Page 4 of Not the Bodyguard's Baby
Adam took the card. He wouldn’t ask how the officer knew September had nursed the baby. Too many pieces weren’t fitting together. Mothers who cared about their children didn’t abandon them. But abandoned children usually were not well-fed—at least not the ones who made the news. September hadn’t done drugs when he knew her. Knowing her manager, the story about September spending the last six months in rehab was a cover-up. But that left the most puzzling question of all—where was September, and what had prompted a welfare check?
* * *
The generic-gray hospital-issue scrubs were too long for September and dragged on the floor. Rolling them up was too much work. How did they expect people to not be depressed wearing something so ugly? Couldn’t they at least get some cute scrubs like the kind pediatric nurses wore? September followed a woman wearing the same gray outfit into a small room lined with couches. One other woman sat in the room, also dressed in gray. She didn’t look up as they came in. Another woman carrying a tablet and dressed in business attire entered the room and closed the door.
“I am Dr. Tamara Brooks. First, let me apologize for the gray clothing. If I had my choice, I would give you different tops. The behavioral-health unit is an integrated facility serving a number of different patients. For this reason, there are no shoelaces or tie strings in your clothing. After tomorrow you should all be moved to the third floor where we’ve set up a small unit for postpartum treatment. This is a new program still in the pilot stage. For part of each day, your infant will be in the unit with you. This will allow you to nurse and bond with your child while in therapy. If ever you feel overwhelmed, we’ve got a full staff of caregivers on the floor to help both you and your child.”
The woman in the corner raised her hand. “I thought the drugs meant we couldn’t breastfeed anymore.”
“Several antidepressants don’t cross over into the milk and are considered safe for both baby and mother. Your doctors will discuss your medication with you. Every effort is made to help you continue nursing if you wish.”
The mention of nursing caused September’s milk to let down. She was going to leak any minute.
“There are hospital-grade pumps for you to use. One of the redeeming qualities of your scrub tops is they are roomy enough to pump under and give you some privacy. Due to the cording on the pumps, you will be supervised by either a nurse or a lactation consultant whenever you are pumping. Looks like a couple of you would like to pump now instead of later. How about I rearrange your morning?” Dr. Brooks crossed the room and used the ID card on her lanyard to open the door. She stayed in the doorway as she talked to someone, then returned to the couches. “They’ll have the pumps and a lactation specialist down here in a moment. The first time I used a hospital pump, it was a little
intimidating.”
The doctor was a mom too. September breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe the doctor would understand.
“Five years ago, I sat where you are today. Only five years ago the hospital was mixing the new moms with all the other patients, including men. The PPD ward is a women-only ward. This includes employees, many of whom, like me, have personal experience with postpartum depression. Males, including doctors, are allowed only in the meeting rooms and offices outside the unit.”
Someone tapped on the door. Dr. Brooks answered, and a nurse pushed a cart with three pumps into the room.
“I’ll be back in half an hour. Don’t worry about how much you pump. If it doesn’t seem like a full bottle’s worth, don’t worry. The first few times with a pump can be frustrating.”
One of the women laughed nervously.
The nurse provided instructions, and within a few moments, the only sounds in the room came from the machines.
The woman to September’s left gasped. “I wish my twins would eat this fast.”
“You have twins?” asked the woman on her right.
“They are three months old. And I can’t—” The woman took a deep breath. “My name is Leisha. I figure if I can pump in front of you, we may as well be on a first-name basis.” Her voice carried a slight twang.
Another woman chimed in. “I’m Madison. My son is ten weeks old, and my other son had his second birthday on Sunday.”
September glanced at her hospital band, glad her middle name was the name on it—the name she had asked the hospital to list as her preferred name. “My name is Rayne, and my daughter is six weeks old.”
Leisha stared at September for a moment, her large brown eyes narrowing. “You remind me of someone. Have we met before?”
“I don’t think so. Where did you grow up?”
“Down in Alabama. No matter how hard I try, I can’t get rid of my accent. What about you, Madison?”
“I’m from Lake Forest, so I am pretty much a native.”
September recognized the name of the posh suburb. She had looked at homes there before purchasing one in Oak Brook. Before Leisha could ask another question, her pump beeped and the nurse came over. “I believe you are finished.” The nurse helped them untangle themselves.
September wondered how long she would be able to keep her identity a secret. She guessed it was only a matter of time before Leisha made the connection.
3
A few minutesafter the police left, Elle brought the slumbering baby into Adam’s office. “Your father wants to visit with you. He asked that I keep Harmony in here.”
“Thanks, Elle. I’ll be back in a few.”I hope. Adam walked down the hallway to his father’s office.
Jethro Hastings sat behind his desk in his leather chair. “Shut the door.”
