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“Dr. Novaletti is settling in well. The patients like him. He’s with the one you brought in last week. The one who isn’t Penelope.”
Miss Timid. “Clara.”
She could know. The thought hit me like a brick. She could know about Rothbart and the baby.
“How is she doing? Do you think she’s up for a visitor?”
“I think she could handle it. She’s been in the social room all morning and will likely head back there when she’s done.”
“Great, I’ll go straight there.” I unclipped my seatbelt and headed back inside.
“You’re on your way here?”
“I am here.” I was literally walking through the halls towards the social room.
“Oh, good. In that case, stop by my office, and we’ll take out those stitches.”
“No need. I took them out this morning. They were pissing me off. They’ve itched the whole fucking week.”
“God, Remi.”
“It’s fine, Doc.”
“Well, Cat’s need to come out, too.”
“I’ll do them later.”
“No. I’ll do them later. Bring her in this afternoon.”
I sighed but agreed, then hung up, finding myself in the social room.
Some men and women said hi to me. Some avoided me because I was a man—a species they didn’t trust.
I pulled out a chair at the table near the window, where a nurse pointed out Clara had been doing a puzzle. It was half done, all the edge pieces in place, and a few centerpieces, too. I put a piece in place, and it just happened to be the torch of New York’s most famous statue.
“You’re here,” her little voice was further hushed by the noise in the room. She sat opposite me, wearing a blue nightdress with the moon on the front, darker blue slippers, and a bandage around a break in her wrist.
“How are you doing?”
“I like it here. It feels...safe.”
“It is safe, and I’m glad you’re settling in, but I’m not here without a reason.”
“I get it. You’re busy with the concert coming up.”
I almost died on the spot, and with her reminding me about that fucking thing, I wanted to. “How do you know about that?”
Her skinny finger pointed to the TV. “You were on there yesterday.”
I’d be having words about that. Did the nurses here really think these people needed the news channels on? Like half of them weren’t depressed enough.
“It’s not that.” I put another piece of the puzzle into place. “You know I have a personal relationship with Catharina, and I was wondering if you could answer a question about her time at Rothbart’s. She doesn’t remember.”
“She doesn’t remember a lot of things.” She didn’t lift her eyes from the growing image of Liberty Island. “What is the question?”
I took a moment, composing myself. “At one point, Cat got pregnant?”
Clara’s shoulders slumped, and her head bobbed.
