We heard her before we saw her.
“I don’t care what he said! I’m her daughter! I have power of attorney! You don’t get to cancel my mother’s transfer without talking to me!”
Dr. Hale took a deep breath. He looked at Grandma. He looked at me.
“Stay here,” he said.
He went out into the hallway. Grandma stood up and went right after him. So I did too.
A woman was standing at the nurses’ station with her hands planted on the counter. She was about forty-five, tall, with short dark hair and an expensive tan raincoat. She had the kind of face that had been tired for a long time. Her eyes were red.
She turned when she heard us coming.
“Dr. Hale,” she said. “What is going on? My mother has a bed waiting at the best hospice in Chicago. There’s an ambulance downstairs. The paperwork is done. Why on earth would you stop it?”
“Catherine,” Dr. Hale said gently. “I’m sorry. I should have called you first.”
“Yes. You should have.”
“But your mother asked to stay here. In Room 214. She’s asked me every day for a week.”
“My mother is on so much morphine she doesn’t know what she’s asking for.” Catherine’s voice cracked. “She asked for a cherry tree yesterday. She kept asking where her baby was. She’s confused. She thinks it’s 1970 or something. She needs to be close to me. I live in Chicago. I can’t keep driving four hours each way.”
Then she noticed Grandma. And me.
Her eyes narrowed.
“Who are you?”
Grandma straightened her cardigan.
“My name is Evelyn Walker.”
“Are you the woman who’s been trying to get into my mother’s room? The receptionist told me somebody was asking for her.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry,” Catherine said. Her voice was cold. “My mother isn’t seeing anyone who isn’t family. That was her wish. That’s why I made the visitor list. Only family.”
Grandma looked at her quietly.
“I understand,” she said.
“I don’t mean to be rude. But my mother’s dying. She doesn’t need strangers coming in here upsetting her.”
“Catherine,” Dr. Hale said.
“What?”
He was quiet for a moment. Then he looked at Grandma. She nodded, just slightly.
“Your mother isn’t confused,” he said. “She knows exactly what year it is. And she knows exactly what she’s asking for.”
Catherine stared at him.
“What are you talking about?”
“Your mother had a baby,” Dr. Hale said. “In this hospital. In Room 214. In April of 1975. Before she met your father. A little boy.”
Catherine’s face went completely white.
“That’s not true,” she said.
“It is true.”
“No. That’s not… Mom would have told me. She tells me everything.”
“Her father made her promise never to tell anyone,” Dr. Hale said. “She kept that promise for fifty-one years.”
Catherine took a step back. Her hand went to the counter to steady herself.
“How do you know this?” she whispered.
“Because I was there,” Dr. Hale said. “I’m the baby’s father.”
The nurse behind the counter dropped a clipboard. It clattered on the floor. Nobody picked it up.
Catherine looked at Dr. Hale. Then at Grandma. Then, slowly, at me.
“And you?” she said. “Who are you?”
I opened my mouth. I didn’t know what to say.
“This is Daniel,” Grandma said. “The baby grew up to be my son. His name was Michael. He died twelve years ago.”
She put her hand on my arm.
“Daniel is Michael’s son,” she said. “He’s your mother’s grandson.”
Catherine looked at me for a very long time.
“You have her eyes,” she finally whispered.
Ethan Blake is a skilled Creative Content Specialist with a talent for crafting engaging and thought-provoking narratives. With a strong background in storytelling and digital content creation, Ethan brings a unique perspective to his role at TheArchivists, where he curates and produces captivating content for a global audience.
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