He leaned forward, arms on the table. “You’re certain that you heard a cry?”
Her shoulders heaved. “Yes. Yes!” A tear slipped down her cheeks and she brought the napkin to her eyes. “It was a boy—I found that out later. But after I heard that cry, Dr. Vicari told me to get over there, and when I came close, I could see that the fet . . . uh, the, the infant was breathing.” Crumpling the napkin in her hands, she dropped them onto the table, looking at Peter.
“Glory Lynn was beside herself. She was crying and Doctor Vicari was telling Eileen to calm her down. He was worried about extracting the placenta, telling her to keep still.”
Clara’s eyes rolled toward the ceiling and then dropped back to Peter. “It was pandemonium in there, I’ll tell you. Glory Lynn struggling with Eileen like she wanted off the bed. When I reached him, Dr. Vicari shoved it into my hands, towel and all. I looked down and . . . and, it was so small.” Wide eyed, she looked at Peter, pausing, then she brushed the napkin over her face. “That’s when I saw it was a little boy.”
“And then what?”
“Well.” She sucked in a shuddering breath. “I just stood there holding it, waiting. I didn’t know what he wanted me to do.”
“What was the doctor doing at that moment?”
“He’d turned back to Glory Lynn.” She squeezed her eyes shut for an instant, then looked at him. “There was blood and he was telling Eileen to keep her still.” She dropped the wadded napkin onto the table and brushed her hands over her eyes. “And I’m standing there holding the infant, watching him struggling to breathe, moving his legs, his arms, and not believing what I’m seeing.” She shook her head.
Peter steepled his hands beneath his chin, studying her. “You’re certain of all of this?”
“Yes.” Clara jutted out her jaw and looked at him. “I’m not a fool.”
“I don’t take you for one.” He paused. “What happened next?”
“Well, Vicari finally noticed I was still there and he shouted at me, told me to take it away, take it away. He said to take it to the utility room. I thought maybe he hadn’t realized it was alive. I thought maybe he didn’t understand. So I said the baby was still breathing and I asked should I suction and call an ambulance?” She hesitated and lifted her shoulders. “I mean, it was alive!”
“And?”
“He said, no. He flew into a rage then. He turned around and took the baby from me. He wrapped the towel all around it, covering the face, too; like you’ve seen mummies wrapped? And then he handed it back to me. He’d covered him so I knew he couldn’t breathe.” She paused. “And then he turned back to Glory Lynn and said to get it out of there and put it in the utility room. Said I was upsetting his patient.”
“What did he mean . . . take it to the utility room?”
“That’s where medical waste is kept. There, or the freezer until it’s picked up.” She stared at him, as if deciding whether to go on.
He nodded.
“Well, I unwrapped the end of the towel from around the face and saw the baby still fighting to breathe. Dr. Vicari wasn’t paying any attention to me right then. He was all focused on Glory Lynn.”
She frowned and hunched forward, an intense look on her face. “I’d heard before, from a nurse at a clinic I worked in before coming to Alpha . . . I’d heard that sometimes when a fetus survives the abortion they’ll just let it die.”
“Was she talking about Vicari?”
“No. She just said that it happens.” Clara straightened and shook her head. “The whole point of using the induction procedure that late is to keep the fetus intact, so I guess I should have thought of that before.” She glanced at Mac. “It’s safer for the woman. But I’d never believed that some could live through the trauma.”
Peter fought the urge to close his eyes. He worked to keep his expression blank. “Did you ever hear anyone talking about that at the Alpha clinic?”
“No. But I hadn’t been there long. A little over a month. And Eileen mostly worked with the doctor. I took care of clients before and after.”
Peter took a deep breath.
Clara looked off.
Mac touched her arm. “Tell him the rest of it, Clara.”
After a tick she turned back to him. “I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t let the baby die alone. So I went into another procedure room, one way at the back of the clinic, where the lights were out. And I held him there in my arms until he died.” She folded her arms on the table and dropped her head on top of them. Then she sat there, hunched, and very still.
Peter’s throat seemed to close. An ache spread down his throat and into his chest. He put his hand on the aching spot, rubbing it as he looked at Clara Sonsten. To his left, Mac was writing. “What time did he pass away?”
“I don’t know.” She straightened. “Over an hour; maybe an hour and a half later. I can’t remember exactly, I was upset.”
Minutes passed. Then she added. “I quit the next morning.”
Peter’s eyes met Mac’s. There were a lot of holes, but even so, he thought maybe they had a case.
18
Alice Hamilton’s apartment was not far from Dr. Matlock’s office; easy to get to on the streetcar. Her apartment was on the second floor of a wooden house on Oak Street, on the downriver side of the streetcar tracks and only one block off Carrolton Avenue. The house was built in the 1940s and had seen its best days years ago, but the rent was low and she liked the location. Right across the street on the opposite diagonal corner there was a small family grocery store.
The living room of Alice’s apartment was spacious, and with two large windows, it got plenty of morning sunshine. She loved the light in this little place. The afternoon sun brightened up the kitchen, too, softened and shaded as it was by the elm tree in the yard. And there was one bedroom, with a small bath.
Alice was usually the last person to leave Dr. Matlock’s office. Today had been an unusually hectic day and she was tired. She hadn’t felt like cooking, so she’d stopped at Ciro’s for fresh vegetables for a salad. Now she sat at the small square aluminum table in the corner of the kitchen drinking her first cup of hot tea, deciding whether to bother making a salad, after all. Her feet rested on a chair that she’d dragged over, and that felt fine. Sipping the tea, she looked down at the Times-Picayune newspaper lying on the table, and the article that she’d just read for the second time. She’d seen it in the paper this morning and it had worried her all day. Until this morning, she’d felt quite comfortable living in this city. Long ago, before she’d moved to Chicago, New Orleans was home. She’d grown up here. When she’d finally returned after working for over thirty years at New Hope Hospital in Chicago, she’d felt like she’d never left. Her friends were all gone; and most of her family. But everything else was familiar.
Why had she even left in the first place?
But she knew. It was because of Charlie Braxton of course. She couldn’t stand it here, all alone, after he’d gone and died in the war. Couldn’t stand day after day seeing the places where they’d had such good times. She shrugged to herself and put down the teacup. That was back in the days—the 1940s—just after the war when she was young and stupid.
She dropped her hands into her lap and looked again at the article that she’d just read. Just a paragraph on page eleven, but it had caught her eye. Police were investigating an incident at Alpha Women’s Clinic in Metairie. The clinic was owned by Charles Vicari, a physician.
Turning her head, she gazed at the elm tree in the backyard. She’d thought of her job with Dr. Matlock as a kind of semi-retirement, really. Alice had saved a little, invested some. She’d had a choice whether to work or retire when she moved back to New Orleans. But she’d worked all her life and there wasn’t anything else to do but sit around, so she’d decided not to give up and just molder away.
References were the problem
, after what happened in Chicago. It hadn’t been easy, but she’d thought maybe she could pull it off if she stayed away from hospitals, and applied only for nursing jobs in private practice. Even then, she’d worried until she’d thought of going back to her maiden name here in New Orleans.
After a week or two, she’d interviewed with Dr. Roger Matlock as Alice Hamilton. It felt great to use her own name again after all those years; she realized that she was sick of carrying Charlie Braxton’s name and baggage around. She’d given New Hope Hospital in Chicago as a reference to the doctor, and figured if he came back and said they’d never heard of Alice Hamilton, she’d explain she’d used her married name, Braxton, up there. At least that would give her some breathing space. But, he hadn’t even checked. She supposed he must have been desperate, because he’d hired her on the spot.
Her Louisiana license was still recorded under her married name, but she’d kept it current, and that’s what really mattered. So . . . she tapped her fingers over the article on the table . . . she’d been shocked to see this article in the paper today. Chicago was supposed to have been left behind, and the name Alice Braxton, and all that had happened there.
Now what was she supposed to do?
19
She’d been home from Italy for almost a week, but it had taken a while to get in to see Dr. Matlock again. A smile lit his face as he walked into the examination room, followed by his nurse. Alice was her name, Rebecca recalled. He held her file in his hand.
“I’m glad to see you back, Mrs. Jacobs.” Behind him, Alice also smiled.
“Thanks, Doctor. I’d have been here sooner, but we took a short vacation, and when we returned, as usual there was a backup of work.”
He opened the file and ran his eyes down the page as he asked, “Where’d you go?”
“To Italy.”
“Let’s get started.” He put his hand on her back and pressed the stethoscope to her chest, listening. Then, nodding, he stepped back and told her to lie down. Then he pressed the stethoscope to her belly, listening.
The examination didn’t take long. She sat up, feeling relieved as he told her that she was healthy and the baby was growing.
“You’re about ten weeks along,” he said. “I’ll want to see you again soon. You can make the appointment when you leave.” He handed her a prescription for vitamins and a sample bottle, which she took, and said she should drink a lot of milk for the baby’s bones and teeth. Remembering the Robert’s Engineering meeting yesterday, she asked whether it would hurt if she traveled. She held her breath waiting for the answer, and in that instant decided she’d have to go if the client asked her, regardless of what he said.
“That’s fine. It’s still early,” he said. “Just take care.”
She let out her breath.
“Alice.” He turned to the nurse. “Please bring Mrs. Jacobs a copy of the baby book.” The nurse nodded and left the room.
“Great little book,” Doctor Matlock said, heading for the door. “You’ll enjoy looking at it. It’s our baby guide, lots of detail, some medical artist renderings, and even some pictures taken with special lenses, endoscopes, and microscopes. Shows how baby’s growing and changing during gestation. Sets out everything you need to watch for, and planning guides as you go along. And there are places for notes where you can put down changes you notice, like movement.”
“When will I feel it move?”
“Not for a while yet. You’ll feel some subtle movement any time now. But it will be a few months before you feel the real bouncing around.”
“Thanks, Doctor.”
Hand on the door, he turned back to her. “Remember, no alcohol. Take those vitamins. You don’t smoke, do you?”
“No.” The conference rooms were always filled with smoke. But that was only secondhand smoke, and she couldn’t do anything about that anyway.
“Good. Alice will be with you in a minute. I’ll see you soon.”
Rebecca dressed and sat in the chair by the desk waiting.
The door opened and the nurse, Alice, reappeared. Rebecca looked up, smiling at the older woman. “You’ll love looking at this,” Alice said as she handed a large, hard-covered book to Rebecca. “You’ll see the sonograms in here at each stage, like in the pamphlet we give out on the first visit. But this is much more detailed. It’ll show you baby’s growth almost week by week.” She stepped back, standing near the end of the examination table. “The medical artist’s pictures are wonderful. Someday maybe we’ll see be able to see clear photographs.”
Rebecca took the book and thanked her.
“Where did you go in Italy, on your trip?” Alice stood watching as Rebecca strapped her purse over her shoulder and tucked the book under her other arm, preparing to leave. Rebecca halted at the question.
“The Amalifi Coast. Have you ever been there?”
“No. Is it pretty?”
Rebecca perched on the edge of the desk, wrapping her arms around the large book. “I think it’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. It’s a rocky coastline along the boot of Italy, near Naples, going south. Some of the villages there are thousands of years old; some, like Pompeii, were destroyed in the first century when Mt. Vesuvius erupted. And the island of Capri is there. You can get there by ferry.”
Alice’s eyes took on a far-off look. “Sounds wonderful,” she said. “Someday, maybe.”
Rebecca stood and opened the door for the older woman. “We stayed in a small old village, Positano, but everywhere there is so beautiful. If I had to choose some place in the world to live besides the U.S.A., that’s where I’d want to end up.”
Alice stopped in the hallway. “Don’t forget to make your next appointment before you leave.”
That evening Rebecca worked later than usual. Earlier Roberts Engineering had delivered several boxes of information on the Auriel mine. She was sitting at her desk, engrossed in trying to understand gold assay reports when Amalise walked in.
“You’re still here.”
Rebecca looked up. She’d been so busy she hadn’t seen Amalise since returning from her trip to Italy.
“I saw Rose Marie on the elevator and she thought you’d gone.” Amalise pulled out a chair as Rebecca rubbed her eyes and heaved a sigh. Amalise leaned back, crossed her legs and glanced at the file. “What are you working on?”
“The new client I mentioned. The company’s considering a joint venture in a gold mine out in Nevada.” Rebecca linked her hands and stretched her arms out over the desk. The stretch felt good, after sitting there reading for hours. “There’s some litigation involved so I got Bill Brightfield to help, and guess what he did.” Without waiting for Amalise to answer, she went on.
“In the blink of an eye he came into my office and tossed an assignment from his pile on my desk.”
Amalise laughed. “You should have known. He does that.”
“Yes, I should’ve. But it’s too late now. He’s got me writing an appellate brief on one of his cases.”
“Good grief!”
“That’s not quite what I was thinking, but”—she grimaced—“yeah.” Then she shrugged. “Anyway, I’m stuck with that, but I’m thinking it’s not too bad. It’s an interesting issue. And this mining deal will be fun if it goes.”
“How’re things. How are you feeling?”
“I saw the doctor today. Guess I’ll have to tell everyone the news soon.” She patted her stomach. “I’m sure it’s a girl. I’m calling her Daisy, in my mind.”
Amalise smiled. “Did you tell Peter while you were in Italy?”
“He’s thrilled. He’s convinced he’ll have a son.” Rebecca pulled back her hair, twisted it at the nape of her neck, and let it fall. “How’s Luke these days? I haven’t seen him in a while. Tell him to come around next time he comes to the office with you.”
“He’ll be here Saturday
. He’s crazy about you.” Amalise looked down as she picked a loose thread from her skirt. “You know, you’re pretty good with kids, without realizing. You’ll be a good mother. You let me know if there’s anything at all that I can do to help.” She glanced up. “Are you going to keep working after?”
“Of course.”
Amalise laughed. “Why did I bother to ask?”
“I suppose the firm will offer maternity leave when I tell them. Three months.” Rebecca picked up a pencil beside her and flipped it, catching it just before it landed on the desk. “I haven’t decided whether I’ll do that or not.” She shrugged, looking at Amalise. “Maybe I’ll take off a couple of weeks.”
“Have you and Peter figured out how you’re going to manage work time after?”
“Peter won’t be any help. He’ll want to, but that’ll be impossible with his job—trial courts wait for no man, and all of that.” She rolled the pencil on the desk with the flat of her fingers, giving this all of her attention. “I’ll hire nannies, a live-in, or maybe several shifts.”
Looking up, she caught Amalise’s smile.
“No problem,” Rebecca added irritably, wondering why Amalise had brought up the subject. Perhaps she thought this was her chance to get rid of the competition.
20
“So what do you think?”
It was Saturday morning and Peter looked up to see Mac standing in the doorway, hands jammed in his pockets.
“I just finished reading your report on Clara Sonsten.” Peter put the pages down and hooked one arm back over the chair. “It’s good. Very good. I need to put something together that I can take to Ham.” Hamilton Jadet, the district attorney, was only the first hurdle, he knew. “We need a time line. How many minutes passed between the infant’s birth and death, and where did he spend each minute. You think you can get that out of Clara?”
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