Marybeth said, “I’ve been thinking about it. April wasn’t the only child in the Sovereign Camp that day. Maybe this girl knew April. Maybe they were friends and April told her all about us.”
Sheridan hugged herself, unconvinced. “Okay, but why would she text me? Doesn’t this girl have family of her own? Why me? Why us? And why would she wait so long after April told her about us to contact me?”
“There’s only one way we’re going to find out,” Joe said. “She’ll have to tell us.”
Lucy had listened to everything but said nothing. Finally, she declared, “April is still alive. This girl knows where she is.”
Marybeth sat on the couch next to Joe and Lucy and ran her fingers through Lucy’s hair. “If only it were so,” Marybeth said sadly.
JOE AND MARYBETH sent Sheridan and Lucy to the cafeteria so they could get dinner before it closed. It also gave them a chance to talk without the girls around.
Marybeth said, “One thing I do know is this girl, whoever she is, is all alone. Maybe someone somewhere has reported her missing, but we don’t know that. I have a feeling she’s been on her own for quite some time, though. I can’t ascribe her contacting Sheridan as some kind of malice on her part. I never even considered the possibility. She needs our help, Joe. Maybe this was her very strange way of asking.”
Joe said, “I was wondering how long it would take for you to say that.” He still couldn’t get over the shock of finally finding April, only to find out she was someone else.
Marybeth took both of Joe’s hands in hers and looked deeply into his eyes. “We’ve got to help her, Joe. Even if she’s not conscious, she needs to know we’re here and we care about her. Can you imagine waking up in a hospital and having no one-I mean no one-there to hold you?”
He shook his head. It was unimaginable.
She said softly, “Maybe it was supposed to happen this way. Maybe we’re being given a second chance to make up for what happened to April.”
Joe didn’t know what to say. The implications of Marybeth’s statement made it suddenly hard to breathe.
“Are you here for Janie Doe?” someone asked.
Joe and Marybeth looked over to find an overweight woman in an ill-fitting business suit carrying a clipboard. Her face was a facsimile of sympathy and understanding. Joe didn’t resent her for her show of false concern and expression of faux familiarity. He thought it must be tough to be her.
“Yes,” Marybeth said. “We’re here for her.”
“So you’re the parents?”
“We’re not her parents,” Marybeth said, shaking her head. “We’re here as, well, what are we, Joe?”
Joe shrugged. “We thought she was someone else,” he said to the hospital staffer.
The staffer, whose hospital ID read SARA MCDOUGAL, waited for more explanation with her eyebrows arched.
“I’m sorry,” McDougal said, finally, “so you’re not related or friends with Janie Doe in any way?”
Joe and Marybeth shook their heads, but Marybeth said, “We want to be here for her, though.”
“Even though you say you don’t know her?” McDougal said gently, trying to tamp down the doubt and suspicion that lurked beneath her question.
“That’s correct,” Marybeth said.
“Well, that’s interesting.”
Joe said, “Yup.”
McDougal made a point of reading the document on her clipboard studiously, although it was apparent she was really trying to figure out which way she wanted to go with the discussion. She said, “I hate to ask you at a time like this, especially given your, um, lack of a relationship with Janie Doe, but do you know who is responsible for paying for her medical care? Does she have insurance?”
“We have no idea,” Marybeth said flatly.
“Is she a resident of the county?”
Marybeth said, “I doubt it. We heard a rumor she might be from Chicago, but we’ve got no proof of that.”
“Does she qualify for Medicare? Medicaid? Does the State of Illinois have some kind of insurance for its residents?”
“I don’t know,” Marybeth said, steel in her voice.
“How are we going to resolve this?” McDougal asked. “Someone’s got to be responsible.”
“I’m losing my patience with you,” Marybeth said to her. “I know you have a form to fill out, but this is a very difficult situation without easy answers. We’ll work something out, I’m sure.”
After McDougal walked away, her heels clicking down the hallway, Joe asked Marybeth, “Work it out how? This is going to cost thousands of dollars. And if she requires long-term care… how can we help her?”
He was surprised when Marybeth responded with a slight conspiratorial smile. “I’ve got an idea,” she said.
Before she could explain, Coon stormed down the hallway. “Joe, there you are. Stenko and Robert’s trail has gone cold and we need to talk. Do you have a minute?”
“Slow down,” Joe said to Coon. “Let me introduce my wife, Marybeth. Marybeth, this is Special Agent Chuck Coon of the FBI.”
Coon took a breath and said to her, “I’m sorry I was rude. I have better manners than that.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” she said. “Thank you for what you did to rescue the… girl in here.”
Joe could tell she struggled through the last few words.
Coon was confused and looked to Joe for an explanation.
“It’s not April Keeley,” Joe said. “We don’t know who she is and we won’t know unless she comes out of her coma.”
“What?” Coon cried, and bent forward at the waist with his palms out, as if someone had delivered a blow to the back of his neck. “I was hoping she could help us find Stenko. She’s the only one who knows what they’re up to or what they might do next.”
“She can’t talk,” Joe said.
“She may never talk,” Marybeth added softly. “She has very little brain activity. They don’t know if they can bring her back.”
He turned and walked away, cupping the top of his head with his hand, saying, “Jesus, help us.”
Joe said to Marybeth, “I’ll just be a minute.”
“Take your time,” she said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
JOE FOLLOWED COON down the stairs and out through a heavy door marked EMERGENCY EXIT-DO NOT OPEN into a side parking lot of the hospital. The night was crisp and cool, the stars beaming through light cloud cover.