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I grip Penny tighter, noticing that her sweat has seeped into my rumpled button up shirt.
“It’s okay,” I murmur to her. “We’re going to get you all fixed up.”
I have no way of knowing that, but I soothe her nonetheless.
When the young woman returns, she has an older woman in tow. The woman is about fifty, and trim, with steely gray streaks running through her dark bun. She looks at me through the keenest eyes, her footsteps stopping when we make eye contact. “Ye need help?” she asks. Her accent is faintly Scottish, watered down with a good dose of Norwegian.
My heart thumps loudly in my ears. My mouth goes dry. I clutch Penny to my chest, swallowing hard.
This woman may very well be my mother, whom I haven’t seen in over twenty years.
The woman clears her throat, schooling her expression. She gestures to Penny. “This is the patient, I assume?”
“Aye,” I agree, nodding tightly. “Persephone.”
She arches a brow, clearly thinking something. But she briskly pushes that aside, tapping my arm. As she does, I catch the name on her badge on the lanyard around her neck.
Magda Renner.
I swallow convulsively. I have no idea where the last name came from. But Magda is my mother’s name. The fact that we came to hide in her small town means that it’s unlikely to be a coincidence. Add in the fact that she’s a Scot…
I’m looking at my mother, who abandoned me years ago. And right now, she’s the only person that can help me with my sick patient.
Magda views me coolly. “Bring her into the back, please.”
She sweeps along, leaving me to follow her down the darkened hallway. At the first. room we come to, she pushes the door open and ushers me inside. There is a small desk with a computer, a chair, and a long white cot.
While Magda pulls on a pair of latex gloves, she motions for me to put Penny down on the cot. I stare at the woman for several beats.
My mother immediately takes over the whole situation, snapping commands. “Put her down, please. And step back. I need room to work.”
Hesitantly, I set Penny down on the cot and move away from her. She clings to me, catching my hand, making sure that I don’t go far.
My breath catches in my throat. “Please,” I whisper, looking up at Magda. “Tell me that she’ll be all right.”
Magda frowns, picking up a bright pink stethoscope from the desk. She takes half a minute to wipe down the stethoscope and throw the alcohol wipe away, her movements practiced and precise.
I remember that Magda always had a meticulous manner, even when she was merely nursing one of my little brothers when we were children. Always with the same air of grace and gravity as she moves with now.
Magda presses the stethoscope against Penny’s chest over her heart, listening carefully. Her face gives nothing away as I wait, my own heartbeat thundering in my ears.
Magda moves the stethoscope around Penny’s chest, then pulls it free of her ears. “How far along is Persephone?”
“Uh…” I do a quick search of my brain. I feel so out of place, completely without the usual confidence that guides my every thought and move. “Five months, I guess?”
“And when did she last eat?”
I scrunch up my face. “Last night. She had a sandwich on the plane.”
“And ye? Did ye eat the same thing?”
A moment’s hesitation passes before I shake my head.
“No. I thought the tuna salad didn’t look very appealing. Is that what this is? Food poisoning?”
“Maybe.” Magda presses several spots over Persephone’s stomach, seeming satisfied that she doesn’t yelp or squirm. She turns her head, yelling behind her in what I assume is Norwegian. I don’t get anything from it except that I think she calls the young woman Sigrid.
Sigrid appears with an IV pole, holding a plastic bag filled with what looks like saline. She shoos me back a couple of steps and busies herself prepping Penny’s hand and inserting the IV into her. It is quick, maybe three minutes total, and then she hangs the IV bag up.
