Faye Kellerman: Street Dreams

I checked my watch. “I’ll drive by tonight. You wouldn’t have any names, would you?”

“Names, pshhh… ” She bundled up. “Can’t be gettin’ close to people. Here today, gone tomorrow.”

I went inside my wallet and took out another buck. “Buy yourself some hot chocolate. And if you hear about anyone dumping a baby, you’ll give me a ring.”

This time, I offered her my card. To my surprise, she took it.

“Pass the word,” I told her. “If the girl goes to the police within three days, nothing will happen to her.”

“Yeah, right.”

“It’s true, Alice Anne. It’s the law.”

“Yeah, I know what the law’s worth.” Again she spat.

“Well, if you hear about anyth-”

“Yeah, yeah.”

I forced her to make eye contact with me. “You wouldn’t be holding back on me now, would you?”

Alice Anne appeared to be horrified. “Lookie here, Officer Cindy. I may be a crazy, ole bag lady. I may have fallen on some hard times. And I may take too many sips of rotgut ’cause I gots lots of pain in this ole body. But I ain’t no raging alcoholic, and I don’t like baby killers.”

Elegantly stated. I sighed, then said, “Do you want me to arrest you?”

Alice Anne stared at my face.

“Three squares and a hot shower,” I told her.

“No.” She drew herself tighter under her cover. “No, but thanks. You can give me mo’ money if you be feeling charitylike.”

I took out a five and showed it to her. “Don’t spend it all in one liquor store.”

She laughed, then closed her eyes.

Having nothing more to say, I got up and left her to what were hopefully more pleasant thoughts.

By twelve-thirty,I had showered and was in civilian clothes en route to home. The U-turn happened by remote control, because I didn’t even realize I had changed directions until I was headed the opposite way.

To the hospital, naturally. Haunted by the image of that frail bundle left behind for Monday-morning garbage pickup, I knew I had to see her in a different environment: safe and blanketed, warm and fed.

Mid-City Pediatric was about two miles east of where the infant had been discarded. It was a Medicaid hospital, meaning that most of the patients were poor. Despite its location, it had a world-renowned reputation. When my baby sister, Hannah, needed some minor surgery, Rina insisted that she be taken to Mid-City instead of one of the bigger, more moneyed behemoth hospitals on the affluent west side of town.

It was a five-story building, modern and functional. The interior made stabs at being bright and cheerful-a mural of painted balloons, a gigantic stuffed teddy bear holding an armful of candy canes-but it couldn’t rid itself of that antiseptic smell. One whiff and I knew where I was.

It was relatively quiet-the lateness of the hour and the luck of the draw. The uniformed guard at the door looked bored. There were about a dozen people milling around the lobby, mostly Hispanic mothers with small children. There was one Asian family-a mother and three little girls-sitting on orange plastic chairs, no one talking, hands folded in their laps.

I went up to a glass-partitioned counter. A middle-aged intake secretary smiled at me, her eyes enlarged behind magnifying corrective lenses. I pointed to the family. “Have they been helped?”

“The Parks?”

“I guess.”

“Yes, they’ve been helped. They’re waiting for the father to bring over the Medicaid card. He works alone in an all-night liquor store, so he had to lock it up before coming over here.”

“Is one of the kids sick?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you asking so many questions?”

I got out my billfold and showed her my badge. “Just wanted to make sure they were taken care of. Sometimes people are reticent to ask for help when they need it.”

“That’s true. What can I do for you, Officer?”

She was suspicious and I didn’t blame her.

“Two EMTs-Crumack and Hanover-brought in a newborn a little over two hours ago. I was the police officer who found her. I’d like to see her, if possible. Just to see that she’s safe.”

“Can I see that ID again?”

Again I pulled out the badge. Even after I showed it to her, she was leery. She told me to wait.

I waited.

Finally, a twenty-something pixie named Marnie Sears, R.N., M.N., took over. She asked me to follow her and smiled when she spoke to me. Perhaps she liked me because we both had flaming red hair. But that was where the similarity ended. She was small and slight and cute-everything that I wasn’t. What did I expect having been sired by a six-four, 220-pound-plus father. I had lost weight the past year-a lot of it, and not because I was dieting. The appetite suppressant came in the form of recurring nightmares of renegade cops chasing me off a cliff. My therapist kept telling me that it takes time for the psyche to knit the holes. I was still waiting, but I didn’t expect much.

If I were honest, I’d say things were looking up. Certainly, my appetite had returned. Not in full force, but I didn’t look gaunt anymore. Frankly, I didn’t mind the underfed model look-pronounced cheekbones, full lips, white teeth, and tight chin-but it bothered my parents something fierce. The couple extra pounds I now carried had softened my face. The main thing was I could digest a cheese sandwich without the sour stomach.

Marnie and I rode the elevator up to the neonatal unit. She told me that the baby was doing well, that her temperature was back up to normal.

“That’s very good.”

“You just want to see her, huh?”

I nodded. The elevator stopped and the doors opened. We walked the hushed halls of the hospital. The lighting was bright, bordering on harsh.

“She’s over here.”

Marnie had stopped in front of a picture window. As I stared through the glass, my heart stopped. Fifteen tiny creatures poked and prodded with tubes and needles. I had eaten steaks that weighed more than the smallest of them. The teeniest looked just over a pound. I could have held her in my palm.

“She’s third from the right.”

Sandwiched between two little blips of life hooked up to oxygen masks and IVs, my little girl looked enormous and hearty. No tubes, no oxygen mask, just a lump of pink blanket with a hood on her head. “My goodness, she looks so big.”

“She’s probably full term.”

I wanted to pick her up. To rock her and kiss that little forehead. I turned to Marnie. “Is it possible for me to hold her?”

“The baby?”

“Yes.”

Marnie sighed. “I shouldn’t let you… but human contact is very good for her right now. You’ll have to suit up.”

“That’s fine.”

Marnie took me into an office and gave me disposable blue scrubs. By the time I had finished, I was covered head to toe-suit, mask, head cap, gloves, even paper casings over my shoes. Finally, she led me into the nursery and picked up Baby Girl Doe-weight six pounds seven ounces, length nineteen inches. She had me sit down and then placed the sleeping infant in my arms.

Her face looked like a ball of brown butter-tiny lips, onionskin eyelids, and a nose no bigger than a button. My eyes got moist, but I couldn’t wipe the tears because my hands were housed in latex. I just let them run down my cheek. Marnie stared at me. I shrugged.

“It’s camp, but it’s true. What a miracle.”

The redheaded pixie smiled. “Why, Officer, you’re an old softy.”

“Don’t tell anyone, all right?”

The symphony of cries was music at its most primal. My eyes swept over all the tiny preemies. All the little lives hanging in the balance… all those worried parents out there. I wondered how people like Marnie worked in a pediatric hospital and kept their sanity.