Suffer the Children (2 page)

Only a few people had this number, including Joan Cooper, and Joan wouldn’t call unless it was an emergency.
Oh God. Josh.

“I’m so sorry,” Ramona said, her face reddening. “I, um, have to take this.”

“Are you serious?”

Ramona politely raised a hand to Ross and turned her chair away from him for privacy.

“Ramona Fox,” she said.

“Ramona, it’s Joan Cooper. I wanted to let you know Josh is pretty sick right now.”

“His stomach?”

“Yes, it’s as if—”

“Is he in pain?”

“Yes, but it’s—”

“I’ll be right there,” Ramona said, and terminated the call.

Minutes later, she hurried across the frozen parking lot to her car. She barely remembered what she’d said before grabbing her bag and rushing out the door.

Sorry, you’re fired, gotta run.

Very sensitive. You’re a model HR professional.

“Lay off me,” she said aloud to clear her head.

Ramona raced her Toyota to Joan’s house and parked out front.
The sidewalk and driveway were neatly shoveled. Joan kept a clean and orderly home. It was one of the things that had convinced Ramona she could trust Josh to Joan’s care. He’d had acid reflux as a baby—he’d refused to eat, and this spiraled into a series of allergies, digestive issues, and food aversions. One of his biggest problems was gluten intolerance. When he ate anything made with wheat, his immune system reacted violently, damaging his small intestine and preventing it from absorbing nutrition from food. It also gave him the runs and one hell of a gut ache.

Josh had eaten something today he shouldn’t have, Ramona was sure of it. Something she’d explicitly told Joan he shouldn’t eat. She practically ran to the front door, seeing red.

When it came to her son, Ramona had no problem with confrontation.

A worried Joan opened the door. Ramona was struck again by the contrast between them. While she herself was tall and thin and pale with long red hair, Joan was big and curvy, dressed in jeans and a blue and gray Lions sweatshirt. Her cheeks were flushed from chasing kids around all day.

“He’s doing fine now,” Joan said.

“Where is he?”

Josh approached meekly, gazing at his feet. Ramona’s heart went out to her pale, scrawny boy with his beautiful, sensitive face. Behind him, the other kids clutched each other and watched, excited and a little scared by his getting sick.

“Ramona, I’m so sorry,” Joan said.

“Sorry, Mommy,” Josh echoed.

Ramona knelt and felt his forehead to see if he had a fever. “How are you feeling?”

“My tummy doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“Did you go to the bathroom?”

“Uh-huh, yeah.”

“Was it hard or runny?”

“Runny.”

“Was there any red in it?”

Josh shook his head. “No.”

He seemed fine now, but his tongue was bright red. Ramona had never seen that before. It was alarming. What did it mean?

“Do you want to come in?” Joan asked. “I can make some coffee.”

“I’m taking him home,” said Ramona. “Please get anything in the house that belongs to him and bring it to me. Now, please.”

Joan blinked with surprise, reminding Ramona of how Ross had reacted to the news of his termination. “Can I ask if he’s coming back to us on Monday?”

Ramona put on Josh’s coat. “I don’t know yet.” Joan had broken the first commandment of Josh’s care; on the other hand, Ramona didn’t have a lot of options or much time to explore them. “He has celiac disease. I
told
you that. It’s not some New Age yuppie thing. It’s real. He’s gluten intolerant. He can’t eat any wheat or he gets sick. What did he have?”

Joan bowed her head in thought. “Sliced apples for a morning snack. Bologna sandwich on gluten-free bread for lunch. Later on, we had strawberry smoothie pops for the afternoon snack.”

“He ate
something
, Joan. This doesn’t just happen.”

“I don’t see how—”

“I trusted you.”

Joan flinched. The kids behind her looked scared now, sensing the additional tension between the grown-ups.

Ramona added, “I can’t take time off like this. When I do, it’s noticed.” She hesitated; this definitely wasn’t coming out the way she wanted. “There’s a cost.”

Now Ramona made it sound like all she cared about was her career, but it was more than that. She was on her own. There was nobody else providing for Josh. Just her. What she failed to add was that the better she did at her job, the better the life that Josh would have. He’d have better care, more fun, greater opportunities. As with everything, it all came down to money.

And the money came from the job.

“Okay, I’ll get his things,” Joan said quietly.

“Thank you.” Ramona finished dressing Josh to go home. He wouldn’t look at her. He was scared too, but it was more than that. He was hiding something.

Joan returned with Josh’s drawings. “He likes to draw monsters,” she said with a shrug.

“Can I give Joanie a hug good-bye?” Josh said.

“No,” said Ramona. “Mommy’s taking you home now.”

“I
am
sorry, Ramona,” Joan said. “Please call me whenever you can.” She crouched in front of Josh and smiled. “Bye, Josh. Hope you feel better.”

Ramona took his hand and pulled him to the car. She buckled him into his car seat in the back while he wept and clutched his drawings.

“Josh, please stop crying.”

“I don’t want Mommy to be mad at Joanie,” he wailed.

“Okay, Josh. But first, tell me, what did you eat? I promise I won’t get mad.”

Josh let out another sob. “I ate the play dough.”

“What?”

“We made it out of salt and flour and some other stuff. Joanie said it was safe. We put stuff in it to make different colors. Then we played with it.”

“And it looked so yummy you ate some.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry, Mommy.”

Food coloring. That’s why his tongue was red.

He said, “Joanie said it was extra safe to play with but we shouldn’t try to eat it because it tasted bad. She was right. It tasted really bad. It was really
salty
.”

An innocent mistake. Ramona sighed and looked back at the house. The front door with its plastic wreath was closed. The family Christmas tree sparkled in the window. She figured she owed Joan an apology.

Something else to feel guilty about
.
Add it to the fucking list.

She’d call Joan over the weekend. Maybe call Ross while she was at it. Apologize to everybody for everything. When she had time.

“It’s okay, little man. Don’t cry. Mommy’s not mad. I just hope you learned your lesson.”

“But I want to come
back
. Don’t be mad at Joanie!”

“I’ll bring you back on Monday. I promise. But first we have to see Santa tomorrow, don’t we?”

Josh perked up a little. “Santa at the mall?”

“That’s right.” She got into the driver’s seat and eyed him in the rearview. “I love you, little man.” She couldn’t hide the exasperation in her voice. “I really do. Are those your new drawings? Can Mommy see them?”

She took the sheets of construction paper and rested them on the wheel. As Josh approached the age of five, his drawings had gone from crude stick figures to highly detailed renderings. He insisted his mother tape every drawing to the refrigerator door and, when that space ran out, the walls of his room. Praising his artwork always cheered him up.

But these new ones were disturbing. She leafed through them quickly with a frown. Black shapes chased fleeing people in every one.

Her son, who normally drew knights and animals, was now drawing monsters.

22 hours before Herod Event

David Harris listened to Shannon Donegal’s life story, scribbling notes into her file while ignoring the dull ache in his leg.

She was eighteen, beautiful, and glowing with robust health. In three months, she would bring another life into the world, a baby boy she was calling Liam.

David held a license as a pediatrician, not an obstetrician. He treated children, not pregnant women. When he’d returned to work after the accident, however, he’d started offering free one-hour prenatal consultations to rebuild his patient base.

He considered it an investment. He was beginning to feel hopeful about the future for the first time in a year. Not a lot, but enough to make an extra effort to restore his practice to what it once had been.

Shannon had her own problems, it seemed.

Valedictorian of her class, she’d earned a scholarship to attend George Washington University in the fall, where she would have studied international relations. Instead, at a graduation party, she’d had sex with her boyfriend Phil, who, despite being the football team’s star running back, had no scholarship or real plans. He’d seemed destined to remain stuck here in Lansdowne while Shannon went off to bigger and better things. Two missed menstrual periods later, however, she discovered she was having a baby she wanted but Phil didn’t. Now it was Shannon who seemed destined to remain in Lansdowne, while Phil had left town as fast as his feet could take him.

Little of this story proved relevant in any medical sense, but David listened with polite interest, reminding himself to take his time and make a good impression. He steered the conversation back to her and the baby’s health. Did she smoke? Who was her obstetrician? Were there any health issues she was concerned about?

No health issues, it turned out. Just questions.

“Should I breast-feed or go with formula?”

“I recommend breast-feeding for at least six months. A year is even better. Breast-feeding can prevent allergies and protect the baby from a number of infections and chronic conditions.”

“So Liam and I would pretty much be breast-feeding all day and night, right? What’s the term? ‘Glued at the boob’? I mean, isn’t that the trade-off?”

“To an extent, but not all the time. My wife used a breast pump to store milk, which I fed to our boy in a bottle once per night. That gave her some uninterrupted sleep.”

I’d hug little Paul as he cried against my chest in the boy’s warm, dark room, swaying side to side on my feet and shushing him to get him to return to sleep.

A file drawer slammed shut in the reception area outside his office. Nadine, going about her work and likely eavesdropping. He cleared his throat, forgetting where he was for a moment.

“Oh yeah, I will definitely be exploring that,” Shannon said. “Phil’s gone, but I will have help.” She wrote it down in her notebook. “What about circumcision?”

“There are health arguments on both sides of that question, although the percentages are low for any risks. It’s really a personal decision.”

Shannon winced. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

“A topical cream or some other anesthetic is used.”

“What did you and your wife do?”

David suppressed a frown. He didn’t like to talk about his personal life with his patients, although he’d brought it up. “I’m circumcised, and I wanted Paul to look like me. When I realized that was the only reason we were going to do it, we decided against it.”

“What about shots?” Shannon said. “Did you immunize him?”

“Of course we did.”

“Some people say it can cause autism.”

“Studies have found no link. As a doctor, I rely on empirical evidence. What I can say is if your child is not immunized, he risks contracting a deadly disease.”

“What about the disease itself? You can get measles from the vaccine, right?”

“Not really. The odds of something like that happening are very small. Your baby would already have to have a severely compromised immune system for such a thing to be likely. Again, such a thing is very rare.”

Shannon sighed. “Okay.”

“I like your questions. You came well prepared.”

“I am really, really scared.”

He smiled. She was utterly adorable and far too innocent. “You should be. It’s a very serious thing to bring a life into the world.”

“Then please give me some advice as a father, not as a doctor. What’s the most important thing you’ve learned?”

“You don’t need personal advice from me. Did you have any other medical questions?”

“Come on, doctor. Please? Just one thing. Consider it a question of supreme importance to my mental health.” She held up her notebook and showed him a page filled with her neat handwriting. “Look, I’m keeping a diary of good advice from everybody I know.”

“All right. Well, not to be flippant about it, but my advice is to be careful about soliciting too much advice. No matter how much advice you get about things like keeping your child happy, no one will know your child better than you will. Trust yourself.”

“Wow, I like that,” she said. She wrote it down in her notebook. “Thanks, doctor. There are just so many things to deal with.”

He remembered holding Paul and thinking,
Don’t grow up, baby boy. Stay just like this forever.
“Millions of women have done it before you—most of them under very primitive conditions. Take it one day at a time, and you’ll be fine.”

“One day at a time, huh?” She smiled. “That’s going to be my mantra every time I think about all those diapers I’m going to have to change.”

“When it’s your child, you don’t care about those things. The fluids, smells, crying at all hours of the night.” His eyes stung, and he turned to stare out the window. Snow fluttered onto the parking lot. “None of it matters because you love this tiny thing with every atom in your body. The biggest problem every parent has is it goes by too fast. Cherish every minute you have with your child.”

Shannon’s eyes welled up with tears. “Oh my God.”

He tried to smile. “Sorry about that.”

“No, it’s really beautiful.” She sniffed and fanned herself with her hand. “Do you have a photo of Paul?”

David picked up a framed picture of his son from his desk and
handed it to her. In it, Paul grinned and held a Tonka truck over his head like a trophy.

“What a cutie. What do you do for day care? Does your wife stay home? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I, uh . . . Paul passed away, Shannon.”

The girl slapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh. My. God.”