Where is the Baby? (9 page)

In Brian's view the reverse of her so-called professional opinion was true. Lucia's effect on the other child was evident after mere minutes. She did her special voice, a startling baritone rasp, saying, ‘I'll be Ken and you be Barbie,' and Humaby had actually laughed at the big, gruff voice that emerged from the girl's mouth. Just a small, abruptly cut-off sound. But she'd
laughed
. And when they were leaving to head back to the hospital, she'd climbed into the squad car, exclaiming, ‘Look what Lucia gived me!' showing him a somewhat worse-for-wear Barbie. ‘She said I could
keep
it.'

‘That's great, honey.'

‘Lucia says we're
friends
!' she said wonderingly. ‘Can I come to play again amorrow, Mister Brian?'

‘I hope so. But I can't promise. We'll try, though.'

As she'd expected, Connie was rejected as a viable foster parent because she was unmarried. The social worker was abrupt and cold, saying only, ‘In the agency's view we don't consider you a suitable match.' And that was that, end of call, no room for protest. And what argument could Connie have offered? That she had an intimate understanding of the lifelong effects of pain and fear? That she already loved the child? None of that mattered. She had no husband; therefore she was not fit for parenthood.

Despite its being expected, it felt as if she'd lost something very precious. Her mood remained dark throughout the morning, the persistent ache of the icy rejection like an internal injury. She sat in the kitchen drinking coffee and staring at the wall, trying to get herself moving. There were prints to be delivered, a pair of back-to-back bookings scheduled for late morning. But for a time all she could do was sit staring into space, benumbed by disappointment.

Captain Garvey and his wife were deemed to be too old to take on the burden of a very young, very damaged child. Indignant, Garvey slammed down the receiver, emitting a disgusted bark of laughter. Since when was forty-one too old to handle one more kid in a house that already had three of them and plenty of room for more? DCF didn't know his Angie or what a great mother, what a fine person she was; they didn't know that to be close to this woman was a privilege. ‘
Assholes
,' he muttered, and slammed his fist on the desk. What was the big hurry? Why couldn't they take the time to do their homework properly, make sure the kid was placed with the right people?

Stefan Lazarus topped the list despite his being only recently married and lacking any experience in raising a child. He was a newly licensed doctor, a child psychiatrist. What more experience did he need? Plus being the son of prominent doctors – his father and mother also both psychiatrists – cinched the placement as far as Margery Briggs was concerned.

Stefan was shocked by the decision, and immediately doubt-filled. Was he really the proper choice? Monica had been excited when he phoned to tell her they'd been awarded temporary custody, but she hadn't yet met the child. She had no idea of the level of abuse the child had suffered. His hand kept wanting to go to the phone, to call back the woman at DCF to tell her it was a mistake to entrust the girl to him and Monica. Monica's degree was in botany, for God's sake. She knew more about fern fronds than she did about people.

Yet he couldn't help thinking that there was something to this: there was significant information to be gleaned from living with the little girl, observing her on a day-to-day basis; there was knowledge to be gained that he could share professionally, knowledge that would provide great insight into the long-term effects of prolonged abuse on the heart and mind of a small child. And if he were to be entirely honest with himself, working with her, publishing articles or even a book about her, would establish him as someone to be taken very seriously in the world of child psychiatry.

So, despite his personal misgivings, his professional ambition won the day. He didn't make the call back to the coldly elitist Briggs at DCF, one of the least-appropriate people performing as a social worker that he'd ever encountered.

When he finally learned who'd been chosen to foster the child, Brian couldn't help thinking the poor kid would feel like some kind of lab specimen, lodged in the midst of a family of doctors. But he kept remembering how Lazarus had cracked during that session with Humaby, how he'd wept so brokenly. If the rest of his family was anything like him, maybe they'd treat the child with sensitivity.

‘I truly hope so,' Connie said fervently when they ran into each other at the station later that morning. She was dropping off the photos she'd shot the night before of a nine-year-old, so severely battered that it was doubtful that she'd survive the day. She repeated to Brian what Captain Garvey had told her of DCF's decision to place Humaby with the Doctors Lazarus.

‘The last thing she needs is to be put under a microscope,' Connie said.

‘Especially if it turns out to be for any length of time,' Brian said. ‘She needs some pretty major surgery, and she's already suspicious of most people and things. Every new person is a potential threat. You know?' Connie nodded, and he said, ‘I'm hoping Lazarus will let us come see her.'

‘If you talk to him, please ask for me, too.' She gave Brian her card, then said, ‘Keep me posted?'

‘Count on it. Wait one and I'll give you our home number.'

When the social worker told her she'd be going home with Mister Stefan, Humaby was upset but tried hard not to show it. ‘Please, Miss, can I stay with Mister Brian and Jan and Lucia?' she asked, rubbing her velour-covered knee. ‘Or Miss Connie?'

‘That's out of the question. You're a very lucky girl to be going to the Lazarus family. They have a lovely big house and you'll have your own room. Dr Lazarus's parents' house even has a swimming pool,' the woman told her, irked by the child's reluctance. To be fostered by a family of this caliber was unprecedented.

‘But I don't know how to swim.'

‘Well, maybe you'll learn.' She wanted to grab the child and shake her.

‘But if I stay with Mister Brian, I could play with Lucia. She's got
Barbie
dolls
. She even
gived
me one. See!' She held up the doll to show the angry-looking woman. ‘And she's got a
bicycle
, a pink one! Miss Jan said she'd teach me to ride it and let me make cookies and I could stay with Lucia in her room.'

Stymied, more annoyed by the moment, Margery Briggs said, ‘Dr Lazarus and his wife are top-rate people and his sister's very nice. I happen to know her myself.'

‘Is she a little girl?' Humaby asked hopefully.

‘No, she's a grown-up, a doctor.'

‘Don't
like
doctors,' Humaby said under her breath, gazing at her sneaker-clad feet.

‘There are arrangements to make, paperwork to be done. I have to go now,' the woman said, looking at her watch. ‘You'll be fine with Dr Lazarus. But if for some bizarre reason it doesn't work out, we'll find another placement for you.'

‘What's a placeman?' Humaby asked.

Fighting to contain her impatience, the woman said curtly, ‘Another family. I'll be back tomorrow to take you to the Lazarus home. Do as you're told and be a good girl now.'

‘I
am
a good girl!' Humaby whispered at the woman's back as she marched away. She was a mean lady, like the ones in the big store – people who didn't like little children.

Scared and sad, she sat on the side of the bed, looking at the doorway, seeing people going by in the hall and hearing the voices come out of the ceiling. The TV set was showing cartoons again and she didn't want to look at them.
I
am
a good girl
, she thought, stroking her soft sleeve. But it didn't matter. No matter how good she tried to be, bad things always happened. She wanted to cry – her chest all tight with it – but she wouldn't let herself give in. Crying made people mad, and she'd learned a long time ago not to do things that made people mad. So she tried not to let anything show. Sometimes, it was very hard.

Connie's mood just wouldn't lift and, finally, after leaving the station house, she drove to the hospital.

There was a different cop sitting outside the door; he looked scarcely older than the previous one. She showed him her ID, explained who she was and the youthful officer in an unexpectedly low, mellifluous voice said, ‘Poor kid's just been sitting there for hours, since that pickle-puss babe from DCF left. Kid didn't even eat her lunch. I tried to keep her company a while ago but I could see I was making her nervous, so I backed off. She's been watching the door like she's waiting for somebody. Could be you're the one. Her lunch tray's still at the nurses' station. I asked them to hang on to it. Maybe you could get her to eat something.'

‘That was smart. Thank you. I'll go get it.'

Carrying the tray, Connie returned to the room, brightly saying, ‘Hi, sweetie. I've got your lunch.'

‘Hi, Miss Connie,' Humaby said dully. ‘I'm not hungry, thank you very much.'

Putting down the tray, Connie sat beside her on the bed, asking, ‘What've you got there?'

‘It's a Barbie. Lucia gived it to me.'

‘Who's Lucia, sweetie?'

‘She's Mister Brian's little girl.'

‘That was very kind of her.'

‘She's my
friend
. We played with the Barbies and we had lemonade and cookies. I want to go stay with them, Miss Connie. Or with you. But the mean lady's making me go with Mister Stefan to his house.'

‘I'm sure it'll be very nice. And Mister Stefan must like you a lot or he wouldn't have asked to have you stay with him.'

For the first time, the child looked up at her. ‘People asked to have me?'

‘A lot of us did.'

‘I didn't know that.' Lowering her voice to a confiding tone, she said, ‘When we were in the room with the little chairs and all the toys, Mister Stefan was very sad. He cried.'

‘He did?'

‘Yeah. I never saw big people cry before I was in here.' She made a gesture meant to include the entire hospital. ‘But today the mama cried when she said to me they were happy to have the baby back. And the daddy, he cried too.'

‘Sometimes people cry when they're actually happy, not sad.'

‘I never knew that either.'

‘It's true,' Connie told her. ‘I felt like crying this morning when I found out you weren't going to be staying with me.'

‘But you didn't cry?'

‘No. I wanted to, but I didn't.'

‘Why not?'

‘I'm not really sure why. Sometimes, it makes me angry with myself if I cry . . . as if I'm being weak instead of strong and I don't like the idea of being weak.' She could scarcely believe she was confiding something like this to a small child, but her instinct told her it was the right way to go.

‘So you don't let yourself cry?'

‘No,' Connie admitted. ‘Sometimes I don't.'

‘Me, too,' Humaby whispered. ‘If I cried, Wolf and Toadman got very mad . . . So I teached myself not to cry anymore. But . . . Miss Connie, I don't
want
to go with Mister Stefan. I'm ascared to go with him.'

‘Oh, you don't need to be afraid.'

‘But I
am
! I'm
ascared
! He's . . .' She groped for the right word to describe him. ‘He's all sad, Miss Connie. I want to be with Lucia and her mama and daddy, or with you. I'm not ascared when I'm with you.'

Aware of how hard she was struggling to hold on to herself, Connie longed to comfort her but didn't dare risk touching the child. ‘I know, sweetie,' she said. ‘I know.'

Humaby told herself she wasn't going to cry. But she couldn't keep it in. Her head came to rest against Connie's arm and she felt so worried and so tired that the tears just came out by themselves. And that made her even more afraid, because you could never be sure about people.

‘Don't be mad at me, please, Miss Connie,' she begged, wiping her face with her hand.

‘I could never be mad at you,' Connie said and, surrendering to instinct, she lifted Humaby onto her lap, where the child settled without protest. ‘That's better,' she murmured. ‘That's much better.'

Sitting on Miss Connie's lap was like something she almost remembered; something from a long, long time ago. But she couldn't remember what it was; it was just somehow okay.

Connie silently rocked her until she actually fell asleep, her chest shaken by residual sobs. Holding her, feeling the warmth of the child's slight weight, finally eased the day-long ache of disappointment.

‘F
or what it's worth, I've always believed you were innocent.'

Soberly, Tally said, ‘Thank you,' and turned to look at the stocky middle-aged woman in the boxy gray suit with a white blouse buttoned to the neck. To all outward appearance an unremarkable person: plain-faced, with gray-threaded black hair blunt-cut to her square jawline. But to study the warden's sadly intelligent brown eyes quickly erased the impression of plainness. She was a woman who'd seen and heard it all but, incredibly, still had an open heart. And it lent depth and humor to her deep-set eyes. So, in spite of the severe clothes and ugly shoes, the thick body and unmade-up face, she was a singularly appealing person.

‘I wish you well,' the older woman said, and offered Tally her hand.

For a moment Tally was bewildered by the gesture. Then long-ago training kicked in and she took hold, absorbing the details of the woman's firm grip.

Behind her the door clicked open and Tally felt the sound travel through her entire body. She hadn't expected to have any reaction, but the sound of that door opening dried her mouth and accelerated her heartbeat.