Some Other Child

by Buchbinder, Sharon

  “Mrs. Woods, I’d like you to meet Dr. Sarah Wright.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Woods. Bernice tells me you’re looking for a roommate.”

  “I could sure use the company. Bad enough I’m blind. Without a roommate, this room is like a morgue. I need a little more liveliness in here. Look around, tell me what you think.”

  The room was large, with two hospital beds and one bathroom, two closets, two large dressers, and two large nightstands, one empty like the bed it accompanied. The nightstand next to Mrs. Woods’ bed was cluttered with belongings, including a CD player and a stack of audio books. In the center of the nightstand, was a large eight by ten color photograph of Aunt Ida.

  Sarah stared at the picture, her mouth suddenly feeling as if it had been stuffed with cotton.

  “Isn’t that a wonderful photograph?” Ms. Evans said.

  “Oh, you say that about all the children,” Elizabeth said with a proud smile.

  “No, I mean it. That’s a marvelous photograph of your daughter. I’ve met her, so I know what I’m talking about,” Ms. Evans said.

  “I just wish she could come here to visit me more often. I miss her so much,” Elizabeth said and sighed.

  “Well, I’m working on that as we speak,” said Bernice. “Sarah, please say your mother will be Elizabeth’s roommate. That way, I can impose on you to help me bring her daughter to visit more often. I’m getting too old to handle children.”

  It wasn’t a photograph of Aunt Ida. The woman in the photograph had a flat nose and a slack jawed expression that Sarah missed at first glance. Aunt Ida was on her brain. She was seeing her everywhere.

  “Well,” said Ms. Evans, “She’s a lovely child and even lovelier without her glasses.”

  Without her glasses? Of course! She was Bessie, the girl in the archived photograph. The very person she’d been searching for. It seemed like the poster and the trip to medical archives were years in the past, instead of just a few days ago. Sarah brought her attention back to the present. First and foremost, she had to attend to her mother.

  “Ms. Evans and I still have a few details to work out, but I promise to have an answer to you today. Is that okay with you ladies?”

  “Yes, yes,” they said in unison.

  “Good. I’ll be back soon.”

  Ms. Evans and Sarah walked the short distance back to her office. Sarah felt like she was entering the honeymoon suite at an upscale hotel. Sarah complimented Ms. Evans on the décor.

  “Thank you, it’s my hobby. I got tired of being locked indoors for ten hours a day. Life is too short for ugly workspaces.”

  “Then I won’t invite you to my windowless office anytime soon.”

  Ms. Evans sat behind her large cherry desk. “What can I do to help you decide about your mother’s placement?”

  “My mother’s retired from the federal government. She worked for the feds for over twenty years. She has an excellent pension that’s being automatically deposited into her checking account. She used to take great pride in paying her bills the day after they arrived.” She paused.

  “Did something happen to change that?”

  “Five years ago, she fell under the spell of a televangelist. She allowed him to automatically deduct a thousand dollars a month from her checking account. Her finances are in a shambles. My lawyer, Sol Weinstein, is in the process of petitioning the court so I can be her guardian. I work for Hopkins, but my salary isn’t in the six-figure range.”

  Sarah stopped, overwhelmed at the prospect of more bills.

  Ms. Evans sighed. “I’m afraid your story is a familiar one. It’s not uncommon for elderly people to fall victim to con artists and swindlers. Some spend much of their fixed income on magazine sweepstakes, believing they’ll be the next winner. It’s tragic.”

  Sarah’s voice quavered. “How can I afford to place my mother here?”

  “First of all, I commend you for taking steps to protect her. The good news is that with Medicare she’s eligible for a post-hospitalization stay in a skilled nursing facility for up to one hundred days. You’ll have to pay co-insurance.”

  “What about Medicaid when Medicare runs out? How do I find out if she’s eligible for that?”

  “We have a specialist here on staff who will work with you.” Ms. Evans clasped her hands. “What other questions do you have for me?”

  “What if I have problems paying the coinsurance? It could add up fast. I could be fighting with my dog for his dinner at that rate.”

  “Good heavens,” Ms. Evans laughed. “I certainly hope you won’t be eating dog food. Worst case scenario, the State of Maryland can help her qualify for charity care.”

  “I’m afraid I’ll be qualifying for charity care.” Sarah blew out a huge breath. “And doing my own coma stimulation program.”

  “Well, don’t give up just yet. Once you get her finances under control, you may find you can afford the program. So, does that mean you’ve decided to place your mother here?”

  “Yes. Thank you for answering my questions and for being so honest with me.”

  “I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror in the morning if I wasn’t.”

  “If it’s okay with you, I’m going to go tell Elizabeth my mother is moving in with her. This should make Bernice a happy lady. I’ll speak with the social worker and find out what the next steps are.”

  “Wonderful. Here are some brochures. If you have any questions I can answer, please call me. I look forward to seeing you here.”

  Sarah found her way back to Elizabeth’s room.

  “Congratulations, Mrs. Woods,” Sarah announced like a game show host, “You are getting a roommate. She’s not very chatty. However, I guarantee I will make up for her silence by reading books to both of you when I come to visit. Is that a good deal?”

  Elizabeth clapped her hands. “I love to listen to books.”

  “Sarah,” Bernice said. “That’s fabulous news. I can’t wait until you meet Mitzi.”

  “Mitzi? Who’s Mitzi?”

  “Why, my niece, of course,” Bernice said.

  “I thought her name was Bessie?”

  “Yes, her name is Bessie Mitzi Woods,” Bernice replied. “The family calls her Mitzi.”

  Sarah stared at the photograph again. Another Mitzi? How many could there be?

  “Sarah?” Bernice asked.

  “What? I’m sorry, I was just wondering how many people are named Mitzi. My Aunt’s cat is named Mitzi.”

  “Pets are such good company,” Elizabeth said. “Too bad I can’t keep a cat here.”

  “Sarah, didn’t you tell me when we first met that you were looking for Elizabeth? What was that about?”

  “Oh, um, ah,” Sarah scrambled to come up with a reasonable response. Now that she knew these dear ladies, how could she ask them to allow Bessie/Mitzi’s childhood photograph to be on a poster for a congenital syphilis study? How bizarre would that be?

  “Didn’t you say you work at the Johns Hopkins Medical School?” Bernice asked.

  “Yes, I’m in the Department of Pediatrics.”

  “Oh, isn’t it a small world? I graduated from Hopkins Nursing School,” Elizabeth said.

  “Really? I thought the Nursing School has only been around since the eighties.”

  “That’s the baccalaureate program,” Elizabeth said. “When I graduated from the Johns Hopkins Nursing School in 1941, almost all nurses were diploma school graduates. Hopkins had a three year program, one of the most rigorous in the country.” She pushed a hair away from her face and sighed. “We trained twelve to fourteen hours a day, seven days a week. When we graduated, we could work in homes as private duty nurses, or in hospitals. I took the Maryland and the District of Columbia Nursing License Exams and passed both with flying colors.”

  “How’d you meet your husband?”

  “He was a head resident at Hopkins. I met him on a medical surgical unit. It was love at first sight.” She giggled. “We used to sne
ak to the clean utility room. One time, my head nurse caught us kissing. I thought I’d be fired on the spot, but she had a boyfriend who was a resident, too. We married after I graduated from nursing school and he completed his residency. We moved to Washington, D.C. Less than a year later, he got called up.”

  “World War II?”

  “Yes. He went off to the Pacific Theater. I was twenty-one years old, all alone, and living in a new city. The Army Nurse Corps wouldn’t take married women, so I went back to work.” She yawned.

  “You look tired, Elizabeth,” Bernice said. “I think you’ve had enough excitement today.”

  “Now that you mention it, I could use a little snooze,” Elizabeth said. “You’re a good listener, Sarah. I can’t wait for your mother to move in so we can talk some more. I have lots of stories.”

  “I’ll be back to hear them soon.”

  Bernice leaned over the side of the bed and gave Elizabeth a peck on the cheek. “Have a nice nap, hon,” Bernice said. “I’ll see you on Friday. I’m going to go see Mitzi tomorrow.”

  “Give her my love,” Elizabeth said.

  “I will,” Bernice said.

  Sarah tried not to stare at the photograph on her way out the door. She didn’t want Bernice to think she was gawking at her niece. Well, if everyone has a doppelganger, Sarah had just seen her aunt’s. She’d have to introduce them someday—if she could find the real Ida Katz.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ida hugged the ragged quilt around her shoulders and lifted her left hand up as high as she could to combat the throbbing pain. Someone paced overhead. She guessed it wasn’t the sadistic monster with dark hair. She could hear muffled shouting, but couldn’t make out the words.

  Her hand was numb. She lowered it with care, and brought it closer to her face for inspection. She’d fought like a cat when the creep turned on the power saw. Ida had thrown herself at the smaller man, knocking him down.

  In the melee, the big oaf had cut himself in the thigh. He’d run around the garage spraying blood everywhere. The little one had duct-taped Ida’s wrists to the workbench, then dragged the shrieking man into the house. They’d returned a long time later with a towel wrapped around his leg.

  “Now we’re really pissed,” the man said as he limped over to her.

  “You didn’t need an excuse, you sadist,” Ida said and spat in his face. Spittle oozed through his stocking mask as he reached over and grabbed her hand.

  “Do it,” he ordered.

  The smaller man forced the bottle of GHB between Ida’s lips. Liquid dribbled down her neck. The world began to spin. The last thing she saw before passing out was the pair of metal snips approaching her hand.

  When she woke up, she was back in the basement, shackled to the bed, a black zip tie cinched below a knuckle. Her wedding ring was gone, along with the top of her left pinkie finger.

  Footsteps overhead again. This time the door opened and the smaller one came down the stairs. “Lucky you had antibiotics and painkillers in your house. Otherwise, you’d be in a world of hurt right now. If I were you, I’d take a lot of these. I don’t think the metal snips were sterile.”

  Ida hugged the quilt closer and glared at the smaller thug. Was that a man or a woman? The stocking distorted the person’s features. Despite the deep, husky voice, and the unisex overalls, this one moved in a distinctly feminine manner.

  Deep within an angry Ida began to stir. All those years ago, she’d been helpless, a child abused by an adult who should have protected her. With Ethel’s help, she had survived. Now she was old and vulnerable, with no one to protect her but herself. By God, she wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” She raised her voice. “What do you want?”

  “All in good time, Ida. When we’re ready to let you in on our little secret, you’ll be the first to know,” the man-woman said and began to turn away, a definite sway of the hips giving her away. It was a woman.

  “How could you? Women aren’t supposed to act like this. What kind of monster are you?”

  The woman stopped, nodded, climbed the steps, and slammed the door.

  Day? Night? Ida had no watch; they’d taken it away. She had no way of telling time, except through the sounds of footsteps overhead and the appearance of meals. She thought of her senior citizen self-defense class. Purse snatchers and other would-be assailants had been covered in depth, along with ways to prevent yourself from becoming a victim, like shredding your bills and tax returns, locking your house up and having people collect papers off your lawn. But not once had they ever discussed kidnapping.

  What would Ethel do? Ida wondered. Her street smart friend had always been ready to protect Ida, chin up, fists cocked at the slightest provocation. She’d never taken crap from anyone. How would Ethel handle this scenario?

  Six sandwiches after she woke up with a zip tie on her pinky finger, Ida stopped taking her pain medication. Fearful of being too groggy or overdosing, she began to stuff the pills into the holes in the quilt, burrowing into what remained of the cotton batting. Nine sandwiches later, the stump of her pinky finger began to turn bluish black. At least it didn’t hurt anymore. She hoped the color and tissue death wouldn’t extend to her hand.

  The door opened, and the man and the woman descended the stairs. He limped across the room and stood in front of Ida. “Time to let you in on our secret,” he said and pulled off the stocking.

  Heart skipping erratically, Ida gaped at the dark-haired man with the gap-toothed smile who had often worked on the electrical problems at her house.

  “Patrick?” Ida asked. “I don’t understand.”

  The woman stepped around Patrick. “Maybe this will help.” She removed her stocking mask.

  Ida stared at the blonde woman without a single spark of recognition going off in her brain. She may be old, but she wasn’t senile. This person was a complete stranger. “I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

  “Oh, yes you have. Once a week for a year.” The woman smirked. “Oo otay, Miz Idah? Oo nee hellup?”

  “Betty?” Ida whispered. Without the thick glasses, hearing aids and what was now clearly a wig, the housekeeper was a lethal look alike for Jayne Mansfield. “How could you?”

  Patrick laughed. “Well, that was fun.” He slurred his words. “Time to get down to business.” He sat down on the bed. “Gimme that paper.”

  Betty handed him a legal pad along with a pen.

  “Okay, lady, time for you to start writing. We’re not looking for memoirs. Just your last will and testament, leaving all your worldly belongings to your beloved housekeeper, Betty Reed. Start with this: ‘I, Ida Mae Katz, being of sound mind’.”

  “You can’t do this,” Ida said. “I already have a will.”

  “You know, for a rich old biddy, you really don’t know law, do you?”

  “My estate is going to Ethel and Sarah. You can’t change that,” Ida said. “My lawyer knows what to do, has everything on file.”

  “Tisk, tisk. I guess you never heard about all the old men who marry young women and have a change of heart,” Betty said. “It’s called a ‘holographic will.’ You write it, we pass go, and collect a million dollars!” She laughed in a crazed cackle.

  Barely able to believe her own ears—which had perfect hearing—Ida stared at the altered creature before her. Betty sounded as if she belonged in a lockdown unit for the criminally insane. She had to connect with the lunatic, get her to listen to reason. “Why me? Why did you target me?”

  “Because you’re a sweet little old lady who believes the best about everyone.” Betty snorted. “You chose poorly.”

  Patrick shoved the pad and pen toward Ida. “Start writing.”

  “You’ll never get away with it. Sarah will identify you in court. You won’t get a dime.”

  “Lucky for us, we already took care of the mother and we’re going to take care of the daughter.”

  Her stomach plummeted. Ethel’s fal
l hadn’t been an accident. Now they were after Sarah. She had to stop them. But how? She glanced around the basement, hoping for something, anything to use as a weapon.

  “Oh, Ida,” Patrick sing-songed, “Time-to-wrida!”

  She stared at his bloodshot eyes and leaned away from the man, trying to avoid the beer fumes he puffed out with each word. What would Ethel do?

  “C’mon, Ida,” Betty said. “We don’t have all day. We’ve got places to go, people to kill. Start writing.”

  Ida gripped the pen until her knuckles turned white. What would Ethel do?

  “Do hereby leave all my personal assets to my beloved housekeeper, Betty Reed,” the blonde said and paced across the room.

  Patrick leaned against her shoulder, breathing on her neck, “Write it!”

  Images of her stinking step-father rose up before her, obliterating Patrick’s face, filling the basement with his smells and coarse voice. “Don’t you ever lock this door again. I’ll kill your mother like I killed your kitten. Girlchik,” he shouted and blurred into the monster sitting before her. “You’ll do what I tell you to do.”

  “No,” Ida screamed and jabbed the ballpoint at Patrick’s eye.

  * * * *

  Sarah arrived home and found Betty sitting on the top step by her kitchen door. Shirt buttoned on all the wrong buttons and half pulled out of her jeans, Betty looked as if she’d gotten dressed in the dark. Her hair stuck out at odd angles, and her glasses were awry. She looked as if she had been crying. Winston barked incessantly inside the house. “Betty, what’s wrong? You look terrible!”

  “Oo nee hellup me!”

  “Why don’t you come inside and we’ll talk.” Sarah attempted to put the key in the door.

  “Nooo!” Betty pulled on her arm. “Must cum wit me!”

  “Okay, okay, I’m coming.”

  Winston was going to have to wait a few minutes more.

  Betty half dragged Sarah over to Aunt Ida’s house. They entered the kitchen and stood by the center island.