Page 8 of The Lost Girls of Willowbrook

“Say hello to your parents, Jimmy,” the attendant said.

“Hello, parents,” Jimmy said, his tongue lolling out of his mouth at the end of each word. His voice was lower than Sage expected. Maybe he was older than he looked.

Concern creased the mother’s face and she put a gentle hand on one side of Jimmy’s head, where something dark, like dried blood, lined his jaw and neck. “What happened to his ear?”

“He was roughhousing with one of the other boys and got bit,” the attendant said.

“It looks like it needs stitches,” the mother said.

“I’ll mention it to his doctor,” the attendant said, his voice filled with indifference.

“What about the new sneakers we brought last time?” the father said. He pointed at the boots on Jimmy’s feet. They looked two sizes too big and were missing the laces. “Where are they?”

The attendant looked down at the boots as if noticing them for the first time. “I’m not sure,” he said. “He must have lost them.”

The father shook his head, disgusted. “That’s the third pair this year.”

“Can we take him outside for a minute?” the mother asked. “It’s been snowing, but the fresh air will do him good.”

“I didn’t bring his coat,” the attendant said. “Maybe next time.”

“I can get his coat,” the father said. “Just tell me where it is.”

“You know parents aren’t allowed in the wards, Mr. Chan. I’ve told you that a hundred times.”

“I know you have,” Mr. Chan said. “What I want to know is why? Why won’t you let us see where our son lives? What are you trying to hide?”

“We’re not hiding anything,” the attendant said. “But it can be upsetting for the other residents to see parents in the wards, especially those who never get visitors. You’re welcome to visit with Jimmy right here, like you always do.”

“And why do we always have to let you know when we’re coming or else Jimmy’s not allowed a visit?” Mr. Chan said. “Perhaps you can explain that to me too.”

Mrs. Chan had already taken Jimmy by the arm and was leading him toward the toy room off the waiting area, lovingly rubbing one hand along his shoulders.

“I don’t make the rules, Mr. Chan,” the attendant said. “If you have a complaint, you need to take it up with one of the doctors or a member of the administration.”

“Oh, I plan on it. The parents’ association just met with one of your doctors and we’re going to get to the bottom of this, you can bet on that!”

The attendant shrugged. “Do what you have to do.”

Mr. Chan shot him another angry look, then followed his wife and son into the other room. The attendant watched until they were settled before turning to leave, then noticed Sage and hesitated, a strange look on his face. Instead of exiting, he went over to the receptionist and leaned over her desk, talking quietly. The receptionist nodded and glanced at Sage. The attendant looked over at her again, then left through the door at the back of the room.

Apprehension gnawed at her insides again. What had they said about her? That there was little hope Rosemary would be found? That they needed to get someone to tell her she was dead? Or was it something else entirely?

She got up and approached the receptionist. “Excuse me,” she said. “But I got the feeling you and that man were talking about my sister. Is there something you can tell me? Anything at all?”

The receptionist shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know for sure what’s going on, but someone will be out shortly to speak to you.”

“But you don’t understand,” Sage said. “I just found out my sister was here. I thought she was dead and I came all this way and—”

Before she could finish, the door at the back of the waiting room opened and the brush-cut attendant returned with a thin man in a tweed sports coat. The attendant pointed at Sage and they started toward her, walking fast, the attendant with his hands in fists, the man’s face grave. Her first instinct was to turn and run. They thought she was sick; they were going to lock her up. Maybe Alan had told them she was coming because he wanted to get rid of her. Maybe everything he said about Rosemary had been a lie to get her here. After all, she and every kid on Staten Island had grown up being told they’d be sent to Willowbrook if they didn’t behave. Now the nightmare was coming true.

But that was impossible. Alan had no idea she was here. She pushed the idea away. Then, in the next instant, she wilted inside. The attendant and the man in the sports coat were going to tell her Rosemary was dead. She could see it in their eyes and the way they held their mouths. No. Rosemary couldn’t be dead—not again! The men looked tense because of this place, because of the difficult decisions associated with their jobs. Maybe they thought she was here to berate them for losing Rosemary.

On watery legs, she went to meet them, her hand out and her chin up, trying to look friendly and confident. Inside, she felt nauseated.

Before she could speak, the man in the sports coat said, “Where have you been, Miss Winters? We’ve been worried about you.”

CHAPTER 3

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