She smiled and took my hand in a squeeze so weak I barely felt it.
I asked the doctor again, "How is she?"
She told me what had happened. Where the knife went in. What damage it had done. All the coldly clinical medical terms that I didn't give a damn about, and I stood there, nodding, sifting through her words to find the ones I really wanted. When they didn't come, I said, "Can we step outside, please?"
"If you want to know the prognosis, barring any unforeseen complications, she'll be fine."
Emotion finally tinged the doctor's voice. Regret. She'll be fine. This was a doctor. Sworn to heal, not to judge. But judge she did, in the twist of her lips and the chill of her tone.
"Thank you," I said. "That will be all."
A faint widening of her eyes. "I beg your pardon?"
"You're dismissed."
She met my gaze, indignation flashing.
Gabriel stepped forward. "Ms. Taylor-Jones would like a few moments with her mother. As it appears you have completed your visit, we'd ask that you grant her that courtesy."
The doctor's mouth tightened. She said nothing, though. Didn't even look my way. Just returned the clipboard to its place and walked out.
"I want another doctor assigned to her," I said to Gabriel. "Can you do that?"
His chin dipped.
"Thank you."
As I turned back to Pamela, I noticed the two guards assigned to her room. The older woman stood as still as a statue, giving no sign that she'd witnessed anything. The younger man shot a smile my way, then ruined it by checking me out.
"Thank you for coming," Pamela said, her voice a papery whisper.
"How are you?"
A wan smile. "Feeling foolish. I've been in prison too long to be caught off-guard like that. My own fault. I've been distracted."
Distracted by the return of her long-lost daughter. I slid my hand from hers and pulled over a chair.
As I sat, she said, "You don't want to be here."
I shook my head. "I'm fine. Just ... hospitals in general." I hesitated, then plowed forward. "Did I ever stay in one? I can't remember."
"You did. For a fever when you were two. Nothing serious, but you were dehydrated, so they kept you overnight."
"Not a happy childhood experience, I ta
ke it."
Her lips pursed, as if in remembered anger. "You'd never been away from us. Your father wanted to spend the night in a chair by your bed. They wouldn't allow it. We stayed in the waiting room. At two in the morning, we heard you screaming because you'd woken in a strange place. Your father was furious. Tore a strip off the nurse."
The younger guard snickered. "I hear he's good at that."
Pamela turned to him. She said nothing, just met his gaze with a level look. He drew back and muttered something under his breath.
How many other early childhood experiences with the Larsens had formed my character? All the things about myself I would have understood, if only my parents had said, You were adopted.
"I'm sure this is very difficult for you, Ed--Olivia," Pamela said. "This isn't how it was supposed to be. We wanted your grandmother to take you, but she'd had ... problems. In the past. It didn't matter. She was deemed unfit."
"And there wasn't anyone else?"