bet she was a relative, but none of the people I saw looked like purse thieves.” I scanned my brain a bit more. “Nope, that’s all I got.”
“It’s amazing you can remember that much,” Robin said, obviously surprised that his suggestion had proved so fruitful. “Shouldn’t the hospital have security cameras?”
“They do.” I told Robin about Officer Brad Rodenheiser’s office, trying not to sound too wistful. “The cameras are mostly pointed at the entrances and exits. So there might be some record of someone leaving with my bag.” I felt more cheerful. “Thanks, honey. Good idea.”
“I’m brimming with them,” he said, smiling. “I’ll call the hospital, if that’s okay with you.”
“Ahhh … actually, I have his card. You can call that number.”
Robin gave me a narrow-eyed look, but took the card and called the number. Robin had to leave a message, but within ten minutes Brad Rodenheiser called back.
“I’m Robin Crusoe. My wife’s bag was stolen there just an hour or so ago? She talked to you.” Pause. “Yes, the short woman with all the hair and the pink glasses.” Pause. “Yes, it was a diaper bag, not an actual purse, but it was a valued gift. Plus, you know, it’s hers.” Pause. “I’m absolutely certain you have more serious crimes to investigate,” Robin agreed. “But if this person stole from my wife in the ICU unit, he’ll steal more. Maybe already has. We were wondering if she could watch some security recordings? Oh, you were just about to…” Pause. “That’s great. Please let us know.”
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