Chapter 7: What the Nurse Remembered
The forty-eight hours felt like two weeks.
Diane stayed.
She slept on the sofa and woke up every time Noah cried and brought him to me so I didn't have to get up.
She made food that wasn't for Helen.
She sat beside me during the night feeds and didn't try to fill the silence with anything useful or cheerful, which was exactly right.
Helen stayed in the guest room.
She came out for meals and said very little.
Whatever her attorney had told her, it had made her quiet.
Evan barely slept.
I could hear him at the kitchen table in the early hours, on his phone, typing.
On the morning of the second day, he came into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed.
"I found her," he said.
"The nurse.
Her name is Patricia Osei.
She works through the hospital's postpartum support program."
"Did you talk to her?"
"Last night.
For forty minutes." He paused.
"Maya, she kept notes."
I looked at him.
"She keeps notes on every home visit.
Date, time, what happened, who she spoke to.
It's part of her program's protocol." He pulled out his phone and read from the screen.
"Day two.
Arrived at 9:15 a.m.
Knocked.
Door answered by older woman, identified herself as patient's mother-in-law.
Was told patient was resting and did not need assistance.
Asked to confirm with patient directly.
Was told that would not be possible.
Asked to leave contact card.
Card was not accepted.
Left at 9:22 a.m."
He looked up.
"She documented it," I said.
"All of it.
She also noted that she attempted a follow-up call to the household that afternoon.
No answer.
She flagged the case internally as a failed first contact and requested a supervisor review."
"So there's a record."
"There's a record that Helen turned her away.
There's a record that the hospital's own support system tried to reach you and was blocked." He set the phone down.
"I've already sent it to Sandra Okafor."
I let out a breath I felt like I'd been holding for two days.
"There's something else," Evan said.
His voice changed slightly.
I noticed it.
"Patricia said she recognized the name.
Helen Carter.
She said she'd had a previous visit blocked at a different address, three years ago.
Different patient.
Same last name."
I stared at him.
"She looked it up after we spoke.
It was a postpartum visit for a woman named Claire Carter." He paused.
"My brother Daniel's wife."
The room was very quiet.
"Helen did this before," I said.
"I called Daniel this morning."
"What did he say?"
Evan was quiet for a moment.
"He said Claire had a very hard time after their son was born.
That she struggled for almost a year.
That they almost didn't make it." He stopped.
"He didn't know about the nurse.
Claire didn't know either.
They just thought the support program had failed them."
I thought about Claire.
I had met her four times.
She was quiet.
A little distant.
I had always assumed that was just her personality.
"She went through this too," I said.
"Without knowing why."
I looked down at Noah, asleep in my arms.
"We need to tell her," I said.
"I know."
"And Daniel needs to know what his mother did."
"I called him this morning," Evan said again.
"He knows."
"How did he take it?"
Evan looked at the window.
Outside, a car passed.
A bird crossed the glass.
"He cried," Evan said.
"He said Claire had been in therapy for two years trying to understand why she felt like such a failure after their son was born." He stopped.
"And the reason she felt that way was because she was alone when she shouldn't have been."
The bedroom door was open.
Down the hall, I could hear Helen moving in the kitchen.
The sound of a cabinet closing.
Water running.
May you like
The ordinary sounds of a woman who had done this twice and had never once been asked to explain herself.
Until now.
