Andy mumbled to her what he’d told me—that he’d waited up for her but she hadn’t come, so he’d gotten onto the balcony to try to see down to the pool, and he’d fallen. She touched his shoulder once, briefly. Her colored lids descended, and she stood for a minute with her eyes shut. “Okay,” she finally sighed. “Who found you?”

“Lady from the hotel,” Andy said.

His mother sighed, then straightened to her tallest—in her heels, she seemed very tall—and said, loud enough for the whole room to hear, “Hello? Is anyone here going to help us?”

“Sorry,” said Andy. I heard, but his mom didn’t.

The elevator doors slid open, and Sandra walked into the waiting room. Her ponytail was crooked, with strands of hair slipping out of the elastic, and she looked as tired as I’d ever seen her. As soon as she spotted me, she hurried over, just as Andy’s mom was saying to no one in particular, “I bet this is all out of network.” She said some of her words in a funny way, all stretching into awl, and she kept turning her head from left to right, looking, I thought, for someone to yell at.

“Rachel, you need to get upstairs,” said Sandra.

Andrew’s mom ran her eyes over me briefly—my babyish pajamas, the wheelchair, the IV pole, and the ID bracelet on my wrist. She looked at the moaning man and his wife, the family with the little girl. Everyone was staring at her, but she didn’t seem to notice as she turned to Sandra.

“How long has my son been waiting? Why isn’t anyone taking care of him? Where’s the doctor?” Her accent stretched and shifted vowels, and her voice kept getting louder, and it seemed like with every question she was getting bigger, taller, swelling with rage. “How could you just leave a little boy sitting here?”

The wife of the moaning man turned around. “Where have you been?” she asked, but her voice was quiet, and Andy’s mom either didn’t hear her or pretended that she didn’t. The receptionist came out from behind her desk. “Ma’am. We cannot treat your son, or any minor, without a parent’s permission. No one was able to find you. No one at the hotel knew where you were . . .”

“Oh, so this is my fault?” Andy’s mother stepped toward the receptionist until they were almost toe to toe. “My son gets hurt, and you leave him sitting here for hours, and it’s my fault?”

As his mom spoke, with her hands on her hips and her breasts jiggling, Andy pressed himself into his chair, making himself as small as he could. I reached for his hand and he held mine, squeezing tight before letting go when a doctor, a short man in a white coat with the sleeves pushed up, entered the room. Dark stubble dotted his chin, and his tie had been yanked to one side. “What seems to be the problem?”

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“The problem,” Andy’s mother announced, “is that my son has been sitting here for hours, and not one of you so-called professionals has done anything to help him.”

“Mother of the year here,” the moaning man’s wife said. This time, Andy’s mom couldn’t pretend she hadn’t heard. Her head snapped around and her pink face got even pinker.

“Excuse me, but did anyone ask for your opinion?”

“Where were you?” the woman asked again. “That poor child’s been sitting here for over an hour.” She shook her head, looking disgusted.

“Ladies,” said Sandra, and the doctor offered Andy’s mother his hand and bent low when she took it, almost like he was bowing.

“I’m Dr. Diallou.” He was round, almost penguin-shaped, with dark skin and a puff of hair over each of his ears. His voice was melodious, like he was singing instead of talking. “May I have the pleasure of your name, madam?”

“Lori Landis.” Lori sounded like Lawrey. I wondered if everyone in Philadelphia talked like that all the time, or only when they were angry. Dr. Diallou put one hand on her forearm and the other, very gently, on Andy’s shoulder. “Let’s get a look at this handsome young man.”

“Finally!” Andy’s mom said, cutting her eyes at the woman who’d confronted her. “Finally, someone sees reason!” Tall in her heels, she pushed Andy after the doctor and through the swinging doors. He still had the stuffed bear tucked under one arm.

For a minute, my ears rang with the sound of her voice. My blanket was on the empty chair next to where Andy had been sitting. I reached over and picked it up. Sandra looked down like she’d forgotten I was there. Her face had softened; her usual spark and snap were gone, and her voice was low as she said, “Time for bed.”




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