He smiled. His dark hair was combed straight back, a few strands stretched flat over a thinning spot in the back. He was self-conscious about his hair loss, but I didn’t care. I loved the weathered look, and as far as I was concerned, he grew more handsome with age. Men were lucky that way. Even his wrinkles were cute.
“What’s your day look like today?” I asked.
“Two surgeries. Three consults.”
Christopher was an orthopedic surgeon at Northfield Memorial, the same hospital where I worked. Northfield was the largest regional hospital in Ohio, and we’d met in the cafeteria while he was a first-year medical student back when he used to work all day and study all night. He’d been so focused and goal driven that he almost hadn’t noticed me, but his work ethic had paid off. It had landed him a residency followed by a specialty placement.
“Anything interesting?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Oh, before I forget to tell you, make sure you read the email from Bianella. She wants us to go to a seminar next weekend on international adoption. There’s supposed to be a panel of parents talking about some of the hidden challenges in international adoptions,” he said.
Bianella was our adoption specialist. We had connected with her after our fertility doctor had sat us down and explained the grim statistics for the final time. Christopher and I had always wanted kids, so adoption was a logical choice for us, and we’d dived into researching facilities immediately, not wanting to waste any more time than we already had. I had been almost forty at the time, and neither of us had wanted to be older parents. I had thought adopting a child would be easy in the same way I had thought getting pregnant would be easy when I’d first started. We’d already had one failed adoption, and it had hurt as bad as any miscarriage.
“I’m still on the fence about going the international route,” I said.
“I know. Me too. Just read it, and let me know what you think.” Christopher slid my legs off his lap. “I’ve got to get getting.”
He headed to the kitchen to put his mug in the dishwasher, and I was walking toward the hallway leading to the bedroom when I suddenly remembered.
“Hey, Christopher,” I called out.
“What?”
“I did forget to tell you one thing that happened tonight.” I paused to make sure I had his attention again. “The police brought in an abandoned toddler.”
TWO
CHRISTOPHER BAUER
I’d just gotten back to my office after a grueling six-hour reconstructive hand surgery that had turned out to be more complicated than we’d expected. I was making a cup of coffee when Dan, the chief of surgery, walked in looking upset.
“Can I talk to you?” he asked, shutting the door behind him.
“You want to sit?” I pointed to the chair in front of my desk. We rarely had closed-door meetings, so it had to be serious.
He shook his head, running his hands through his dark hair. His forehead was lined with stress. “What the hell is wrong with people? Really, how can they be such monsters?” He paced across my office as he spoke.
We’d worked together for years, and I’d never seen him so unnerved. “Are you sure you don’t want to sit down?”
“No, no, I’m good. What I really want is a drink.” He laughed bitterly. “A toddler girl was brought into the ER last night, and her case is awful. I’ve never seen anything like it. Never.” He wrestled with his emotions, probably thinking of his own three daughters, whose pictures lined the desk in his office. “I can’t imagine someone doing that to a child. I just can’t.”
“Just what are we talking about here?” I asked, my curiosity getting the best of me.
“You might want to be the one to sit down,” he said, only half joking. “She was brought in by the police and child services. Apparently, she was found in a parking lot over on the west side down by Park’s Station. You know which one I’m talking about?”
I nodded. Everyone knew Park’s Station and the trailer parks that lined the streets behind it. It was where the town’s meth habit grew and flourished. You only went to that part of town for one thing.
“Her entire body is covered in old scars and bruises. She must’ve been abused for a long time.” He struggled to gain his composure. “She’s severely malnourished and dehydrated, so she looks like those starving orphans you see on TV. You know the ones I’m talking about?” He didn’t wait for me to respond before continuing. “There’re weird rashes on her legs like she might have some kind of septic infection. Her x-rays show multiple fractures all over her body. Some of them are old. Others are relatively new. She’s probably never seen a doctor, so who knows what we’ll find once we start looking.” He cleared his throat. Cleared it again, shifting into project-management mode. “There’s going to be a huge team on this one, and we need all of our best people on it, which is why I want you to take her case. We’re going to convene first thing tomorrow morning, so I need you to cancel your morning.”
“Okay, sure. I can have Alexis rearrange things.” I pulled out my phone and quickly tapped out an email to my receptionist before slipping it back in my pocket.
“Come on, let’s go.” Dan headed toward the door, and I followed him out. He talked as we walked. “This is going to be a complete media circus as soon as the word gets out. So far, nothing has leaked. We’re trying to protect her privacy for as long as possible, but seriously, it’s only a matter of time before they get wind of it. You understand the limits of confidentiality on this one, right?”
“Of course.” I nodded, even though I’d never had any sort of high profile case before. We didn’t get high profile cases in a town of our size, and most of the kids I worked with were victims of car accidents or sports injuries. I was excited about being involved in something so unusual, but I couldn’t admit that.
We stepped into the elevator at the end of the hallway. It was packed with people, so we stopped talking as we rode to the third floor. Dan held the door open and motioned for me to step out.
“What’s she doing down here?” I asked. The third floor was the neuroscience ward, where stroke and heart attack patients stayed.
“No one will think to look for her here,” he said.
“You mean the media?”
“We’re not too worried about the media. They’re easy to keep out. They’re trying to keep her safe just in case whoever did this to her comes looking for her. They don’t know who hurt her or if she’s still in danger. They don’t even know who she is yet. She said her name is Janie, but who knows. She could’ve just made up the name. She might have even been kidnapped. We’ll know more about her as the case unfolds.”
Dan nodded to the nurses scurrying around the station as we walked by. Two uniformed officers stood outside a door in the middle of the hallway. Dan strode up to them and flashed his hospital ID. I did the same. He turned to look at me before opening the door.
“Prepare yourself,” he said.
He pushed through the door, and a wave of sadness washed over me as I stared at a small child lying on the bed. Nothing could’ve prepared me for her. Dan had said she was a toddler, but the child on the bed looked like she was barely over a year old. Her arms and legs were frail, like they wouldn’t be able to support her if she stood. Her stomach was distended, and her head was massive in proportion to her tiny body and too big for her fragile frame to hold. She was nearly bald. There were only short tufts of blonde where hair should’ve been. She turned to look at us with the palest blue eyes I’d ever seen.