“You make it sound like you’re going to save the whole city,” I had teased once.
She had smiled at me over a cup of cheap diner coffee.
“No,” she said. “Just one child at a time.”
And I had loved her so much in that moment that it frightened me.
My phone vibrated on the desk.
My mother’s name appeared on the screen.
Vivian Harrison rarely called after midnight unless she wanted something.
I let it ring.
It stopped.
Then began again.
I answered the second time.
“Ethan,” she said, her voice smooth and controlled. “I heard there was an incident at the hospital tonight.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“What incident?”
“Don’t be difficult. One of the board members called your father. A former acquaintance of yours was admitted.”
Former acquaintance.
Even now, my mother could turn a person into something small with two words.
“How did you hear about that?” I asked.
“You know our family supports St. Mary’s generously.”
“That doesn’t give you access to patient information.”
A pause.
Then, colder, “Do not lecture me about access.”
I stood from my chair slowly. “Hannah is my patient.”
“So it is her.”
The satisfaction in her voice was slight, but I heard it.
“You didn’t know?” I asked.
“I knew only that a woman named Hannah Parker had come in. Naturally, I wondered whether it was the same girl who caused such disruption in your life years ago.”
“She didn’t cause it,” I said.
Silence followed.
It was the first time I had said those words aloud.
My mother recovered quickly. “You sound tired. That is understandable. I only called to warn you not to let old emotions cloud your judgment.”
“My judgment saved her life tonight.”
