Cassie puts her stethoscope to his chest and gasps. “His lungs are filled with fluid.” She begins working on him as Becky runs into the hallway to alert Dr. Hagan.
Several other nurses rush in with the doctor and I back away into the corner. I’m frozen as I watch them work on Ben. Cassie looks over at me, shaking her head. Her eyes are frantic and questioning. I look out of the blinds and see Olivia sitting up, drinking juice that one of the nurses brought to her. The Marines are still there, trying to give her space but also to comfort her. I look back toward Ben and I can’t see him. He’s surrounded by doctors and nurses.
Cassie’s eyes meet mine and I know.
We’re losing him.
I’M SEATED NEXT TO CASSIE inside the hospital administrator’s office.
I’m numb.
“Miss Weston, can you answer me?” Jim Burke, Chief of the NICU, asks again.
“I don’t know how it happened,” I say quietly. It’s my fault.
“You don’t know how the feeding tube was placed in his lungs instead of his stomach?” he asks accusingly.
“No, sir. I listened to his chest. I heard it in his stomach. I didn’t think it was in his lungs.” Cassie grabs my hand and squeezes. Did I actually listen to his chest? I don’t even remember. Holy fuck.
I’ve inserted hundreds of feeding tubes in babies tinier than Ben. Hundreds of tubes placed in the exact spot they were supposed to be placed. All the right way, never in their precious lungs. Lungs so tiny and desperate for air. Lungs trying to work hard to keep Ben alive.
Ben.
“Miss Weston, we’re placing you on administrative leave until we can conduct a full investigation into this situation.”
I inhale as Jim stands up behind his desk.
“But…” I say and break down. “I didn’t mean to, Jim. I did everything right. I don’t know what happened. Oh my God.”
It begins to sink in exactly what I’ve done. Cassie grabs me by my shoulders and guides me out of the room.
“Cassie.” I sob and fall to my knees in the hallway.
It’s my fault.
It’s my fault.
IT’S MY FAULT.
“Hush, Sam.” She sinks to the floor next to me and throws her arms around me. “Don’t say anything, okay?” She begs me not to confess. Not to tell her what I did.
“Whatever happened was an accident. Do you understand? The NICU was a zoo today. So much was going on. Too much was going on.” She rubs my arms, pulling me against her. I can hear the regret in her voice. She was assigned to Ben today, and it was her feeding tube that I inserted wrong. Her guilt is tangible, but not as thick as mine.
An accident? It was neglectful. Sloppy. Wrong.
“I killed him,” I whisper into her shoulder. “I killed Ben.”
Garrett
Present
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Age 26
HEATH MOVES THROUGH MY HOUSE like he’s been here before. He finds the whiskey and two glasses and quickly pours heaping servings for the both of us. He slides one across the large island in the kitchen that I’m propped against. I drink it down in one gulp, feeling the burn of the brown liquid in my throat and into my chest. I wince as a delayed burn attacks my nose. My eyes water as I push the glass toward him. He refills it without thinking and his eyes meet mine.
“Dude, you have a kid.”
The words hang in the air between us, and I swig the second shot of whiskey.
“You don’t know that,” I say, trying to convince myself that the birth certificate isn’t real.
“And his mother is dead.” He drops his eyes and swirls his drink before sucking it back.
I slide onto the barstool and place my forehead on the cool granite. This can’t be happening.
Heath’s cell phone chimes loudly and he answers it after the first ring. “Mick,” he says, and I close my eyes, keeping my head pressed to the counter. “Right. Okay. Thanks.” He drops the phone on the counter next to my head.
“The police are finished. They gathered everything they could find. They want to talk to you, and Mick gave them your home address.”
What could they want to talk to me about?