22
Neva
As I was stopped at the traffic lights on the way back home, I slid my phone out of my pocket. A little envelope flashed on the screen. I smiled when I heard Patrick’s voice.
“Nev, it’s me. I was thinking of dropping by. Thought maybe we could … I don’t know … watch a movie and fall asleep on the couch together, what do you think? Call me back.”
My heart skipped as I pressed delete. The idea of Patrick and me falling asleep on the couch together sounded like something I could get used to. Something I wanted to get used to. I thought about what Gran had said. Could I tell Patrick? Was it possible that he would understand? Or would I be forcing our relationship into an early grave?
I waited for the next message.
“Yes, hello. This is a message for Neva Bradley. My name is Marie Ableman from the Board of Nursing. It’s six fifteen P.M. Can you please call me when you get this message? 555-4102.”
Pulling over, I lowered the phone and stared at the screen. The Board of Nursing? Calling to get some incriminating evidence on my mother? The time on my phone said 9:35 P.M. Too late to call. Though … if she was investigating my mother, perhaps I didn’t care about Marie Whatshername’s personal time. The phone rang four times before someone answered.
“Hello?” It was a woman’s voice—the voice from the message. She sounded curious, annoyed, and very much off duty.
“This is Neva Bradley. I’m sorry it’s late, but I just received your message.”
“Oh, yes, Ms. Bradley, thanks for calling back.” The voice immediately took on a new, polite tone. She exhaled, getting her work hat on. “Yes, as you may know, I am investigating a complaint made against Grace Bradley in the delivery of Gillian Brennan’s baby. I understand you were assisting with this birth.”
“I was.”
“I’d like to ask you some questions about it. It will only take a few minutes.”
For some reason, I pulled myself tall in my seat. “Go right ahead.”
It did only take a few minutes. I answered Marie’s questions honestly, if a little stiffly. I didn’t need to lie. Mom had not acted negligently. But I would have lied if I had to. Without hesitation. And I was certain she would have done the same for me.
“In your opinion, was Mrs. Bradley irresponsible at any time during labor and delivery?” Marie asked, winding up her questions.
“She was not. She acted in the best interests of her client and the baby at all times.”
“Thank you, Ms. Bradley. You’ve been very helpful. I’ll let you go.”
“Wait. What happens now?”
“I have a few more people to speak with yet,” Marie said. “Then the notes will be reviewed by a subcommittee and a recommendation made to the Board of Nursing on a course of action.”
“What kind of course of action?”
“It really depends. If no evidence is found to support the complaint, we will recommend the case be closed.”
“And if evidence is found? Not that it will be.”
“If Mrs. Bradley is found to have been negligent, it is possible that she could be fined or even lose her license.” Marie’s voice softened. “But as I said, I still have a few more people to speak with. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Infuriatingly, Marie was calm, impartial, and fair—not at all the villain I’d thought she would be. She was just doing her job. I wanted to believe from her tone that Mom would be given a fair hearing, that was all I could really ask for. Because if she did get a fair hearing, there was no doubt in my mind that the case would be closed.
“Okay. Thanks.”
I hung up the phone. Even though I believed Mom would be vindicated, I felt a little sick. Mom losing her license was too wrong to comprehend. Like a world-class sprinter losing their legs. Or an opera singer losing her voice. It wouldn’t just be her who would lose. The world would.
I pulled up in front of my apartment. As I took the stairs, I rang Patrick. In my building, another phone was ringing. I shoved a finger in one ear, anticipating his voice. It rang again, and then he answered.
“Hello, gorgeous.”
“Hello,” I said, feeling shy. I took the last three steps to my door and found it ajar. “Hey, can I call you back? The door to my apartment is open, and I need to check that there isn’t an intruder.” I laughed. “If there is, he’ll be disappointed with our abysmal lack of technology and easy-to-move goods.”
The door peeled open, and Patrick appeared in the doorway. He pressed the phone to his ear and raised his other hand, palm toward me. “Please don’t call the police.”
I crossed my arms. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.”
“I’ll put back your 1990s VCR and your collection of Spice Girls CDs.”
“Even Greatest Hits?”
He pouted. “Fine.”
It probably wasn’t romantic, but I loved being with Patrick like this. Other than my Dad and Gran, he was the only one I felt completely comfortable with. It had to be a good omen for us. He stood aside and I entered the apartment.
“It’s a good thing you decided to let me keep my 1990s VCR,” I said. “How else would we watch a movie and then fall asleep on the couch?”
“Ah, you got my message.”