Well, for fuck’s sake. Of course it is. And her mom’s phone is some place in their house.
“Is your daddy at work? Is he coming back home tonight? Someone should find a way to let him know what’s going on with you and your mom.”
Mia shakes her head. “I don’t know where he works. He’s never lived in the house with us.” She seems totally casual as she adds, “I only see him once in a while. It’s been a long time. I don’t think Mama would want me to call him unless it was a real emergency. But this is an emergency, isn’t it?”
She looks ready to start crying again, so I redirect the conversation. “Do you have any grandparents? Brothers or sisters? Anyone else your mom calls when she needs help?”
Mia’s lower lip starts to tremble, and I immediately regret asking the question.
“There was just my grandma,” she starts. “She’s in heaven now. There’s no one else.”
Double fuck.
“That’s okay,” I assure her. “No problem. How about school, honey? Where do you go to school? Do you ever have a babysitter come watch you?”
I assume the school will have a list of emergency contacts. There’s got to be someone I can notify that Bridget is hurt and Mia is going to need care.
“My friends Sophia or Kylee…their moms watch me sometimes if Mom’s going to be late picking me up from afterschool,” she says.
I have no idea what afterschool is, but I roll with it. “Okay, that’s great. Sophia and Kylee, you said?” Helpful moms are great news for me if I can find this Kylee or this Sophia and one of their moms. “And your school?”
She tells me the name of a local elementary school, a place I’ve never heard of, because of course, why would I? I’ve never spent this much time with a kid, let alone been anywhere near a school. At least not since I was a student in one myself.
I flip on the radio and let some pop music play for the few minutes while I follow the ambulance and police cruiser as best as I can without breaking every traffic law.
I breathe a sigh of relief as soon as we hit the hospital parking lot. “All right, Mia. We’re here.” I go around to the passenger side and help the kid out of the back. “You forgot something,” I remind her.
Gavin the giraffe is lying facedown on the floor. Mia grins at me and shakes her head. “That would have been a pain in the neck,” she says, chuckling.
I crack a half smile. “Hey,” I say. “Good joke. You remembered.”
She looks at me awkwardly, as if I’m supposed to take her hand or something. We are in a parking lot after all, and even though she’s, like, a sort of big kid, I don’t know what the rules are. I hold out my hand tentatively, and when she grabs it firmly, I guess I did the right thing. Whether it feels right or not is another thing. But whether I’m doing this right or doing this wrong isn’t something I’m going to worry about right now. Mia, and Gavin, for that matter, are looking up at me—the only grown-up around—and they are waiting for me to do something.
“Let’s find your mom,” I say, and I walk her through the parking lot toward the emergency department.
As we walk into the hospital, I realize I forgot her last name. “Mia, what’s your last name?”
“Connor,” she says. “Same as Mama’s.”
“And your dad?” I ask.
“Mama and my dad never got married, so he has a different last name. Bryan Harris.”
Her answer is so polished, so well-rehearsed.
We walk into the emergency room, and it’s a lot less busy than I would expect for this hour of the morning. Mia and I head up to the registration desk, and before I have the chance to open my mouth, Mia starts in.
“Can I please see my mom?” Her lip is trembling, but she’s got a firm, clear, big-girl voice on.
Hearing her sound so brave, I feel like a little fist clenches around my heart. I can’t imagine how scary this is for her, and yet here she is, asking loudly and politely all the right questions.
The triage nurse looks like she feels the same way, her eyes going soft. She cocks her head to the side and directs all her questions to Mia.
“All right, sweetheart. Let me get some information. What’s your mother’s name?”
Mia and the nurse talk, and with a few taps on her keyboard, the nurse nods at me. “Sir, may I get your name?”
I give it to her, and she motions for us to take a seat.
“I’ll have someone come out and bring you to your mama as soon as I can, sweetie.”
As easy as that, we’re sitting together, me, Mia, and Gavin. And oddly, it doesn’t feel terrible. I’m uncomfortable about the cops, but if not for them, I have nowhere else to be. And the thought of leaving Mia alone and not knowing that Birdie is safe and on her way home… I lean back in the chair and wait.
Mia swings her legs and asks me questions about my tattoos. The birds I have inked on my flesh. Typical old-school sparrows, with red breasts and black wings. The inkwork is simple but still perfect after all these years. I can’t count the times I looked at those birds while I was in prison, wishing I could spread my wings and fly away.
I tell her the story of where I got them, leaving out the R-rated details, since the truth is, the sparrows were a gift from a stripper I dated about a decade ago who worked days as a tattoo apprentice.
We’re sitting in the chairs, shooting the shit with ease as if we’ve known each other for years instead of just hours. For a second, I think about what Morris must have gone through meeting Alice and Zoey. He saw a woman in need and stepped right up to help her. Zoey was right there, and they snagged Morris, hook, line, and sinker.
When the nurse calls Mia’s name and she jumps off the chair and takes my hand, I realize how easy it would be to become attached.
5
BRIDGET
“Really, I’m fine… I just need to see my daughter. Can anyone tell me if my daughter is here?”
I am so, so far from fine. I’m about a minute away from total mom freak-out mode.
I have no idea where my daughter is. I missed the biggest meeting of my career so far, and there is no way I am going to have a job tomorrow.
But after getting stitches in my eyebrow and being taken for a bunch of tests, I’m feeling more alert. More like myself. The entire staff at the hospital are treating me like something is seriously, seriously wrong, when really, all I care about is what’s happening with Mia.
After I answer the same questions over and over again, a nurse tells me they’re considering admitting me, and that’s when I literally start to lose it.
“No.” I shake my head, but that small movement triggers a blast of pain. “I can’t be admitted. I have no childcare. Please,” I beg, hoping the nurse will pass along my concerns to whoever is in charge of my treatment. They keep referring to doctors and radiologists and all these other people who are making decisions about my future. But the nurse at the bedside in the ER room they’ve got me in has been so, so kind. She listens and seems genuinely sympathetic when I talk about insurance and out-of-pocket expenses. “Can’t I just get a referral and see a doctor later this week?”