“The baby,” I heard myself say.

“I didn’t know, not until after you—until just now, really, when Sandy told you. And even then, I mean, do we know for sure? There could have been other guys.”

Justin went on, said other things, they rebounded off me in echoed shards, tearing at my skin. She was the only one. Never again. I am so sorry. I love you. I am so sorry. I love you.

I am so sorry. She reminded me of you.

I tried so hard to get you off the story. I wanted so badly to protect you.

“No,” I whispered. My whole body had gone numb. But my lungs were on fire. “No.”

Molly Sanderson, Session 16, June 12, 2013

(Audio Transcription, Session Recorded with

Patient Knowledge and Consent)

Q:    You seem extremely aggravated, Molly.

M.S.: I am aggravated. I don’t see why you’re trying to get me angry at Justin.

Q:    I’m just trying to clarify where Justin was that weekend. You told me that you couldn’t reach him when you were at the doctor’s office. But I didn’t realize he was away that whole weekend.

M.S.: Yes, at a conference in Boston. I told you, he had two conferences.

Q:    But you’re not angry at him for being away?

M.S.: Why would I be angry at him for going to a conference?

Q:    For being unreachable.

M.S.: He was working. I was the one who freaked out.

Q:    You had just received horrible news. Understandable that you were upset.

M.S.: Except I was upset way before the appointment. Oh yes, I freaked out long before then. And if you want to know why I really feel guilty, it’s because of that. Because Justin told me he would be busy. That he had three different panels and colleagues to meet with. He gave me a number where I could reach him if it was an emergency. But it wasn’t an emergency. So I just kept calling and calling his cell phone. And I don’t know if it was the hormones or what, but I got myself all worked into a panic—like maybe he was dead or something. I mean, it was so stupid. Because he was there with someone. She would have called me if he’d been hit by a car.

Q:    She.

M.S.: Oh God, seriously? Yes, Justin was traveling with his research assistant, and yes, she was young and pretty and blond.

Q:    Did he often not call when he was traveling with her?

M.S.: Oh my God, this is ridiculous! You are desperate for me to be angry at him, aren’t you? Yes, Justin was away in Boston at a conference with a pretty young colleague, and yes, I couldn’t reach him at hours when I should have been able to. And yes, I was suspicious! Because I wasn’t thinking clearly! So, I freaked out and kept calling his cell phone over and over and over again. Then I started calling his room in the middle of the night, and he didn’t answer there. And I got so upset that it—that I probably made the baby’s heart speed up. All while I should have been resting and staying calm. And so, yes, that’s probably why I feel so guilty. Because I killed her! So there it is. Are you happy now, Dr. Zomer?

Q:    But you don’t blame Justin?

M.S.: Blame him? She was inside me, Dr. Zomer. I was her mother. I’m the one who was supposed to take care of her. I’m the one who was supposed to keep her alive.

Sandy

Molly hadn’t been gone two minutes when Sandy’s phone rang. A Ridgedale number that she didn’t recognize—the police department, probably. Now that they were finally calling, she couldn’t get herself to answer. Instead, she let it ring, four times in all. Sandy was sure it would have gone to voicemail by the time she answered it. But it hadn’t.

“Is this Sandy Mendelson?”

“Yes?”

“This is Sergeant Fulton of the Ridgedale Police Department. Your mother, Jenna Mendelson, has been in an automobile accident.”

“Is she dead?” Sandy heard herself sounding like she wanted that to be true. Even though she didn’t. Even though nothing could have been further from the truth.

“Um, no, miss,” he said, sounding confused about her jumping to that conclusion. And maybe a little suspicious. “Looks like she’ll be okay. Doing pretty well, considering.”

When Sandy got upstairs, Molly and Justin were in their bedroom, the door closed. Sandy sat on the edge of the guest bed for a minute, hoping they’d come out so Molly could offer, with that nice smile of hers, to take Sandy to the hospital right now.

Sandy would have headed out on her bike, but they’d taken Jenna to Bergen County Hospital, probably close to an hour by bike, and on a highway, and she didn’t have money to call a cab. She had no choice but to knock.

Justin opened the door a crack, his body filling the doorway. “Hi.” He was trying to sound friendly, but there was definitely something wrong. His eyes were all red, and his hair was all fucked up. “What’s up?”

“Oh, sorry to bother you,” Sandy began, and she seriously hated this shit—asking people for help. Like any bad habit: Do it once, and it got way too easy to do it again. “The police called. My mom is at the hospital. They said I could come down. I would ride my bike, but she’s at the Bergen County Hospital and—”

Sandy heard Molly say something behind Justin.

“Wait, hold on.” He ducked back into the bedroom, resting the door shut without pulling it closed.

There were more voices. Maybe they’d changed their minds about helping her. They had a kid of their own to worry about, and Molly had already helped Sandy a lot, more than most people did.

“You know, actually, it’s okay,” Sandy began as soon as the door opened again. She couldn’t deal with being let down easy. But it was Molly this time, car keys already in her hand. “I’m just going to ride my—”

“No, no, I’ll drive you.” Molly’s eyes were red and shiny, like Justin’s had been. “Please, I insist.” She smiled and waved Sandy forward. “What did they say?”

“That she’s going to be okay,” Sandy said, not sure she believed it herself.

“I’m so glad, Sandy,” Molly said, and it looked like she meant it. “Come on, let’s get you to her.”

“You can go ahead on in, hon,” said the nice nurse, standing to the side in her pink flowered scrubs, holding open the door to Jenna’s hospital room. “You were the first person she asked about before she went into surgery. She’ll be so happy to see you when she wakes up.”

Sandy shuffled inside. But she hung back, near the door. Eyes on the ground. She was afraid to see how bad off Jenna was. When Sandy turned her gaze up, she saw that Jenna didn’t look great, but maybe not as bad as Sandy had been afraid of. Her eyes were closed and her skin was a grayish blue that matched the hospital bedsheets. She had bruises all over her arms, a bandage on one cheek, her leg raised in a brace.

It was a miracle that Jenna wasn’t worse, everyone at the hospital had said. She’d passed in and out of consciousness, severely dehydrated, hanging upside down, her leg pinned, bleeding internally—something surgery had corrected—for days, maybe. They couldn’t be sure how long, because Jenna didn’t remember when or how the accident had happened. But everyone had been convinced she was already dead when they pulled her out. If it hadn’t been for Monte, she probably would have been.

“Let me know if you need anything.” The nurse pulled up a chair next to Jenna’s bedside and motioned for Sandy to sit. “She just had some pain medicine, and she’s still sedated from the surgery. She’ll probably sleep for a couple more hours. But if she wakes up and you need anything, just push this.” She motioned to a call button on the wall. “My name is Terry.”