So I had this idea at 11:00 last night, and I thought it'd make a decent one shot.
With thick, unruly and unplucked eyebrows that dangled above eyes that were a shade of brown so bright that it teetered on the brink of being hazel, wrinkled in confusion, she brought the white can closer to her face and narrowed her eyes in an attempt to make the small print clearer. The inner corners of her eyes were populated by sleep-induced crust and beneath her eyes, the purplish bags were deep and seemingly permanent.
She couldn't even blink, for if she did she was sure that she'd descend into a slumber and end up face-down on the linoleum floor, just in front of the outdated gas stove. Her lips parted and gave way to a loud, voracious yawn, which made her eyes flicker to the lime green numbers illuminated on the microwave. Just how early was it? She didn't know. She figured it was somewhere around 4:30 and 5:00 in the morning though, because the sun was just beginning to peer into the kitchen through the blinds. Then again, it could very well be sunset instead of sunrise. Lately, the days seemed to be running together anyway.
Another angry, irritated shriek came from down the hallway and ricocheted off the walls. Her ears rang and she swore that if she tried hard enough, she could feel her brain spinning inside her skull. She clenched her jaw, gritted her teeth together and fought the urge to allow the nastiest, most hateful profanity she could conjure up spew out of her mouth. She had to keep reminding herself that she was innocent. That in the end, it wasn't her fault.
Somehow, she found her way back to patience and took a deep breath in through her nose and out through her mouth. She pulled the blue lid off the top of the can and dug her neatly trimmed fingernails into the foul-smelling white powder. She fingered the scooper and pulled it out to shake it clean before delving it back into the powder and collecting a decent amount into it. She scraped it off the side to pack it down, dispersed it into the plastic on the counter next to where she stood and repeated the process two more times.
As another wail sounded from down the hallway, she stomped over to the fridge and yanked it open, knocking down the only contents, a bottle of ketchup and a jug of cranberry juice, in her haste. "Fuck," she mumbled under her breath upon seeing that the 12-package of Deer Park purified water was empty. She kicked the door shut, walked over to the sink and filled it with lukewarm water from the tap.
"I'm coming, I'm coming," she muttered more so to herself than the person she should've been talking to. Shaking the bottle violently back and forth as she padded down the hallway, the cries got louder and louder as she neared the bedroom.
"Shh."
She sat the bottle down on her dresser next to a thin college placement exam prep packet, side-stepped the rodent trap she set yesterday and leaned down. The bassinet was cheap. One of those ones that felt like it was woven out of hay, almost like an Easter basket. It couldn't possibly have been comfortable, and she knew that. She moved the heavy wool blanket she placed over the tiny body to the side and lifted it out of bassinet while it was still screaming with a fresh, strong pair of lungs.
"Shh," she attempted to quiet and soothe the screaming with light, gentle strokes to the back to no avail. Lightly bouncing the baby up and down, she picked the bottle back up and carried both it and he baby over to the rundown full-sized mattress that laid on the floor.
Like the nurse in the hospital a couple weeks ago showed her how to, she teased the bottle's nipple along the baby's bottom lip, but the baby was too busy screaming to take it. Tender pink gums exposed, shiny saliva seeping out the corner and usually creamy white skin turned completely red. Tiny hands bawled up into fists, oodles and oodles of thick, fluffy brown hair standing up on all ends and actual tears sliding down chubby cheeks. What was the problem? Hell if she knew. The baby was always crying. It's all she ever did.
"Shh, shh! Shh! It's right here!" Her voice was panicked and impatient but her movements were not. She was still easy with the way she glided the bottle along her lips. "Shhh! Look, food… Yummy, yummy food… Just stop crying!"
In her arms, the baby was inconsolable. Tiny red bumps were underneath her chin, right around where the blanket had been tucked. That was new, though. Did she tuck her in too tight? Maybe she did, but it was cold. She couldn't afford to turn the heat on just yet and though she could brave the coldness of the apartment without heat, she doubted the baby could. She was a baby. Maybe she tucked her in too tight, but she didn't mean it. She only wanted to make sure she was warm. It was the only wool blanket she had, too.
"Here, take it...take it," she whispered to the baby as she continued to try to give her the bottle. The baby turned her head, though.
Well what the hell did she want?! If it wasn't hunger that was making her scream, what the hell was it?! She threw her head back and stared up at the ceiling, feeling frustrated tears prick the corners of her eyes. No, she had to have wanted the bottle. She was hungry, she was just fighting it. The way she fought her sleep sometimes. She wanted the damn bottle.
"Open your mouth...please, open your mouth…" She tried her hardest to make her voice soft and pleasant but frustration was seeping through now.
With a little exaggerated force and unnecessary pressure, she shoved the bottle between the baby's soft gums and for a moment, the baby was silent. The entire apartment was quiet, suspended in that one moment in time where the screaming was just an echo. It was only for a moment though.
No less than a moment later, the sound of air being sucked in despite the bottle filled the room and seconds later, more screams came. These screams were different though. They were high-pitched and agonized and when she removed the bottle, she saw just a tinge of red blood around the nipple.
Regret. It washed over her, encased her the way it would if she were in a shower and the water was beating down on her skin. Sorrow entered her conscience now and in place of the frustrated tears, genuine sorrowful ones fell.
She dropped the bottle onto the floor and elevated her arms so she could get a closer look. What did she do? What had she done? It wasn't much blood, but it was blood nonetheless. God, what kind of person was she? She stuck her finger into her baby's mouth and brushed them across the gums. It wasn't much blood.
Around her mother's finger, the baby closed her lips and offered a few weak, innocent sucks as it was the only thing that gave her any relief from the burning, itching sensation on her chin, her chest and her cheeks and now, the soreness in her mouth. Her bright brown eyes popped open and she met her mother's crying face. Tears lined the rims of her own eyes, but when she looked at her mother, she held her gaze. Somehow, she made it feel better.
She wouldn't dare move her finger. Not when it was the only thing in the last ten minutes she had done right by her baby. She wouldn't dare move it. So she she did the only thing she could to. The only thing she wanted to do. She stared. Down into the eyes that were looking back up at hers, the ones that were the same shade of brown as the ones she wore.
There was love there. How could there not be? Nine months inside and now two weeks on the outside. She was innocent. She cried a lot, especially when she was swaddled but that was all babies, wasn't it? She cooed at bath time, relaxed in silence when she filled out her FAFSA and always squeezed her finger when she was falling asleep. She was beautiful, too. Flawless milky white skin that was flecked here and there with tiny brown dots just like the ones she had on her own body, long eyelashes, a tiny pug nose, beautiful brown eyes. She smiled a lot. She read somewhere that it was mostly just gas that made babies this young smile, but she didn't know if she believed that. Not after this baby would smile every time she sang along to the soundtrack of Footloose.
There was love there. How couldn't there be? But this wasn't working. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how much she wanted it to. It just wasn't. And she knew what she had to do.
She closed her eyes as more tears seeped out of them and never moving her finger, she brought her baby up closer to her chest. She kept her there for a moment. Took in her scent. Felt her downy soft hair tickle the crook of her neck. She lost it for one second. Just one split second, she let the frustration of inexperience take over and that was all it took. One second. And her baby's gums were bleeding.
"I'm sorry," she whispered and tossed her long, thick, dirty-blonde, almost brown, hair over her shoulder. She pressed her lips to her baby's temple and sniffed back tears. "I'm sorry, Josie."
The smell of unopened plastic vomit bags, adhesive bandages and packaged gauze was loud in the tiny room and filled her nostrils enough to make her nose involuntarily tune up here and there. It was a smell that she was almost used to for the most part, but it still wasn't pleasant. Although she had been sitting in the closet with her back against the wall of bedside pans and her elbows squished between the papery patient gowns for almost an hour, the smell wasn't something she'd ever fully get used to.
Despite the smell though, she appreciated the cramped-up space because it was one of the only places in the entire hospital that she could hear herself think. In here, where there were no other distractions, she could form a cohesive thought. So she rolled her eyes up to the ceiling with her lip firmly situated between her top teeth and brushed her thumb along the notecard she held in her hands.
"Parosteal osteosarcoma," she mumbled to herself, slightly frustrated with the fact that she got the question wrong. She filed that card into her "need to practice" pile and moved on.
She knew she probably looked pathetic and she had to admit that if she herself had seen someone hiding away in a closet mindlessly reciting notecards to themselves, she'd think they'd gone off their rocker too. But boards were coming up next week and well, she was willing to risk looking crazy to pass them. Her every waking minute was consumed with studying. In the shower, she had Alex toss questions out at her. At lunch, Stephanie and Ben would do the same. Even when she was working on patients, Dr. Torres would ask. She knew she should probably be confident, being that she was mentored by Dr. Torres but still. The stress was kicking her ass and she couldn't wait until it was all over.
"...Gallstones?" she wondered aloud to herself after reading the question and flipped the notecard over. "Got it."
Just as she went to put the notecard into her "already know" pile, the pager inside her pocket started blaring. She sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes. Why was it that every single time she found a spare moment, something had to happen?! All she wanted was a few moments on her own to get some studying done but of course…
Irritation pulsing through her veins, she snatched her pager from her pocket and reluctantly glanced at it. Again, she rolled her eyes, slipped it back into her pocket and picked herself up off the floor. She smoothed her scrubs down, adjusted her white coat and yanked the door open, briskly exiting the supply closet. For a moment, her eyes burned as the readjusted to the normal lighting of the rest of the hospital. She didn't realize that she had spent that long in the closet. She rubbed her eyes in hopes of getting them to adjust quicker and lightly jogged down the steps to get to the main nurses' station, where she was being paged.
It wasn't Dr. Torres, so she truly did debate on not answering the page at first. Seriously, if it wasn't Dr. Torres paging her, how important could it really be? But she figured she should answer anyway. It probably wasn't all that important and for that reason, she figured that it probably wouldn't take any more than ten or so minutes to complete whatever it was they wanted her to complete. After she cleared the page, she could get back to studying.
She sauntered over to the main desk, tucking her hair behind her ears. She took her hands out of the pockets of her white coat and leaned against the counter, bearing all her weight on her elbows.
Behind the counter, a nurse with black braids and chocolate brown skin looked up from the computer monitor she was staring at and offered Jo an easy, friendly smile. She took her hands from the keyboard and lifted her head to indicate she was listening.
"Yes Dr. Wilson?"
"Somebody paged me?" Jo reciprocated her smile, even though she was still fighting to extinguish the irritation burning in the pit of her stomach. "I'm not sure who, but someone…"
"Oh! Right!" she exclaimed as if she genuinely forgot exactly what her job entailed. The woman stood up and leaned over the counter as if she was looking for someone. "That man right there… Said he was looking for you," she merely whispered, subtly gearing her index finger towards the waiting area. "In the fishing hat."
Jo's eyes traced the woman's finger over to the area and her shoulders slouched as confusion set in. The man wore a light brown fisherman's hat on top of his head, and he was rather weighty. He seemed patient, though. She could tell that by the way he sat so pleasantly with his hands resting on his kneecaps. He was staring at the paintings on the walls, completely detached from anything going on around him. She didn't recognize him, really. But then again, she had seen over a thousand patients since she started working at this hospital so maybe he remembered her but she didn't remember him. Still, she usually remembered her patients' names. Especially the ones that would come in here and ask her by name.
"A-Are you sure?" she turned back towards the nurse and raised her eyebrow. "He asked for me? For Dr. Wilson?"
"Mhm," the nurse nodded her head. "Said he was looking for a brunette girl by the name of 'Wilson.' I told him that you were a surgeon and that you were busy and he said he'd wait."
"Really?" Jo felt her eyes widen and her eyebrows raise. "Uhh, okay… Thanks."
She shrugged her shoulders, turned around and began walking over to him. She felt bad, sure. He remembered her enough to ask for her by name but she truly didn't know who he was. She figured she could just pretend that she remembered him though. Maybe when he told her his symptoms and his history, it'd jog her memory. She fixed the collar of her coat, cleared her throat and held her head high to appear confident and competent.
"Excuse me?" she stood in front of the man and plastered a fake and friendly smile on her face. Secretly, she still hoped that she'd be out of here in at least ten minutes. The notecards in her pocket were calling her name. "Sir, did you need me?"
Upon hearing her voice, the man was pulled out of his thoughts and forced to look away from the paintings he was so enamoured with. He looked up at the pretty young doctor standing in front of her and his pale blue eyes wrinkled at the corners when he gave her a nervous smile. Jo studied him. She hoped maybe his features would trigger something, but so far nothing. She didn't remember the wispy, fluorescent white hair that stuck out from underneath his hat. She didn't remember the thin, pink lips that were turned up into a smile and exposing teeth that were too white to be real. The deep wrinkles in his cheeks, the liver spots on his hands and neck, the grayness of his eyebrows and the hearing aid in his left ear… None of it rang a bell. But she knew he probably needed to be where he was. She knew that by the tube up his nose, tucked behind his ears and attached to a portable oxygen tank.
She looked different, of course. When his old, wise eyes set on her, he almost thought they were deceiving him. He knew she'd look different, so that wasn't the case. It's just that somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought that maybe she would look the same. The only thing that was constant was the chestnut brown hair that poured from her scalp and those eyes that still retained the childlike innocence. If this really was her… Then boy did she blossom into a beautiful woman, just like he imagined she would.
"Did you need-" Jo began, but she was soon interrupted before she could finish her thought.
"Is your name Wilson?" he asked, his voice strained and pretty raspy. He pointed to her with one single bony finger and weakly smiled. "It's what your jacket says."
"Yeah," Jo nodded her head and unfolded the collar of her coat, smoothing the breast out for him to see. "Josephine. Did you… Have we…have I treated you before?"
"No ma'am, but I-" he began but he couldn't finish due to a series of hard, phlegmy coughs that erupted in the back of his throat. He bawled his hand up into a fist and coughed into it, clearly struggling to breathe.
Before Jo could move to help him though, a much younger man came bounding to his side from the series of chairs across the way and placed a hand on the man's back. Jo had to admit that this was the strangest thing that had ever happened to her at the hospital, and that was saying a lot. The younger, red-headed man that had his hand on the man's back bent his knees a bit and seemed overtly concerned.
"Are you sure, Pap?" he asked. "We can go back to the hotel for a while so you can rest."
"I'm fine," the man insisted. "Go on, Phil. I'll be quite all right here," he waved his hand. The younger man, apparently called Philip, looked at Jo with hopeful eyes then back at his grandfather. He sighed and slowly walked back to where he was sitting. Jo wrinkled her eyebrows in confusion.
"I'm sorry, did you-" Jo tried, but once again, she was interrupted.
"Are you allergic to wool by any chance?" The man's voice was so fragile that she could hardly make out what it was that he was saying, but she was pretty sure she heard him right. She took a step away from him. "Or sheep's skin?" His accent was thick but she couldn't tell where it was from. Boston, maybe? No, New Jersey. Somewhere from the east coast.
"H-How did… Y-yes, I…," she stumbled over every word she tried to say before just shutting up altogether. She wasn't sure how to respond. She didn't want to lie to the man. But at the same time, she didn't want to tell him the truth. How did he know that? "Have we met?" She had half a mind to run. Run and never look back. It was like a scene in a movie. Where the protagonist makes the fatal mistake that sets the whole plot in motion. It was the catalyst and she didn't want to be a part. But she couldn't. She couldn't walk away. Not whenever he seemed to know so much about her… "Who are you again?"
"Your blanket," the man smiled again and seemed to be satisfied. Alas, he found her. After all these years of looking, it was her. She didn't mean to tell him, no. But she did. She let it slip. She was who he was looking for. He slowly and weakly brought his hand up and motioned to his chin. "It used to rub you there, give you a rash. Made you cry. Took all of us to realize you were allergic. We had to…wrap you in a cotton jacket instead. You were covered in a rash when we took it off you."
"...I'm…" Jo felt her stomach churn. How did he…? Was he…? Was this a joke? She looked around. Alex did this. He hired someone to scare me. Well ha ha. It worked. I'm officially freaked out. She felt like someone had open-handedly slapped her across her face and left her to taste the blood in her mouth. Her stomach hurt, her legs were like jello and she needed to move. She shook her head. "I'm not… Sure how you found… Me but I… I have to go. I'm…I'm really-"
"Ralph Grubich," he finally held out his hand for her to shake and Jo just looked at it. She didn't know if she should take it. She didn't know anything about this man. She didn't know if he was a liar or a con artist. She just… She didn't know. She looked away from his hand and back into his eyes, which were blue and so honest. "I used to work at St. Mary's Fire Station…"
He continued to talk, but she heard nothing he said. It was like everything around her was moving in slow motion. Like the world stopped for a minute and was suspended in pandamonium, like someone had hit the "slow motion" button. Everything was blurry, her mind was hazy and she felt vomit, burning hot and thick, rising up in the back of her throat. She felt tears. Pricking at the corners of her eyes and threatening her to fall. She felt sick. Her heart was beating but she didn't feel it. Her lungs were working, but she didn't feel them. Everything felt frozen. But she was burning hot. Was she going to pass out? She felt like it. She needed to sit down. Did she want to talk to him? She didn't know. Was he telling the truth? She didn't know that either. Where was St. Mary's Fire Station? Hell if she knew that. She'd never even heard of the place.
So why did she feel like she knew?
"You…" She didn't recognize her voice when it came out, not at all. She didn't even know she was going to speak. It was all so involuntary. Below her waist, she felt a tingle, followed by pressure. Discreetly, she tightened her thighs and told herself that she was not going to allow herself to urinate. She lost control of her body but she wasn't going to lose that much control. She refused to. "You know me? Y-you knew me?"
"Very much so," Ralph nodded his head weakly. "I held you."
"I…" Jo shook her head. "I-I'm sorry, but I have to…. I have…" She backed away slowly. "This is too much," she whispered and turned around, walking the other way.
"Wait!" The redhead man sprung up out of his chair again but this time, he bolted to Jo and stood in front of her so she couldn't walk any further. "If you're who he thinks you are…then you can't go." He begged, tears lining the rims of his dark green eyes. Jo looked away from him. She looked down at the ground. "He's been looking for you… For 29 years...day in and day out… Just please… please talk to him"
Jo felt her jaw tremble. "...W-what does he want?"
"To talk to you," Philip shrugged his shoulders and shook his head at the same time. "Just to talk to you. To know that you turned out alright, mostly. He's been looking for you…. He's… He's going. Lung cancer. His last wish was to talk to you. Please. We flew all this way… Just… Please."
She looked past him and back at the man who seemed to be re-fascinated with the paintings on the walls. She felt control slip and the base of her panties dampen. She squeezed her thighs again though. Her stomach churned but she swallowed and just nodded.
"O-okay."
"Thank you," Philip breathed. "Thank you."
Jo nodded her head at him again and slowly, steadily, with her thighs still clenched, made her way over to where the man sat. Her legs shook, but somehow she managed to plop down in the chair next to him. She crossed her legs. Took a breath. Choked back vomit. Held her breath. Felt dizzy. All of the above.
With an overjoyed smile on his face, Ralph studied her now that he was in close proximity and admired her beauty. She was gorgeous, just like she was when she cooed at him on her way to sleep and screamed in his ear when he slathered antiseptic ointment all over her rash while they waited for the ambulance to come and take her to a hospital because she was almost hypothermic.
"Were you… Um." Jo paused. She didn't realize how many questions she had… So many just rushing through her head and she hadn't a clue where to start. "Were you the one that f-found me?"
"Ah-huh," Ralph nodded. "Was going out to respond to a call…"
She read somewhere about Safe Haven Laws. Somewhere told her that it wasn't a crime to leave a baby like this. She wasn't quite sure how to do it, because the book she saw it in didn't explain all of that, but she knew she read it. She would rather a hospital. Yeah, a hospital. A hospital where they would take her inside almost immediately and have proper equipment to make sure she really is okay. But the hospital was fifteen miles away.
With the baby cradled against her chest and her hand gripped around the handle of the stroller, she nonchalantly looked around while she walked. It was dark. She waited all day to do it so it would be when she did. She spent the day as normal. She let her suck on her finger for a few hours and she checked her gums every so often to make sure they didn't bleed. Eventually, she took a bottle and when she was full, she slept for three hours. She studied the whole time she slept. Studied hard. Cried, too. Cried because she knew what she had to do.
She fed her again around lunch time. She didn't fall asleep this time though. Instead, she laid on her chest and was absolutely silent as long as she continued to read aloud. She listened for an hour and a half as she read study material for her placement exams, and by the way she was so quiet, you would think she listened to an entire book of nursery rhymes. Sometimes she wished that was the case. She wished she was older and already through college. She wished she had one of those white rocking chairs in the corner of a nursery where she could read her baby nursery rhymes instead of study material.
She bathed her. Rubbed body wash over her body and baby shampoo in her hair so she smelled good. Kissed her toes and sang the Footloose soundtrack again and again and again because it would be the last time she ever did. And she watched her smile the way she always did when she sang. She sang until it was dark.
She wrapped her in her wool blanket. Of course, she screamed the entire time and only shut up when she sucked on her finger. She kissed her sweet-smelling cheeks and looked into her eyes. And she apologized to her sweet, sweet Josie. Because she deserved better.
"Kick off your Sunday shoes…" She kissed the top of her head and didn't dare move her finger. "Please, Louise, pull me off of my knees…"
Finally, she stopped walking. She looked up. The building was tall and the lights were on. She swallowed a lump in her throat. Was this it? She wasn't sure how to do it. Was there a...door? Something she had to knock on? To let them know that she was out here?
She gently lifted the baby off her chest and slowly deposited her into the stroller. Carefully, she eased her soaking wet finger out of her sweet baby's mouth and replaced it with her lips. It was the first time since her birth two weeks ago that she had kissed her on her lips. She rubbed her hair back for a little while and stared. God, was she beautiful. She was the most beautiful baby she had ever laid her eyes on, hands down.
And she deserved better. They both did. The baby deserved a mother that actually wanted to be a mother and she deserved a shot at her education. She was smart. If she hadn't gotten pregnant and had to take a few weeks off, she probably would've still graduated at the top of her class two months ago. She would've gone to prom, too. And she probably would've won prom queen the way she did last year. She would've kept her spot as head cheerleader and cheered at her last football game. She gave up all of that. All of that for this baby that cried all day long and only shut up when she sang cheesy soundtrack songs and let her suck on her finger.
The love was there. It had to be. It was strong, but maybe not strong enough. She had given up so much already and college… Well, that was her only way out of here. She didn't have her parents help anymore, not since she got pregnant. She didn't have a boyfriend's help, he ditched after he heard the news. But she had her brains. She was smart and she needed to go to college and as much as her baby deserved better, so did she. She tried, but she couldn't. She just wasn't strong enough to do it.
"Everybody cut footloose…," she mumbled the last lyric she'd ever sing to her.
In the stroller, the baby cooed contently and parted her tiny little lips to yawn. The backs of her tiny hands rubbed across her eyes when she blew out her sweet baby's breath. She didn't know much, but she was sure that it was bed time. The white things above were pretty and she liked the cool air hitting her burning, stinging rash, but she was tired. And she thought it was time to lay on Mommy's chest so she could pat her butt to sleep. She was beat. It was a long day.
"I'm sorry," she pressed her lips to the baby's again. "I'm so sorry, Josephine." She stroked her baby's fingertips, tucked the wool blanket underneath her chin so she'd be warm and left.
Just like that.
"I scooped you up and brought you on in. Don't know how long you was out there, but you was crying real loud," Ralph grinned. "Me and a couple of the guys always joked about the morning shift being boring but that morning it wasn't."
Jo nodded her head and tried to force a smile that just wouldn't come. She never wanted to think about this. It just wasn't something she even wanted to consider. She had spent the last 30 years of her life trying to forget about it and here it was, looking her in the face. When she was younger, she used to come up with a bunch of theories. Her mom was a fairy princess that couldn't marry the prince if she had a baby so she had to leave her. Her mom died in childbirth and wasn't really the one that left her at the fire station. Her mom was a drug addict that gave her baby away to get high. Her mom was forced to give her baby away by her father, actually. Her mom was forced to give her away by her grandparents. Her mom really did care about her, she did. She just couldn't handle a baby. Her mom was a bitch on wheels that just didn't give a shit about her two week old child. Which theory was true?
"All the guys liked you. I brought you on in and they helped me out. Butch helped me take off your blanket and Dan gave me his jacket to wrap you in. You know, I was thinking about taking you home. I figured they were gonna put you in some kind of system and you just… Ya seemed so helpless, really. But I thought about it and taking you home to a wife with early dementia didn't seem too good an idea, really. 'Specially when all our babies was grown at that time."
Jo just nodded, blankly. "I see," she whispered. "So you took care of me? Until… Until they came and got me?"
"Yep. Once we got that blanket off ya, you were a pretty neat kid. Seemed sleepy, but probably 'cause all that cryin' ya did. They came and took ya. We gave 'em the piece of paper that was with ya. Had your name on it and stuff… You know."
She nodded again.
"I thought about you every day, yanno? Wondered for a long time if you turned out okay. Looked for you for a while. Was kind of hard when all I knew was your first name. Really thought I hit the lottery when I found your name last week."
Jo just stayed quiet. She didn't know what to say. She had one pressing question, but she just wasn't sure how to ask it. "...Did you see my mom?" She finally just blurted. She didn't even bother to wipe the tears that were streaming down her cheeks. "Was she...there? Did you see her?"
Ralph was quiet for a while. He took a deep breath and sighed.
"She came back into the station once," he said, nodding his head. Jo's eyes widened. What? Are you kidding? She did? She looked for me? She really… She looked for me? She did love me? "About a month or two after the fact. She was describing her to us… We told her we called the police and let the ambulance take you to the hospital…. She seemed real upset… But she just left."
"...What'd she look like?" Jo's jaw trembled, her cheeks soaking wet. "Do you remember?"
"Tall," he answered. "Little taller than you. Short blonde hair, brown eyes… Skinny. She wore glasses. Had a backpack on her back. Like she just came back from school or something. She was pretty… Kind of looked like you."
"She was blonde?" she whispered to herself, tears flowing so freely. "She's a blonde…" She clasped her hand over her chest, sniveling. "My mom's a blonde…and I'm a brunette."
"She seemed like a decent person when she talked, if that means something to you." He handed her a small tissue from his travel-sized package of them. "She seemed real decent."
"Thank you," she hiccuped, dabbing her eyes.
"Pap…" Philip stood in front of the two of them now. "Pap, come on. It's time to go. You're gonna miss your breathing meds."
Ralph nodded his head and slowly pulled himself up. He wasn't ready to leave but well… At least he saw her. His one wish came true. He saw the baby in the stroller from 30 years ago. The baby he spent 29 looking for. Butch and Dan? They came and they went. He attended their funerals last year. And he doubted they even remembered the baby in the stroller. The baby in the stroller was just another crazy story to tell about working in the fire station. But Ralph never forgot her. He wondered about her for a really long time. Wondered who she turned out to be. Wondered if she turned out okay. Alas, she was a surgeon. And she was just as beautiful now as she was then too.
"It was nice meeting you, Josephine," Ralph offered his hand to her again.
"...Jo," she swallowed and put hers inside his. "Nice meeting you too. And thank you… For everything," she sniffed. "For everything."
"Jo," Ralph tried out her name. "You know, I spent the last 29 years wondering if you liked to be called Josephine or not."
Jo smiled, this time it wasn't forced. She dabbed her eyes again with the tissue and cleared her throat.
"Oh, one more thing," Ralph spoke again. He steadied himself with his cane and plunged his hand into the pocket of his khakis. When it came back out, he had nothing but a slip of paper between his fingers. "You didn't get a say in much of anything that happened to you… She made a decision for you when she left you outside…she came back to see about you, but… I always thought that that should be your choice. That should be one decision you get to make for yourself."
He extended his hand and offered her the folded-up slip of paper. Jo raised her eyebrow. "What's that?" She reached out and took it, despite her skepticism but she didn't open it. "What is it?"
"...She left me her name when she came in. I asked her for it and she gave it to me…" Ralph explained. "Open it if you want to… Choice is yours."
Jo looked at the slip of paper and licked her lips.
Should she open it? She didn't know.
But the choice was all hers.