Motherhood is Murder(37)

We sat in silence for a moment then tears sprang to my eyes again. “When can I see Laurie? Is she really okay?”

Jim got up from the end of the bed and moved toward me. He wrapped his arms around me. “She’s really okay. They didn’t need to pump her tummy or even give her any medication. They watched all her vital signs for over six hours.”

I started to wipe my tears but gave up and buried my face in Jim’s chest and bawled.

Jim stroked my hair and rocked me back and forth. “Everything is fine, honey. I think you’re a little stressed out. But you’re fine. Laurie’s fine. Everybody’s fine.”

I looked up from Jim’s chest into his eyes and nodded.

“I love you, honey. Just close your eyes and rest for a while. They said you’ll probably be released as soon as Dr. Wong gives you a final evaluation. I’m going to check on Laurie and see when they will release her.” He rose from the hospital bed.

“Wait! I want to go with you. I have to see Petunia.” I swung my legs out of the bed, feeling a chill through the thin hospital gown.

“No, honey. You need to stay put and wait for the doctor.” His brow creased with concern. “Are you hungry? Should I order a pizza or something. I mean, your stomach’s empty, right?”

I groaned. The thought of eating made my throat constrict. I couldn’t imagine swallowing anything solid for a hundred years.

“Soup, probably.”

Jim nodded and pulled open the room door. “Course, yeah, right. Soup is good food.” He offered me a smile. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

He shut the door behind him.

I sat back on the bed, ignoring the chill I felt. I had needlessly put Laurie and myself in harm’s way. The guilt I felt was debilitating. Freezing in the hospital gown would be punishment for my crimes.

And yet . . .

Had I really put Laurie and me in danger? Or was it only a perceived danger?

After all, I hadn’t been poisoned. I had only freaked out a bit. Had a “panic attack.”

Big deal. Didn’t all new moms have panic attacks at one point or another?

I mean, what was the difference in panicking to see if Laurie was still breathing in her sleep and thinking I’d been poisoned by a murderer?

I buried my head in my hands. Good Lord, maybe I really was losing my mind.

My thoughts turned to Celia. She would recover.

I had saved her life.

See. I did have value. Even if I was going crazy. Celia was alive today because of me.

Had Bruce killed Helene?

What did this mean about Alan? Was Margaret really in any danger? Had she been imagining Alan’s suspicious behavior?

A nurse peeked in. “Mrs. Connolly, Dr. Wong will be another fifteen to twenty minutes.”

“Okay, thank you. Can I get dressed?”

“Not yet. He’ll need to examine you again before discharge. Do you need anything? More water?”

“No. Can you tell me what room Celia . . . oh, I don’t remember her last name . . .”

“Martinez?” the nurse asked.

Martinez? Was that it?

“The woman who was brought in just before you?” the nurse asked.

I nodded.

“She’s in Room 1712. Right around the corner.” She left the room.

I spotted a pair of slipper socks on the bedside table and ripped open the plastic package. After putting them on, I left the room to locate Celia. I knocked at her door.

“Come in,” she called.

She was sitting in bed propped up with a bunch of pillows. She was pale but looked astonishingly well rested. She seemed startled to see me.

“Kate! What are you doing here?”

I approached the bed. “I came to see how you were recovering.”

“Why are you in a hospital gown?”

She offered me the only chair in the small room. I sat and recounted the events that had transpired after she had lost consciousness the best I could. When I finished, my throat was sore and raw. I imagined hers would still be also. I pushed the bedside cart/table, which had a pitcher of water and a cup with a straw on it, toward Celia. Next to the water was a business card from SFPD. I couldn’t make out the name. Celia watched me and nodded.

“Thank you,” she said, reaching for the cup.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

“As good as can be expected.” She took a sip of water. “Oooh. It hurts to swallow!”

“I know.”

She put the cup down. “I’m happy to be alive, though.” “Have you talked to the police?” I asked.

“They were here earlier.” She indicated the card that was on the table.

I took the opportunity to take a closer look. Officer McNearny. Homicide.

Celia’s lips twisted to the right, her beautiful face becoming a hard mask. “I can’t believe Bruce tried to kill me. I would have never thought him capable of it. If you hadn’t called 9-1-1, Kate . . .” She faltered. “I can’t even go there.”

But actually I hadn’t called 9-1-1. Bruce had . . .

I recalled the hushed conversation between Bruce and Celia. I had thought something romantic could or had developed between them, but then he mentioned the pending adoption. His trying to kill her made no sense, unless he thought she knew something.