At night, though, the fear returned.
I dreamed of the blue blanket. Of Linda’s voice outside the bedroom door. Of Ryan telling people I was confused.
One evening, Dad found me awake at the kitchen table at 2:00 a.m., staring at the cream-colored letter from Claire.
He poured two cups of chamomile tea and sat across from me.
“Can’t sleep?”
“I keep wondering who mailed this.”
“The postmark was from Milwaukee.”
I looked up. “You checked?”
“I notice things.”
Of course he did.
“Maybe Claire lives there,” I said.
“Maybe.”
“You found something.”
Dad’s silence answered before he did.
He opened his notebook and turned it toward me. Written on the page were three names.
Claire Whitman.
Ryan Carter.
Lakeside Women’s Clinic.
My eyes settled on the clinic name. “That’s where Ryan wanted me to transfer my prenatal care.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No. I wanted to stay with Dr. Patel. Ryan was angry for days.”
