“I don’t know how I can without revealing that I’ve talked to you about your dating life.”
“An excellent point. However, I would hate for him to put his dating life on hold on my account, seeing as how I’m not a viable option.”
“I think you should explain your position to him.”
“Without provocation? He’s never asked me out. It would read as presumptuous, would it not, if I suddenly announced my dating policy to him, absent of cause?”
“Have you considered the possibility, Leah, that you simply haven’t dated the right man yet?”
“Ms. Montgomery and Dr. Grant?” the receptionist said.
They rose, and the woman led them to Donna McKelvey’s corner office, which was no doubt the envy of her co-workers. The sky backlit her tall leather desk chair like a sunrise behind a throne.
Donna greeted them with firm handshakes. She wore a suit jacket, a red silk top, and a scarf patterned with red, white, yellow, and orange. Likely in her mid- to late-fifties, Donna had a stocky build, a pleasantly angular face, and a dark blond power bob. Had she been auditioning for the role of First Lady, Leah would have cast her at once.
They started with small talk, during which Donna interacted with Sebastian in a way that indicated that she’d like, very much, to poach him from Beckett Memorial.
Sebastian cut to the heart of the matter once they took their seats. “We scheduled this meeting today,” he told Donna, “because Leah was born here.”
The older woman turned an expectant look on Leah.
“I recently submitted my DNA for testing in order to gain insight into my genealogy,” Leah explained. “I learned that I’m not the biological daughter of either of my parents. I think that I was switched at birth here twenty-eight years ago.”
Donna’s smile slipped.
“Here’s the data I collected.” Leah removed a large envelope from her purse. Inside, she’d placed copies of all the relevant documents and DNA tests. She set the envelope on Donna’s desk.
“Occasionally, adoptive parents don’t inform their children that they’re adopted,” Donna said.
“That may be, but that’s not what happened in my situation,” Leah replied. “I called my mother after receiving the DNA test results. She’s always believed me to be her biological daughter. She was so certain the test was faulty that she encouraged me to take it again. Which I did. And now I’m here.”
Donna probably hadn’t been affiliated with this hospital at the time of Leah’s birth, so the fact that Leah had been given to the Montgomery family couldn’t reflect poorly on Donna personally. Yet it could reflect very poorly on the hospital as a whole—of which Donna was now the head.
“As you’ll see, my birth certificate shows that I was born to Erica and Todd Montgomery, the two people who raised me.” She relayed the events surrounding her mom’s labor and delivery.
Donna extracted the documents from the envelope and examined them. “Nowadays we take extreme precautions to make sure that this doesn’t happen.”
Donna’s statement implied that at the time of Leah’s birth, precautions may not have been quite so extreme.
Sebastian remained silent, intensity flowing from him.
As soon as Donna set down the papers, Leah spoke. “I’d like access to the hospital records concerning my birth. Are those records still in existence?”
“They are.”
Relief relaxed Leah’s spine.
“We keep old records off-site with a data management company,” Donna said. “We’ll simply need for you to fill out a records request form and for your mother to sign a waiver. A few days later we can have them here for you. You’re welcome to look at the original documents. Or we can provide print copies or copies in an electronic format.”
“I’d also like to examine the records of the other baby girls born on my birthday so that I can figure out who my biological parents are.”
Donna mounded her hands on top of her desk—a relaxed posture. However, white rimmed the edges of her fingertips, which informed Leah that her hands were exerting pressure. “That, I cannot do. You’ll understand that our patients’ records are kept in strictest privacy.”
“Of course,” Sebastian replied smoothly. “And you’ll understand that in sending two children home with the wrong parents, a negligent act was committed. If we return with a court order granting us access to the records, will you allow us to view them?”
“Should you return with a court order, I’ll be more than glad to cooperate with you as fully as the law permits.” Her attention settled on Leah. “However, it’s extremely unlikely that a judge will release the records of every baby girl born on your birthday. HIPAA laws are stringent. Almost certainly, you’ll have to show the judge why you believe yourself to be the biological daughter of, for example, John and Jane Doe. If you make a compelling case, the judge may release to you the records of only Baby Girl Doe, born here on your birth date.”
“I see.” Leah possessed a single clue regarding the identity of her birth parents: the list of DNA matches YourHeritage had provided. If she did some detective work on the site using the family trees her biological relations had made public, adding logic and a process of elimination . . . she might be able to deduce her parents’ surname.
“I’m very sorry that this happened to you,” Donna said. “I can only imagine how upsetting this has been.”
“Thank you.” She pegged Donna as smart, principled, decent. Whether those qualities would prove true remained to be seen.
What didn’t remain to be seen? Sebastian’s status as a powerful ally. He was more than a match for Donna, or, she’d guess, just about anyone. His hands were laced together in his lap. But no telltale white pressure marks marred his fingertips.
It was dark by the time Sebastian returned home that night. Starving, he stuck the premade dinner his meal service had left for him into the microwave, then stared at the light behind the appliance’s see-through door.
Like a tugboat, his mind pulled him to Leah.
He’d been starstruck, sitting across the table from her this morning. He wasn’t someone who got starstruck. But he couldn’t think of a better word to describe the effect she had on him.
He suspected that she was the smartest person he’d ever met in his life, and he wasn’t exactly an academic slouch. Nor were his medical school classmates and teachers.
He’d found himself wishing he could get a glimpse of what was going on inside her head. In The Matrix, the characters had been able to download knowledge directly into their brains. That’s what he’d like to do with Leah . . . hook a cable from her head to his so he could import even a portion of what she knew.
He sensed she had more intelligence, more integrity, more optimism, and more compassion than he did. However, she was also crazier than he was if she believed that dating and romance weren’t for her.
He’d bet a million dollars that, with the right person, she could experience physical attraction as powerfully as any other woman. Maybe with him, she could—
That is, with Ben. Maybe with Ben she could.
The microwave dinged, and he opened the door to find that it contained nothing. No dinner.