Chapter 2 - Sorry I’m Late, Babe
Mommy did not want to get into Damian Cross’s car.
That is one of the clearest things I remember.
The black SUV waited at the curb like some giant polished animal. A driver stood beside it. Another man appeared from nowhere and opened the rear door.
Mommy stared at Damian.
“No.”
He blinked.
“No?”
“We’re not getting into a stranger’s car.”
Lily leaned toward me.
“My daddy isn’t a stranger anymore.”
Mommy almost smiled.
Almost.
Damian looked at Lily.
“Not helping.”
“I’m helping a little.”
Even I smiled at that.
But Mommy didn’t move.
Damian lowered his voice.
“Anna, the man following you went directly to the hospital.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m going anywhere with you.”
“It means someone knows where you work.”
“They already knew.”
“And where you spend Tuesdays.”
“Yes.”
“And presumably where you live.”
Mommy’s expression changed.
I felt it happen through her hand.
She looked at me.
Damian saw that.
He didn’t push.
Instead he reached into his pocket, removed a business card, and handed it to her.
It was plain.
Black lettering.
DAMIAN CROSS
CROSS HOLDINGS
An address downtown.
A phone number.
No job title.
Mommy studied it.
“I thought you were…”
She stopped.
Damian’s mouth shifted.
“Something else?”
Mommy looked embarrassed.
“No.”
“Yes, you did.”
Lily whispered loudly to me, “People think Daddy is scary.”
Damian sighed.
“Lily.”
“He is sometimes.”
Mommy looked down at her.
“Is he scary to you?”
Lily shook her head immediately.
“No. He makes pancakes shaped like bears.”
That information did not match Damian Cross at all.
Mommy glanced at him.
He looked almost offended.
“They’re respectable bears.”
The strange normality lasted only a second.
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
“Talk.”
I couldn’t hear the person on the other end.
Damian listened.
His face changed.
“Don’t approach him.”
A pause.
“No. I said don’t.”
He looked at Mommy.
“Send me the photo.”
He hung up.
“What happened?” she asked.
Damian turned his phone toward her.
A photograph filled the screen.
The man in gray stood beside a service entrance at St. Catherine Medical Center.
He was speaking to another man.
Mommy leaned closer.
Then all the color left her face.
Damian noticed.
“You know him.”
She didn’t answer.
“Anna.”
“I’ve seen him.”
“Where?”
“At the hospital.”
“Name?”
“I don’t know his name.”
“What does he do?”
“I’m not sure.”
She enlarged the photograph.
“He wears an administrative badge sometimes. I’ve seen him near the executive floor.”
Damian took the phone back.
“The executive floor.”
“Yes.”
Lily tugged Mommy’s sleeve.
“Nurse Anna?”
Mommy looked down.
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
“Are bad people coming?”
Mommy immediately crouched.
“No.”
She said it too fast.
Lily knew.
Children always know more than adults think.
Damian crouched too.
“Bug, you remember what we talked about?”
Lily nodded.
“If Daddy says we’re changing plans, we change plans.”
“That’s right.”
“Are we changing plans?”
“Yes.”
Lily accepted this with surprising calm.
Then she reached for my hand.
“Do you want to ride with me?”
I looked at Mommy.
She still hadn’t agreed.
Damian stood.
“I can have someone drive you home separately.”
“No.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“I thought you didn’t want to ride with me.”
“I don’t want strangers knowing where we live.”
He seemed to respect that answer.
“Fair.”
Mommy thought for several seconds.
“We go somewhere public.”
“Fine.”
“And you tell me exactly what you know.”
“Yes.”
“No men standing around looking intimidating.”
Damian glanced toward the driver.
“That may be difficult.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. That’s just Marco’s face.”
The driver looked straight ahead, pretending not to hear.
I laughed.
Mommy didn’t.
But five minutes later, we were inside the SUV.
Lily and I sat in the back.
She told me about her red raincoat, her school, and a hamster named Winston who had escaped for three days and was eventually found inside Damian’s shoe closet.
Mommy and Damian sat ahead of us.
Neither spoke much.
We went to a restaurant inside the Cross Hotel, which I later learned belonged to Damian’s company.
Mommy noticed that immediately.
“This is your idea of somewhere public?”
“There are forty-seven security cameras.”
“That wasn’t what I meant.”
“It’s what I meant.”
He led us to a quiet table near tall windows.
A server brought hot chocolate for Lily and me without Damian ordering.
Mommy noticed that too.
“How often does she come here?”
“Enough that they know what she wants.”
Lily smiled.
“Extra marshmallows.”
Damian looked at the server.
“She’s supposed to get six.”
The server counted.
“There are eight.”
Lily looked innocent.
“I don’t know how that happened.”
Mommy laughed despite herself.
Damian stared at her for half a second longer than necessary.
Then his expression turned serious.
“Tell me about the hospital.”
Mommy folded her hands around her coffee cup.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything you remember from Lily’s admission.”
Mommy looked toward Lily.
Damian understood.
He stood and motioned to a woman at the nearby hostess desk.
“Mrs. Vega?”
An older woman approached.
Lily immediately grinned.
“Can you and Mia go see the dessert kitchen?”
Mommy’s head snapped toward him.
“Mia stays where I can see her.”
Damian pointed.
The pastry kitchen was behind a glass wall less than thirty feet away.
Mommy considered.
Then nodded.
Lily dragged me excitedly toward it.
From there, I could see Mommy and Damian.
I couldn’t hear most of the conversation.
Years later, Mommy told me what was said.
Lily had arrived at St. Catherine seven months earlier after collapsing at school.
Her heart rhythm had become unstable.
Doctors first believed she had a rare viral complication.
For forty-eight hours, she deteriorated.
Then she nearly died.
Mommy had been assigned to her room.
Room 417.
The night Lily crashed, something had bothered Mommy about the medication chart.
One of the doses recorded in the system didn’t match what she remembered giving.
She had reported it.
A supervisor told her it was probably a documentation error.
Mommy let it go.
Or thought she had.
Damian leaned forward.
“What medication?”
“I don’t remember exactly.”
“Think.”
“Damian, I administer dozens of medications every shift.”
“This matters.”
“I know.”
She closed her eyes.
“It was an antiarrhythmic.”
“Lily’s?”
“Yes.”
“Was the dosage wrong?”
“In the electronic chart, yes.”
“How wrong?”
“High enough that I immediately questioned it.”
Damian’s face tightened.
“But Lily survived.”
“Because the dose in the chart wasn’t the dose I physically administered.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning somebody changed the record afterward.”
That got his attention.
“Can that happen?”
“Technically? Yes. But access leaves a digital trail.”
“Did anyone investigate?”
“My supervisor said IT reviewed it.”
“And?”
“They called it a syncing problem.”
Damian leaned back.
“You believed that?”
“At the time.”
“What changed?”
Mommy looked through the glass at us.
“The man in gray.”
Damian waited.
“He was in the hall that night.”
“You remember him now?”
“Not clearly. But I remember the jacket.”
“The same one?”
“Maybe.”
“What was he doing?”
“He was speaking with someone near the medication room.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Man or woman?”
“Man.”
“Doctor?”
“I think so.”
Damian’s jaw tightened.
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“I didn’t think it mattered.”
“It matters now.”
Mommy looked frustrated.
“I still don’t understand why.”
Damian reached for his phone.
He pulled up another image.
A hospital security photograph.
It showed the man in gray leaving St. Catherine through a side exit.
The timestamp was visible.
2:13 a.m.
The date matched the night Lily nearly died.
Mommy stared.
“Where did you get this?”
“I’ve been looking into that night for seven months.”
“Why?”
“Because my daughter did not suddenly become critically ill by accident.”
Mommy looked at him.
“You think someone hurt her?”
Damian’s gaze went toward Lily.
“No.”
The word sounded like something he wanted to believe.
“But I think someone wanted me to believe she was sicker than she was.”
Mommy frowned.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It does if someone wanted me distracted.”
“From what?”
Damian hesitated.
“Business.”
“What kind of business?”
He smiled without humor.
“The kind you probably don’t want details about.”
Mommy stared at him.
“So the rumors are true.”
“Some.”
“Which ones?”
“The boring ones.”
“People don’t whisper about boring things.”
For the first time, Damian almost laughed.
Then his phone vibrated.
He checked it.
His expression disappeared.
He stood.
Mommy immediately became alert.
“What happened?”
Damian looked toward the glass kitchen where Lily and I were decorating cupcakes.
“Marco.”
The driver appeared instantly.
“Take the girls upstairs.”
Mommy rose.
“No.”
Damian turned his phone toward her.
A photograph had arrived.
It showed Mommy’s house.
Taken from across the street.
Only minutes earlier.
Another message followed.
Three words.
ASK ANNA ABOUT 417.
Mommy read it twice.
“What does that mean?”
Damian’s eyes met hers.
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
“I can’t.”
Then another message appeared.
This one included an image.
A small plastic evidence bag.
Inside it was a silver hospital keycard.
Mommy made a sound I had never heard before.
Damian looked at her.
“You recognize it.”
She sat down slowly.
“That card belonged to Evelyn Shaw.”
“Who is Evelyn Shaw?”
“My charge nurse.”
“Where is she now?”
Mommy’s face had gone white.
“She died three months ago.”
Damian said nothing.
Mommy stared at the image.
“There’s something written on the back.”
Damian enlarged it.
Two numbers.
4.
5.
Room 417.
Lily’s room.
Damian looked toward his daughter.
Then at Mommy.
“What happened in that room, Anna?”
Mommy swallowed.
“I don’t know.”
And at that moment, she truly didn’t.
But someone thought she did.
May you like
And before that night ended, we would discover they were willing to enter our home to find out.
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