“I love you for loving me, Stella.” Rose smiled. “But I’m pretty sure that’s not how the phrase was intended.”
“And now Rose would like to go home.” Stella rubbed the woman’s arm some more. “No one can give us a legitimate medical reason why she can’t, but for some insane, incompetent reason, they still will not discharge her. I thought maybe you could, you know, mention that you’re from the local paper. See if we could get them to snap to it. Nothing like fear of a little bad press to get someone’s attention.”
This was why Stella had wanted me there? To throw my very meager weight around? I felt simultaneously flattered and insulted. I smiled at Rose through gritted teeth. “Stella, can I talk to you in the hall for one second?”
“Oh, sure,” Stella said, turning back to Rose. “I’ll be right back, honey. Do you need anything else? You’re sure you don’t want a trashy magazine while we wait for these jerks to get it together?”
“No, no, I’m fine,” Rose said, squeezing Stella’s hand. “You’ve done way too much already.”
“Who is she?” I whispered when we were out in the hall, the door to the room easing shut.
“Rose,” Stella said at full volume, pulling her chic cranberry-hued cardigan closed. Her saying the woman’s name a second time did not make it more familiar. “I’m telling you, Molly. There’s definitely something weird going on here. First they said they needed to wait for more test results; now they’re saying there’s some problem with Rose’s insurance. And that’s definitely not true, because she’s still on her parents’ insurance. It’s the one thing they help her with. Anyway, Rose called and checked. Her insurance is fine. The hospital is making up one excuse after another.”
“But Stella, who is Rose to you?”
“Oh, Rose cleans my house.” Stella looked confused and maybe a tiny bit appalled. “You have met her, Molly. Don’t you remember?”
Now that Stella mentioned it, I did have a vague recollection of one occasion, right after Stella and I had met, when I’d been at her house and her cleaning woman had passed through the kitchen. Stella had told me about her afterward in hushed tones—a straight-A psychology student at Ridgedale University, planning to work with autistic children like her younger brother, until her parents cut her off financially and she had to drop out of school. Criminal, according to Stella. Absolutely criminal.
The story had not surprised me. Most people Stella knew came with some kind of hard-luck history—even me.
“I didn’t recognize her with the bruising,” I lied.
“I know,” Stella said, making a disgusted face. “Horrible, isn’t it? She’s in agony, too, the poor thing. And she won’t take any pain medicine because she’s one of those crazy all-natural types. You know, raw food, meditation. Especially now, with the nursing, she’s definitely not taking anything.”
The nursing. There was a pull in the pit of my stomach. For some insane, incompetent reason, they will not discharge her. Surely the police had alerted the hospital to be on the lookout for mothers of missing babies.
“Rose has a baby?”
“Yeah, just had a baby three weeks ago,” Stella said. “She shouldn’t be back working. But I guess that’s what happens to people on the margins. Her parents are such assholes.”
Rose hadn’t been visibly pregnant when I’d seen her, but that had been nearly six months ago.
“Stella, where is Rose’s baby?”
“What do you mean, where is her—” I watched the lightbulb finally go on for her. “Oh my God. They think it’s her baby they found?”
“I’m assuming,” I said. “It would explain why they’re not letting her go.”
“That’s insane.” Stella crossed her arms, but she didn’t sound that sure. “I mean, I’m sure Rose’s baby is at her apartment.”
With whom? A nanny? How many “people on the margins” could afford that? It didn’t sound like Rose had family helping her out, and it wasn’t like Ridgedale was overflowing with affordable day care options. Most people in Ridgedale didn’t need affordable.
Before I could press Stella on this substantial hole in her theory, a doctor came up, pausing to grab the chart outside Rose’s door. He had a full head of thick gray hair and large glasses that obscured his eyes. He was trying hard not to make eye contact with us, as though by not seeing us, he could make it so we weren’t seeing him.
“Oh, hi,” Stella said, stepping into his path. “Did you just come on shift?”
“Yes,” he said, but not very pleasantly. His eyes stayed locked on Rose’s chart.
“We’re friends of Rose’s. Well, technically, she works for me,” Stella said. “And Molly is a reporter with the Ridgedale Reader.”
And there went Stella, doing whatever she wanted. Not that I thought this doctor would be bothered by an implied threat about my cutting investigative journalism. Except, from the way his eyes shot up from Rose’s file, it appeared he did care.
“A reporter, huh?” he said unpleasantly. “You’ll need to talk to the communications office if you’re looking for a comment.”
A comment? There was some kind of story, then. Because he’d seemed awfully prepared with that retort. As though he’d already been briefed about reporters turning up. Even in Ridgedale, that didn’t happen for routine traffic accidents.
“It’s quite simple,” Stella began, calm but firm. “Rose wants to leave right now. And there’s no earthly reason why she shouldn’t be allowed to. Discharge her immediately, or Molly here will be stuck hanging around the hospital, and who knows what kind of stories will catch her eye. Didn’t you just have another case of MRSA after that boy lost his hand last year?”
I turned and glared at Stella. This was so her—unsure of Rose’s innocence and yet willing to throw herself (and me) headlong into the fray. The doctor was glaring at me through his big glasses. I smiled as he pushed open the door to Rose’s room.