Ties That Bind (25 page)

I
stopped by the bakery after work, bought the two biggest chocolate cream cheese cupcakes in the case, and took them to the hospital with me, dessert for Olivia and dinner for me. Though she won't talk to me, Olivia will accept my gifts, especially if they involve chocolate and frosting.

Bit by bit I am wearing her down. A couple of days ago I was reading to her from
The Giant Book of Knock-Knock Jokes
and I heard a giggle. When I looked up from the page her lips were pressed into a line and her eyes stared straight ahead, but I know what I heard. It's a start. Maybe there'd be another today, or a smile, or even a word! A sentence! Wouldn't that be wonderful?

When I got to Olivia's room it was empty. It was a little late in the day for physical therapy, but they'd been working her harder recently, stretching out her sessions, so I wasn't too worried. I went to the nurses' station, looked for a familiar face, and found Amy, who has been on the job less than a week and seems a bit overwhelmed.

“Do you know when Olivia will be back from therapy?”

“Hmmm?” Amy, absorbed with filling out some paperwork, looked at me, then looked at the clock and frowned. “They brought her back a while ago. You checked her room?” I nodded. “How about the bathroom?”

Together, we checked the bathroom, then the playroom, and all the other rooms in the pediatric ward. We even checked the cleaning closet. No Olivia.

“She couldn't have gotten too far,” Amy mused as I followed her back to the desk, “but I'd better call security.”

 

Four minutes later, two blue uniformed security officers arrived. Amy couldn't leave the nurses' station, but the officers and I searched every room, office, and closet on the third floor. The officers got out their radios and raised an alert, giving a description of Olivia and an order for all available personnel to search every room on every floor of the hospital and to station guards at every exit.

Seeing the look on my face, the officers told me not to worry, that they were only following procedure. “She's probably messing with us. Wouldn't be the first time a kid decided to play hospital hide-and-seek. The nurse said she was in bed and sleeping less than thirty minutes ago, so she couldn't have gotten far, not alone, not on crutches.”

But what if she wasn't alone?

I hated even thinking what I was thinking. Even with the craziness of the last weeks, even amid the grief and arguments, I couldn't imagine that my parents would kidnap Olivia. But had you told me a few weeks ago that my parents would go behind my back and go before a judge in an attempt to snatch Olivia from my hands, or that they would try to distort my personal history in court, turning a failed attempt at dieting into an accusation of clinical depression and peaceful protest against an immoral act into a criminal record, I wouldn't have been able to imagine that either. And yet they had. And Olivia was missing.

Hesitantly, making it clear that I was only doing so out of an abundance of caution, I gave the security officers a quick overview of our family situation.

When I was finished, the older officer looked at the younger one and said, “Greg?”

“I'm on it.” He pulled out a cell phone and pressed three numbers, 9-1-1.

“Oh! You don't … I mean, that won't be necessary,” I sputtered. “I'm sure that it's just what you said. I'm sure she's hiding somewhere ….”

“I hope so, miss, but in this kind of situation we have to call in the police as quickly as possible. The nurse should have done it first thing. That's the procedure.”

 

“And your parents' address in Buffalo?”

“132 Bachman Circle,” I replied, watching the policewoman scribble the information on a pad. “But she couldn't be there. Buffalo is nearly a seven-hour drive from New Bern. Olivia's only been missing for a few minutes. And I'm sure my parents have nothing to do with this ….”

“I understand, Miss Matthews, but we have to send someone in Buffalo out to talk to your parents, just in case. That's the procedure in a situation like this.”

“Yes. I know.” I supposed the officer was right. If my parents were home and Dad opened the door and found a policeman standing on the porch, he would be absolutely furious. And if they weren't home … Well, I'd think about that later. The only thing I cared about right now was finding Olivia, and if enduring my father's fury was the price for doing that, so be it.

“Is there something I should be doing right now?” I asked.

“There are a couple of officers searching the grounds. You could go help them if you want.”

 

The elevator had never been slower. When I finally reached the ground floor and the big mirrored doors slid slowly open, I took a right turn into the corridor. Another right at the end of it would have brought me to the main entrance but, for some reason, I took a left instead. When I came to a set of big double doors with a sign that said E
MERGENCY
D
EPARTMENT
: H
OSPITAL
P
ERSONNEL
O
NLY
P
AST
T
HIS
P
OINT
. A
LL
O
THERS
U
SE
M
AIN
E
NTRANCE
, I pressed a button with a blue wheelchair logo and waited for the doors to swing open.

The hallway was wide enough to let two gurneys pass and was lined with a series of glass-fronted procedure rooms filled with monitors and specialized equipment. The hall led to a big rectangular “bullpen” with smaller, curtained exam areas that surrounded a U-shaped desk with room for three computer stations and had a white wipe-off board with notes and instructions about each patient. I remembered it all, much too vividly, from the hours I'd spent here on Christmas Day.

There was always a lot of noise in the ER, the sounds of beeps and tweets and bells coming from various monitors and alarms, the sound of moaning from people in pain and incoherent babbling from others out of their senses, the sound of doctors and nurses and aides and registrars exchanging information and instructions, but it seemed even noisier than usual. The sound of voices coming from the bullpen was nearly a babble. I had come in during the shift change.

There are always extra relatives and caregivers hanging about in the ER, and the cast of characters changes minute by minute as new patients arrive and others leave. I doubted anyone would question my presence there, but even so, I was quiet as I went from room to room peering through the glass walls of the procedure rooms, walking past if they were occupied, walking in if they were not.

The third room on the left was empty. I went in, looked around, saw nothing.

“Olivia? Olivia, are you in here?”

There was silence. I turned and started to leave but stopped when I saw a blue privacy curtain flutter and heard a soft voice say, “Aunt Margot?”

Two little feet wearing fuzzy pink slippers flanked by rubber-tipped crutches were visible under the curtain. With my heart pounding in my chest, I pulled back the curtain and found Olivia.

I dropped instantly to my knees, half a prayer, half a reflex, and pulled her close.

“Oh, Livie! Oh, Livie, there you are! I've been so worried, sweetheart. Everyone is looking for you. We've all been so worried! Promise me you won't disappear like that ever again.” I loosened my hold on her and peered into her little face. “What were you doing all the way down here?”

Olivia's big brown eyes, shining like gemstones at the bottom of a pool, filled with tears. “I came to find her. Aunt Margot, you've got to help me.”

And suddenly I knew what she was doing.

My eyes filled with tears as I grabbed her again and squeezed her tight, wishing I could hold her close enough to undo all the pain, close enough to turn back the clock to the day before Christmas and give my beloved child back to the one she was missing, the one I was missing too, the one Olivia, heaven alone knew how, had run away on crutches to search for, sneaking through the hallways and doors, past hospital workers, to the last place she had seen her mother alive.

“She is gone, Olivia. She is gone and she isn't coming back. She isn't here. Her body is in the ground and her soul is in heaven. That's what happens when people die.”

The last time I had said those words to her, my little niece had flown into a hysterical rage. This time, she pulled her body away from mine and looked at me. Two huge tears, like dewdrops from a lily, fell down her cheeks. Looking in her eyes, I could see that she didn't want to believe me but finally did. In her eyes I saw the loss of innocence, the exit from Eden. It broke my heart.

“She never said good-bye, Aunt Margot. I never got to tell her good-bye.”

No, she hadn't. Neither had I.

I
f someone wanted to photograph the face of love, all they would have to do was click the shutter on a close-up of Margot as she sat snuggled next to Olivia in the hospital bed, one arm draped over the little girl's shoulder, hanging on to each and every word as though it were a precious pearl that had unexpectedly dropped into her hands.

“Ummm …” Olivia frowned and bit her lower lip, searching for an answer to my question. “How about this one?”

She pressed her hands flat against each other, tucked them under the point of her chin, and closed her eyelids. “I hear no voice, I feel no touch, I see no glory bright …”

Margot's eyes glistened and she joined in the piping prayer of her niece. “But yet I know that God is near, in darkness as in light. He watches ever by my side, and hears my whispered prayer. The Father for his little child, both day and night doth care.”

Olivia turned to look at Margot, her eyes wide. “You know it too? Mommy used to say it with me every night before I went to bed.”

“I do,” she said, smiling through a sheen of tears. “Grandma used to say it with your mommy and me every night when we were little.”

“Will that be a good prayer?” Olivia asked me.

“That will be a perfect prayer.” I made a note on my clipboard. “Now what about music. Did your mommy have a favorite song?”

The thinking frown returned. “Does it have to be a church song?”

“You're the one doing the planning, Olivia. It can be anything you want.”

“How about ‘You Are My Sunshine'? Mommy sang that to me all the time.”

I wrote it down quickly, swallowing hard. “That's a good idea.”

The poignancy of Olivia's selection was not lost on me. The little one's sunshine
had
been taken away, and that was nothing but sad. But she had an aunt who adored her and would do everything in her power to help her heal, and in that she had been blessed.

Letting Olivia plan a memorial service for her mother, giving her a chance to say the farewell she had been denied, was just the beginning. Margot was going to have her work cut out for her. There would be hard days ahead for both of them, but in the end, Olivia would be all right—Margot too. I was sure of it.

“What about you, Aunt Margot? Do you want to pick a song?”

“How about ‘Like a River Glorious'? Your mommy and I sang that when we were little. Mari played the piano and we both sang.”

“Okay. Can we bring a piano to the garden?” Olivia asked.

“Well,” I said. “That could be a little tricky, but,” I said, addressing the rest of my answer to Margot, “Paul asked me to tell you that he and James can play if you want them to.”

“That's a good idea,” Olivia said before Margot could reply. “Better than just singing.”

Margot didn't raise any objection, just stroked Olivia's hair, so I wrote
Paul and James
down next to the song titles and then glanced over my notes.

“I think that's about it. Unless you can think of anything else.”

“Just one other thing,” Margot said. “Olivia wants butterflies.”

The little girl nodded vigorously. “Mommy's name was Mariposa. That means ‘butterfly' in Spanish. Mommy told me once that when people die, it is like when a caterpillar turns into a butterfly. They go to sleep for a while, all wrapped in that blanket thing ….” Olivia looked up at her aunt.

“A cocoon.”

“Right. A cocoon. And when it wakes up, the caterpillar climbs out of the cocoon and is a beautiful butterfly. So I think it would be good if we had a lot of really pretty butterflies.”

“That's part of why we've decided to wait until summer to have the memorial,” Margot explained, “so Olivia will be feeling better and it will be warm enough for butterflies.”

“But we're planning it now,” Olivia added, “so everything will be ready and we'll have time to invite people to come.”

“Very wise,” I said, slipping my pen and notepad into my purse. “Well, Miss Olivia, I'm going to get out of your way and let you consult with your florist and caterer.” I rose from my chair and glanced back at Charlie Donnelly and Tessa Woodruff, who had been sitting near the window, waiting patiently for their turn.

Margot got up too. Olivia looked up, a bit alarmed. Now that she'd finally accepted Margot, she was afraid to let her out of her sight. Yes, there was still a lot of healing to be done. Well, bit by bit. That's the only way to do it.

“It's okay, Livie. I'm just going to walk Reverend Clarkson to the elevator and then I'll be right back. You and Charlie can start talking about the food. Be sure to ask him about the butterscotch cookies I was telling you about. They're heaven!”

Charlie rose from his chair, took a white bakery box tied with string from where he'd left it on the windowsill, and approached the side of the bed. “Here. I brought a few for you to sample ….”

Margot and I walked out into the hall. “Charlie will have her eating out of his hand in no time.”

“She looks great, Margot. I can't believe the change. Letting her plan a memorial service is a wonderful idea. She needs this.”

“She's not the only one,” Margot replied. “It all happened so fast and then, with Olivia so sick and all this wrangling over custody, I hardly had a chance to think about Mari. Every time I did, I was so overwhelmed with guilt and bad memories that I just wanted to shut it out. Being Mari's sister wasn't always easy; I'm not trying to pretend it was. But it wasn't all bad. Now I want to remember that part of our relationship.

“Anything I needed to forgive her for, I have. I hope, before she left this earth, maybe while she was trapped in the car, she did the same for me and that she was finally able to let go of all the bad things that had happened and remember what was good about us. I hope that's the way it was. I hope she's finally found peace.”

“So do I.”

I pressed a button on the elevator. Margot gave me a quick squeeze and thanked me for coming. Our farewell was interrupted by the sound of hard-soled shoes pounding like an angry drumbeat against the linoleum flooring of the hallway and Werner Matthews's voice, just as insistent, just as angry.

“Margot! Hang on a minute!”

Margot turned around. “Hi, Dad. I didn't know you were coming today.”

“No,” he said sarcastically. “I'm sure you didn't. What the heck is going on in there?” He stabbed his finger in the direction of Olivia's room. “Who are all those people?”

Margot's flushed cheeks and she shifted her eyes to me, then back to her father. “There's just two, Dad. You met Charlie at Christmas, remember? And Tessa is another of my friends.”

“Your friends.” Werner's voice was flat, but his expression was smoldering. “I see. And what are
your
friends doing in Olivia's room?”

Margot straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Helping Olivia make plans for a memorial service for Mari. Olivia never had a chance to say good-bye to her mother. She needs a chance to grieve her loss. She needs closure.”

Margot's voice was calm and carefully modulated, but her posture was immovable. I couldn't help but recall that day I'd first seen her interact with her father, how she had bent like a willow branch to his will, ignoring every criticism, tiptoeing away from potential confrontation. How she had changed since then. She was still Margot, still soft-spoken and respectful and she still, I suspected, disliked confrontation. But if Olivia's welfare and healing demanded a confrontation with her father, then Margot would not back away from it. Sometime during the last few weeks a transformation had occurred; Margot had become a mother.

Werner rolled his eyes. “A six-year-old child needs closure. Hasn't the poor little thing gone through enough? She doesn't need to keep being reminded of sad things. She needs to forget about all of that and go on with her life. Closure. What kind of psychological mumbo jumbo is that?” He turned to me. “I suppose all this nonsense was your idea.”

“No, Mr. Matthews, it was Margot's, and I think it was a good one. After Olivia ran away to look for her mother and Margot found her—”

“And tried to make the police believe that I'd kidnapped her!” He spun toward his daughter with furious eyes, poking her repeatedly in the arm with the stub of his finger, like he was poking at a pile of smoldering charcoal, trying to stir up a blaze.

“You sent the police to my house! You told them I'd come down here and kidnapped Olivia!”

“No, Dad. I never did. Olivia was missing and the police had to get involved; they had to go to your house. That's the—”

He didn't let her finish. “Do you have any idea how humiliating that was for your mother and me? To have a police cruiser parked in our driveway? In our driveway! For the whole neighborhood to see! And then to be questioned about the disappearance of my own granddaughter, like I was some kind of criminal? Some kind of pervert! Do you have any idea?”

“Dad,” Margot said evenly, “I'm sorry about that. I really am. But none of that was my doing. I told the police there was no need to go to your house, but that's the procedure when a child in a disputed custody case goes missing.”

Werner closed his eyes and threw up his arms. He wasn't listening.

“I know what this is about. This is all about you trying to get your own way! You're trying to embarrass me, make the judge think that I'm some kind of nut job. And that!” he shouted, again pointing to Olivia's hospital room. “That is all about trying to poison my granddaughter against me. Those are all your friends in there. They're all on your side!”

“Daddy,” Margot said, taking a step toward her father and reaching for his arm, “I'm just trying to help Olivia. And it
is
helping. She's talking to me again, for the first time in weeks. That's what we all want, isn't it? There are no sides here.”

Werner slapped her hand away. “Oh, yes. Yes, there are,” he said coldly. “You created them, Margot, the minute you told the police to come to our house. I see how things are now. But if you think I'm going to stand idly by and do nothing while you weave your little schemes, you're wrong.

“I want those people out of that room right now. Either you tell them to leave or I will. I'm going to tell Mr. Bench to keep all
your
friends away from my granddaughter. And if he won't, then I'll go to the judge and get him to do it!”

He stormed down the hall. Margot stood and watched him go, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

“What are you going to do?”

She shrugged. “The only thing I can do. I'm going to make some sort of excuse to get Tessa and Charlie out of Olivia's room without upsetting her. And then I'm going to call Arnie.”