Some Other Child

by Buchbinder, Sharon

  SOME OTHER CHILD

  By Sharon Buchbinder

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, businesses, and incidents are from the author’s imagination, or used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual places, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any trademarks mentioned herein are not authorized by the trademark owners and do not in any way mean the work is sponsored by or associated with the trademark owners. Any trademarks used are specifically in a descriptive capacity.

  Cover Art provided by Wicked Muse Covers

  ©September, 2012; Sharon Buchbinder

  To my husband, Dale, who fills my life with love and romance, and to our son, Joshua, who brings joy to our family.

  Prologue

  Chicago, Illinois

  Exhausted after a long day of teaching classes and endless rounds of revisions on her dissertation, Sarah Wright opened the front door to the house she shared with her fiancé and was almost knocked down by the dog. Gandalf’s scramble of paws and claws left a wake of mail scattered across the foyer and into the kitchen.

  “Great.” She shrugged out of her blazer, tossed it onto a chair, and began to play fifty-two pick up. Her neck prickled. Sarah looked up from the mail. A giant gray slobbering monster stood with his front paws on the glass door, the fog of his breath mixing with mud smears. More work. She edged the door open and forced Gandalf to sit while she wiped his filthy feet. “Gandalf, it’s time we had a ‘come-to-Sarah’ talk about your behavior.”

  The gray beast turned his back to her, raised his leg and peed on her jacket.

  “Fabulous. What else can go wrong?”

  Moments later, her fiancé strolled in the door, whistling a cheerful tune.

  Sanitizer barely dried on her hands, Sarah spoke through gritted teeth. “Gandalf pissed on my coat. Get rid of that dog.”

  Dan Rosen leaned over and gave Sarah a bear hug. She buried her face in his shirt and breathed in a mixture of aftershave and masculine scent.

  “That’s his way of showing he likes you.” Dan kissed her brow. “You should be honored.”

  “I’d hate to know what he’d do to shower me with love.” The canine in question slunk behind the sofa. “Give him back to your ex-girlfriend.”

  Dan quirked a brow. “Jealous?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Methinks the lady doth protest---”

  Sarah put her fingers over his mouth, stood on her tiptoes, and gazed into his chocolate brown eyes. She loved him from the top of his head at six-feet, two inches, dark hair flecked with white, all the way down to his size ten shoes. His dog, however, was a different matter. “He gives me the evil eye. I swear he’s laughing at me.”

  The ring of the phone interrupted her appeal.

  “Sarah, please come,” her mother sobbed. “There’s been a terrible car accident.'

  A chill slithered down Sarah's spine. Not again.

  “What happened?” White knuckled, she clutched the phone and mouthed ‘my mother’ at Dan.

  “Some idiot slammed into me. The police say it’s my fault.”

  Sarah shook her head. Same story, different day. “How much did you drink?”

  A long silence. Sarah sighed. “How bad?”

  “My legs are broken. Ida's too old to help me. I can't ask your brother. He has a wife and a child to support. Your sister won't talk to me.” She paused. “You're a nurse without a job.”

  “I'm in a doctoral program, not unemployed.”

  “Don't make me beg.”

  Her mother began to weep and Sarah's vow not to fall back into her old ways began to waver. Arrows of guilt pierced her resolve. Who else would come to the aid of this difficult elderly woman?

  “I can't walk, drive, or do anything for myself.”

  Sarah closed her eyes and sighed already regretting her next words. “Okay, Mom. I'll come.”' She placed the phone on the receiver and turned to Dan.

  Dan stared down at her with an expression of disbelief. “DUI, right?”

  She nodded. “She needs me.”

  He took her face in his hands. “Look at me.”

  She locked her gaze with his.

  “This woman sent you away to live with your deaf grandmother and didn't visit you for years.”

  “A nasty divorce. An alcoholic husband. Three little kids. What was she supposed to do?”

  “Hardly a loving mother. You have physical and emotional scars, Sarah.”

  Tears welled up in her eyes. “That’s history. She's changed. I heard it in her voice. She asked for me, not Matt, not Debra, me.”

  Dan closed his eyes, and the muscles worked in his jaw. Raised in a normal household, he’d never understand what it meant to be the adult child of an alcoholic. They came from different planets, not just different religions.

  An idea occurred to her. “You grew up in Baltimore. Your mom still lives in the city. Visit your mom and me at the same time.”

  His eyes flew wide open. “You can't stand Gert.”

  Sarah shrugged. “I’ll get to know her better while I'm in Baltimore.”

  “Don't do this, Sarah. Ethel's an alcoholic—a mean one. Stay here. I love you.”

  She glanced at Gandalf. He stared back at her with doggy daggers.

  Dan followed her gaze. “Well, okay, he is a pain in the ass.”

  She kissed the tip of his nose. “Thanks for that admission, at least. I love you, too, but if I don’t go and something happens to her, I could never live with myself.”

  “You can't keep running to rescue her.”

  She shook her head. “I won’t abandon her.”

  He threw his hands up. “Go. But mark my words: One of these days she's going to get drunk and kill herself.”

  Chapter One

  Baltimore, Maryland

  One Year Later

  Sarah pulled into her cul-de-sac and screeched to a halt.

  “What in the world?” Three Baltimore County police cars and an ambulance parked at crazy angles in her driveway. She rolled down her sleet-streaked window, and a grim-faced police officer greeted her.

  “Ma’am, this area is closed off for an investigation.”

  “That house with all the emergency vehicles—it’s mine. I live here. What happened?” She spotted a familiar man standing a few feet away, chatting with another officer. “Officer Mike,” she called, “remember me?”

  He waved at her and picked his way across the ice-coated street. Her mind raced with possibilities. That morning, as usual, her mom was asleep when she got up. Sarah had left the coffee pot on a timer and a bowl of her mother’s favorite cereal on the kitchen table. She’d called in to check in on her mother around ten in the morning. She seemed fine, her normal crusty self complaining about the yard Nazis notes about her clothesline. Sarah had told her mother she was stopping at the grocery store after work, and to call if she needed anything. She’d never called. Sarah gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white. Had something happened to Aunt Ida? Had a neighbor stopped by and been injured? Or had her mother—“Dear God,” she prayed, “Please don’t let it be Mom.”

  Just as Officer Mike reached the side of her car, she heard a dog bay. She’d know that howl anywhere. She clutched the edge of the open window. “What’s going on?”

  His expression grave, he pointed toward the house. “Detective Engelman wants to speak with you.”

  Mike grabbed Sarah’s arm and guided her across the patches of ice up to the house. As they rounded a corner, two EMTs rushed toward them with a laden gurney.

  “What happened? Mom, can you hear me?" Sarah pulled away from Mike, lunged for the gurney, and f
ell.

  Mike pulled her up to her feet. “Ms. Wright, let them do their job.”

  She wrenched out of his grasp and body blocked the paramedics. “Tell me what happened to my mother.”

  “She fell. She’s alive—but just barely. We have to get her to the ER,” the EMT pushed past her.

  Sarah caught sight of her mother’s silver hair spread across a tiny white pillow. A green plastic oxygen mask covered her face. Wrapped in dark blankets, the motionless form drove a knife of guilt into Sarah’s heart. If only she’d gotten home earlier. Maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

  “I’m riding with you on the ambulance,” she said to the EMTs.

  Mike was at her side again. “You can’t go with them, Ms. Wright. You have to speak with Detective Engelman first.”

  A howl rose into the frigid air again. In the glare of emergency lights, she could see Winston, her mother’s eighty-pound Weimaraner, tied to a tree with a rope.

  “At least let me get Winston inside. I can’t leave him out here. It’s freezing,” Sarah said.

  An EMT shouted, “Sinai’s ER is on bypass. We’re going to GBMC.”

  “I’ll get the dog. You go in the house,” Mike said.

  Sarah climbed the back steps and opened the kitchen door, fearful of what she’d find. A stocky man with salt and pepper hair stared at her as she entered the small room.

  “I’m Detective Engelman. Who are you?” His voice conveyed an attitude that said, “And don’t even think about lying to me.”

  “Sarah Wright,” she said. “I live here. What happened?”

  He nodded. “Here’s what we know. Officer Corrigan responded to a noise complaint. He found your mother on the ground in the back yard, unconscious, with the dog next to her. The EMTs said your mother has a head injury and hypothermia. We have no idea how long she was out there. If it hadn’t been for the dog keeping her warm, she’d probably be dead.”

  Taking a deep breath, Sarah struggled to put the chaotic bits of information into a recognizable pattern.

  The detective stared at her. “Can you tell me your whereabouts today?”

  “I was at work all day. I spoke with my mother at ten this morning. She was fine. I stopped at the store on my way home.”

  Why was he acting as if she was under suspicion? All she’d been doing for the past year was take care of her mother. Sarah's life revolved around work, taking care of her mother, housework and sleep. She felt guilty enough about working late and running to the store. Was he trying to make her feel worse?

  “You have proof of your whereabouts?”

  “Are you serious?” Her voice was sharper than she intended, but his questions were keeping her away from her mother.

  He spoke slower. “Do you have witnesses of where you’ve been today?”

  Anger began to bubble up in her chest. She tried to tell herself he was just doing his job, told herself not to take it personally, but she could feel the anger begin to bubble up in her chest. She’d done nothing wrong and his tone was one she’d expect a cop would use with a hardened felon, not a worried, grieving daughter. She spoke through gritted teeth. “Yes, I have witnesses from work.”

  “Do you have a time-stamped receipt from the store?”

  “In my car, with the groceries. How about asking me these questions on the way to the hospital? I need to be with my mother.”

  “Ms. Wright, does your mother have any illnesses that would cause her to wander, say, dementia?”

  Sarah stared at the Detective and swallowed hard. Had he no compassion? “No. She doesn’t have Alzheimer’s, if that’s what you’re implying.” She took a deep breath and sighed. The definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results. She decided to change tactics, go with a nothing-but-the facts tone, since the cop wasn’t responding to her emotional pleas. “What time did it start to sleet today?”

  “When my shift began. Around three.”

  By that hour, Sarah thought, Mom and one of her ‘boys’, Jack Daniels, Johnny Walker, Mr. Bell, or Old Granddad, would have been having a jolly old time.

  ”She was probably drunk.” Sarah blew out a long breath. “She’s an alcoholic. Has been for years.”

  Winston burst into the kitchen. She put her arms around the dog and buried her face in his velvety ears.

  “You saved Mom’s life.” He licked her face, and she realized she was crying. She turned to the detective. So what if he was made of granite. She wasn’t going to apologize for her tears. “If you don’t mind, I’m going give him a warm meal. He’s freezing and hungry.”

  He shrugged. “I’ll take a look around while you’re doing that.”

  Aunt Ida, a seventy-five-year-old Jewish Aunt Bea, let herself into the kitchen. “Sarahlei,” she puffed, short of breath. “I just got home from my senior citizen self defense class and saw the police cars. Oy! You look terrible!”

  “Mom’s had a bad accident. It looks like she took Winston outside and fell on the ice.” Or to hide her empties where I wouldn’t see them, Sarah thought.

  Aunt Ida sat down hard in a kitchen chair, unbuttoned her coat, and fanned her face with her hand. “Oy vey iz mir! Where is she now?”

  “On the way to the hospital. I was just getting Neferkitty and Winston fed. He’s a hero. He kept Mom from freezing to death.” Winston leaned against her leg. “If only I’d gotten here sooner. I wish I had skipped the grocery store.”

  Sarah sat down in a chair next to Aunt Ida and held the older woman’s tiny hand. She looked so fragile. Sarah had to be optimistic for the poor dear. “Remember when she totaled her car last year? If she survived that, she can survive this adventure. Mom’s hard-headed.”

  Aunt Ida gave Sarah a weak smile. “Ethel’s always done everything on her own terms.”

  Once again, Sarah wondered how Aunt Ida and her mother could be friends. Such an odd couple. Aunt Ida was a kind, generous woman. Her mother was mean and tightfisted. Aunt Ida was a Reform Jew, and a political moderate. Ethel had a near-fanatical devotion to that Harry Potter-hating televangelist, Reverend Bobby Moore.

  Sarah felt a rush of affection for Aunt Ida. “Why don’t you come with me to the hospital?”

  “When can we go?” Aunt Ida dabbed her red eyes with a handkerchief.

  As if on cue, Detective Engelman entered the kitchen, wearing latex gloves and carrying an empty bottle of Jack Daniels. “I’ll be asking for a blood alcohol level when we get to the ER.”

  “Yes, of course.” Now that’s a no-brainer, Sarah thought.

  He held out a tiny bottle. “Any idea what this is, Ms. Wright? It looks like water, but that remains to be seen.”

  Sarah shook her head. “No clue.”

  “If we examine this for fingerprints, will we find yours on it?”

  Again, with the accusations. The man had a one-track mind. She was just about ask if she needed to call a lawyer when Aunt Ida spoke.

  “You’ll find mine.”

  Detective Engelman stared at the elderly woman as if she’d just materialized out of thin air. “And you are?”

  “Ida Mae Katz.”

  “You know what this is?”

  “An anti-aging compound, great for insomnia. Ethel told me she had trouble sleeping. I had an extra, so I gave it to her.” She squinted at the bottle and frowned. “I wonder if she spilled it. It was full last Friday. Shouldn’t be empty if she’s just taking two to three drops at night. I don’t mind spending money, but it shouldn’t go to waste. That little bottle cost fifty bucks.”

  “Mind telling me where you got this?” Detective Engelman voice had a razor sharp edge.

  “I bought it from Shirley Rubenstein. We play Mah Jong together.”

  “Anyone ever tell you what this ‘anti-aging compound’ contains?”

  “G-something.” She tapped a red, heart-shaped birthmark on her left cheekbone, as she always did when she was trying to remember something. “Oh. Now I remember.” Her neck and face f
lushed. “I think Shirley called it ‘Great Hormones at Bedtime.’ Yes, that’s it. Everyone at Mah Jong laughed when she said it.”

  Detective Engelman wasn’t laughing. “GHB. I’ll be asking for a blood level on that, too.”

  Sarah’s stomach cramped and knotted.GHB? As if alcohol wasn’t bad enough, her mother had ingested an illicit, potentially deadly drug, too. Could it get any worse?

  “Is there a problem?” Aunt Ida asked her bright blue eyes darting between the cop and Sarah.

  “You may have purchased an illegal substance,” Detective Engelman said.

  “I don’t understand,” Aunt Ida looked toward Sarah, her sweet face creased into a puzzled expression.

  The detective looked at Aunt Ida with a mixture of sadness and pity. “GHB’s a date rape drug. Combined with alcohol, it can cause coma and death,” Detective Engelman said in a gentle voice.

  Well, Sarah thought, maybe this crusty guy had a shred of empathy, after all.

  “A rape drug? Coma? Death? What have I done?” Aunt Ida dropped her face into her hands and sobbed.

  “You didn’t know.” Sarah squeezed her hand. “Someone took advantage of you.”

  “Now what?” Aunt Ida asked. “Do you arrest me? I have to call my lawyer, Sol Weinstein. He’ll know what I have to do. Will I need bail?”

  “Whoa. Slow down.” The detective put his palm out like a traffic cop. “Take some deep breaths. We really don’t know if this is GHB.”

  The detective seemed flustered. Maybe he wasn’t used to hysterical little old ladies. Maybe he’d be relieved to get away from Aunt Ida.

  “I want to see my mother.” Sarah stood. “Can we go now?”

  He seemed to soften. “If you’re up to it, I’ll take you both to the ER.”

  “I’ve been ready since I heard the news.” Aunt Ida straightened her back and shoulders, buttoned her coat, clutched Sarah’s hand, and pushed herself out of the chair.

  “Winston, guard the house,” Sarah ordered. The poor creature could barely lift his head off his bed and thump his stubby tail.