“Good, thanks.” Ellen pulled up a chair. “You know, he saw terrible things tonight, people getting shot right in front of him, and in the next few weeks, there will be a major disruption in his life. Can you give me the name of some counselors that can help him?” Her throat went tight. “With the transition?”
“I’ll have the social worker make some recommendations.” The doctor moved away, touching her lightly on the shoulder. “Take care.”
The nurse left with him, saying, “We’ll let you know when we have a room for him.”
“Good, thanks.” Ellen turned to the other nurse. “Would you tell the man in the waiting room that he’s okay?”
“All right, but only as favor to you. Don’t like him, myself.” She scuffed off, and Ellen took Will’s hand.
His breathing was slightly congested, and his crusty nose bubbled away.
Ellen closed her eyes, to listen better.
The sound of him breathing.
It was the sweetest thing she had ever heard.
Chapter Eighty-one
Two hours later, Ellen cuddled Will in a private room, holding him close in the darkness while he slept and the TV played on mute, showing photos of Ellen’s own house. DOUBLE HOM I CIDE IN BABY DRAMA, said the red banner on the screen, and she read the closed captioning, its spelling occasionally funky:
Police report that Narberf resident Ellen Gleeson was attacked in her home in an attempt to kill her and her baby, who she adopted but who was really Timothy Rravermark, a child kidnapped from wealthy Miami socialites . . .
Ellen looked away to the snow swirling outside the window. The hospital was quiet, and the only sound was the faint talking of the nurses down the hall. The door was partway closed, and she felt the world at bay. Snow inched up the panes, making a drift with an icy edge, thin as a knife. Steam heat fogged the glass, blurring the lights outside. She and Will had come full circle together, ending up in a hospital. She wondered how they could ever be separated, if that were even physically possible, but she’d insulate herself from thinking about that as long as she could, surely as the snow insulated the room, the hospital, and the world entire.
Somewhere out there was Marcelo, who had been trying to call her, but she couldn’t take the call and had switched off the cell phone. Hospital signs read that cell phones interfered with the equipment, and she wanted to spend the time alone with Will.
She thought fleetingly of her father, still off in Italy, but she’d call him tomorrow when they got home. She wasn’t sure when he was coming back. She had no idea how she’d tell him the news, which would crush him. She’d have him over to say good-bye to Will and she couldn’t imagine that scene.
He’s Will. He’s ours.
She thought of Connie, too, and how upset she’d be. The babysitter loved Will and would feel his loss almost as acutely as Ellen would. There would be no see-ya-later-alligator, this time. She worried most of all about how Will would cope. He loved Connie, as surely as he loved her, and he would need help to deal with the trauma and the transition. The child had known, and lost, three mothers in three years. She would get one of those therapists that the doctor recommended as soon as she got him home.
Will stirred in her arms, breathing deeply, and Ellen gazed down at him, his bandaged head on her chest. Multicolored lights from the TV flashed across his face, mottling his features like a kaleidoscope, but she could make out the gentle hillock of his cheek, his cheekbone still buried under baby fat, the contours of his face yet to be formed by time. She tried not to think that she wouldn’t know what Will would grow up to look like. Or how he’d do in school. Who his friends would be, or his wife. Or the minutiae, like if he’d always love cats or would dogs count, too? How would he dance at a party? What about later, when SATs came, and shaving, and college? What would he be when he grew up? All the stuff of a boy’s life. Her boy’s. Not her boy. Her boy no longer.
She held on to Will while a Bowflex commercial came on, and in time she drifted into an anguished sleep, wondering about the thousand other questions to which she would never know the answer.
And someday, wouldn’t permit herself even to ask.
Chapter Eighty-two
Dawn came late, the sky dark until well after six, when the winter gloom lifted like a black velvet curtain, revealing yet another curtain, one of dark pewter. Ellen woke up slowly, still cuddling Will, and waited, lying in bed, listening to the hospital come slowly to life, with the nurses talking in low tones about the snowstorm, the skeleton crew, and the mom with the kidnapped baby in Room 302. Today, the reporter was the news.
“Mommy, when we get home, can we make a snowman?” Will asked, after the doctor had cleared them for discharge.
“We sure can.” Ellen zipped his hoodie, and he was dressed to go, except for being shoeless. All he had on was a pair of blue cotton socks, stretched out of shape. “What was I thinking last night? I forgot your feet!”
Will giggled, looking down, so that their heads almost touched. “My feet are in my socks!”
“They are? Show me, just to make sure. Wiggle them for me.”
“Look.” Will’s tiny toes popped around in their socks. “See, there they are. Under.”
“What a relief. Whew. You know what that reminds me of?”
“What?”
“Of Oreo Figaro, when he’s under the sheets. Remember how every time I make the bed, he gets under the new sheets and runs around?”
“He gets lost.”
Ellen popped on his hood. “Right, he doesn’t know how to get out, and we have to get him out.”
Just then the nurse came in with the discharge papers on a clipboard. “Can you give me your John Hancock?” she asked, handing the clipboard to Ellen and smiling at Will. “How you doing?”
“I have my feet.”
“Good.” The nurse smiled. “You need your feet.”
Ellen stuffed her purse under her arm, took the pen the nurse was offering, and scribbled her name. “Thanks.”
“Just to give you a heads-up, there are reporters out front.”
“Great.” Ellen managed a smile for Will’s sake, then turned to him. “Hear that, pal? You know what a reporter is, don’t you?”
“You’re a reporter!” Will pointed at her, smiling, and Ellen grabbed his finger and gave it a quick kiss.
“Right, and there’ll be lots of people like me out front, only they might shout your name and take your picture. You ready for that?”
“Ready!”
“Good. Let’s go home.”
“I want to make a snowman!” Will shouted, and Ellen hushed him.
The nurse asked her, “Do you have a ride home?”
“I called a cab. I used my cell phone, so please don’t throw me in hospital jail.”
“Don’t worry.” The nurse waved her off. “If I were you, I’d call the cab back and tell him to go to the emergency exit, not the main entrance. The security guard can give you the heads-up. His name is Mel.”
“Good idea,” Ellen said, grateful. “I’ll stall in the gift shop.”
“Gift shop!” Will cheered, and both women smiled.
“You know what that is?” the nurse asked him.
“Toys!”
Ellen picked Will up. “Thanks.”
“Good luck,” said the nurse, her eyes compassionate.
Ellen knew the nurses were feeling terrible for her, but she wasn’t feeling terrible because she was still insulated. And she realized then that it wasn’t the snow or the hospital that insulated her. It was Will himself. As long as she had him with her, she would keep it together, because she had to, for him. That was what it meant to be a mother.
“Let’s go home, Mommy!” Will kicked his feet.
“First, say thank you to the nurse.”
“Thank you,” Will shouted, waving.
“You’re very welcome,” the nurse said, leaving.
“Thanks,” Ellen said briefly, then carted Will out of the room and dow
n the hall, where he waved and thanked the nurses, all of whom waved back with brave smiles.
“Bye, Willie!” the last one said, sitting at the desk nearest the elevator.
Will scowled. “That’s not my name.”
Ellen hit the button to go down. “Let’s forgive her and go to the gift shop.”
“Yay!” Will said, and the elevator came, the doors opening. “I want to push the button!”
“What do you say?” Ellen stepped inside, and Will twisted himself to lean down toward the button panel.
“Please!” he said, and the doors slid closed. When they opened again, Ellen stepped out of the cab and looked for a sign to the gift shop.
“There she is!” a man said, and she looked over, startled. People were rushing toward her, and she raised a hand.
“I have no comment, boys. Not now, not ever.”
“We’re not the press, Ms. Gleeson,” the man said. “I’m Special Agent Manning from the FBI and this is Special Agent Orr.”
Chapter Eighty-three
“Oh,” Ellen said, surprised. She noticed for the first time that a few uniformed cops stood behind them, one of whom she recognized from last night. The young one. Something was wrong. Her mouth went dry.
“Mommy, where’s the gift shop?”
“In a minute, sweetie.” Ellen asked the first FBI agent, “What are you doing here?”
“Is this boy Will Gleeson?”
“Yes.”
“We’re here to take him into protective custody.”
“What? Why?” Ellen was dumbfounded. “He doesn’t need protecting. He’s with me.”
“As you know, he’s Timothy Braverman, a child of Carol and William Braverman, kidnapped in Miami, and we’re here to facilitate his return.”
“What? Here? Now?” Ellen’s arms tightened on Will. Her thoughts tumbled one over the other in confusion. She hadn’t expected this, not yet. “He hasn’t even eaten. He has no shoes. We have to go home.”
“Ms. Gleeson, we are authorized to take the child. Here are the papers, you can take a look.” Special Agent Manning extended a packet of blue-backed paper folded in thirds, and Ellen glanced at the caption. The letters WARRANT and SEIZURE swam before her eyes. She found herself looking for an exit, but the only one lay ahead. The press clustered outside. Reporters watched them through the glass doors. Camera flashes fired like explosions. Ellen started to panic.
“Wait, listen, I know Bill Braverman. I was going to get his number from the police and set up a timetable that’s best for Will.”
“Ma’am, we’re here at the request of Mr. Braverman. I’m sorry but, by law, you can’t keep the child. We have to make certain that you don’t abscond with him.”
“We’re going to the gift shop, Mommy!” Will said loudly, his voice trembling with new anxiety.
“I won’t abscond with him, I promise. I know I have to make a transfer, but just not yet. Not this way. I wanted to explain it to him, and he hasn’t even had breakfast, and my father—”
“Ms. Gleeson, we have to take him now. Please don’t make this harder on the child than it already is.” Special Agent Manning held out his hands, but Ellen stepped back with Will.
“I’m not giving him up this way. I’m still his mother. I have a lawyer. I would have called him last night, but I wanted to make sure Will wasn’t hurt.”
“I told you we’d have a problem,” said a voice from behind the FBI agents, and Bill Braverman emerged from the back of the group, flanked by an older man in a suit. “I told you she’d try to run.”
“I’m not trying to run!” Ellen shouted, shocked. “I just didn’t think we’d be doing it this morning, right now. He just got out of the hospital. I need to talk to him, to prepare him—”
“Mommy, who are they?” Will asked, clutching her shoulder.
Bill pushed next to the FBI agents, his dark eyes cool and his expression hardened. He had on different clothes from last night, and he was all business. “I’m his father, and I have a legal right to him. Right now.”
“We have to talk about it. The timing, I mean.”
“No, we don’t.”
“Mommy, what?” Will started to cry.
“Bill, look at him, think of him,” Ellen said, desperate. She couldn’t believe this was happening. It was her against all of them. “This is the craziest way to do this. This is the worst possible thing for him.”
“You mean for you,” Bill shot back, and Ellen’s heart pounded.
“He doesn’t know what’s going on. I have to explain it to him. I was going to call a therapist when we got home.”
“I’ll call a therapist. We have them in Miami, too. I’ll take good care of him. He’s mine.” Bill advanced a step, but the man in the suit restrained him and turned to Ellen.
“Ms. Gleeson, I’m Mike Cusack and I’m representing Bill. You have no right to the child by law, and we have reason to believe you will leave the jurisdiction with him.”
“I won’t, I swear. I wasn’t going anywhere but home.”
“You tried to flee last night, didn’t you? That’s what you told the police.”
“That was different.” Ellen tried to think through the panic. “That was when I thought he was in danger, but not now.”
“You didn’t return him to the Bravermans after you knew he was Timothy. You intended to keep him.”
Ellen felt accused and convicted, both at once. Everyone watched. The photographers outside fired away. “I wasn’t sure what to do, I wasn’t sure he was theirs and—”
“My client wants his child back, and the police are here to enforce his legal right. Please, don’t be selfish. Do the right thing.”
“Mommy?” Will sobbed. “Mommy!”
“Honey, it’s all right.” Ellen patted his leg, frantic inside. She turned to the FBI agents. “I’ll turn him over, I promise, just not this minute. Come to my house. Follow me home. You’ll see, I’m not going anywhere.”
“We can’t do that, Ms. Gleeson. We’re here to take him, whether you cooperate or not. If you have a complaint, you can call—”
“Call who?” Ellen exploded, losing control. “I don’t need to call! I’m going to give him up, later! I just want to make this orderly! He’s a boy, a little boy!”
“Mommy, no!”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Gleeson.” Special Agent Manning reached for Will, and the cops advanced behind the agents as if on cue.
Ellen shouted, “We’re not doing it this way! Not this way!”
“Ms. Gleeson, please.” Special Agent Manning grabbed Will by the shoulders and he screamed.
“Mommeeee!!”
“Don’t touch him!” Ellen stepped back with him, but the elevator door was closed behind her. Will cried louder, and she whirled around holding him tight, looking for the emergency exit, but one of the FBI agents grabbed her elbow, and Special Agent Manning wrenched Will from her arms. “He’s my son!” she screamed, suddenly empty-handed.
Will wailed louder. “MOMMEE!”
“We’re moving, people!” Special Agent Manning called out, carrying a hysterical Will out toward the exit.
“No!” Ellen screamed, trying to grab Will’s foot but coming away with his blue sock. “Will! It’s all right!”
“MOMMEEEE!” Will’s eyes widened with fright, and he reached for her over the FBI agent’s shoulder, his bandaged head bobbing as they swept him through the entrance hall in a moving phalanx.
“WILL!” Ellen lunged after them, but two cops held her back as she torqued this way and that, then another cop joined them, and she fought them all while Officer Halbert tried to get her attention, his eyes sympathetic.
“Ms. Gleeson, please stay here. Please, stop. Don’t make us arrest you.”
“MOMMEE, COME!” Will screamed, before the hospital doors slid closed behind him and a thousand lightbulbs went off.
“Let me go, you bastards!” Ellen screamed, out of control. Will was gone, just like that, and it hit her. She cou
ldn’t stop screaming. She couldn’t breathe. The room spun around, a blur of polished floors, shocked faces, camera flashes. She felt as if she were going crazy. She flailed out with the court papers, then her open hand. “They just can’t take him, just like that! Just like that!”
“Ellen, no!” a man called out, and the next thing she knew, Marcelo appeared next to the cops, and she reached for him.
“Marcelo! They took Will! Call Ron Halpren! Call Ron!”
“Let her go!” Marcelo shoved the cops aside. “Are you guys insane? You’re hurting her! I have her, I’ve got her now.”
“She has to let the kid go!” one of the cops shouted.
“She did! What, are you trying to kill her?” Marcelo circled an arm around Ellen, and in one sure motion, ran her away from the cops and the entrance. She half stumbled and half sagged against him, her brain finally giving up and her heart taking over. There were too many tears to see anything clearly. There was no air to breathe.
“WILL!” She heard herself howl at the top of her lungs, a sound she’d never heard come out of her; it didn’t even sound human, and she was going insane, she could tell by the stunned expression on the nurses walking by and an old man carrying a stack of morning newspapers and another woman so upset her hand flew to her mouth.
Ellen screamed again but Marcelo kept her from falling, and suddenly security guards in dark blue uniforms were running beside them and Marcelo said something to them, and they all ran down one shiny hallway then another until they hit doors and freezing air and a parking lot and a red-lighted sign that read EMERGENCY, and there was a maroon car with the engine running and another security guard sitting in the driver’s seat.
Marcelo shoved her into the backseat and she landed screaming with her wet face and snotty nose against the cold leather seat and Marcelo threw himself in after her, holding her from behind as she fought and howled and choked and cried, and the car lurched finally off.
Chapter Eighty-four
When Ellen woke up, she was lying in her clothes in a bedroom she didn’t recognize, and Marcelo was sitting at the end of the bed, holding on to her hand. Her head felt fuzzy and strange, her thoughts blank. The room was very dark. The wood blinds were closed, the walls covered with black-and-white photographs, and the dresser a lacquered black, under a mirror of onyx.