Chapter 2 - The private questions
The hospital social worker’s name was Carmen Holt.
She asked Graham to remain outside.
Then she sat beside my bed.
“Has anyone at home hurt you before?”
I said:
“No.”
Then:
“I don’t know.”
Both answers were true in different ways.
She waited.
That helped.
I described the bathroom incident.
Eight months earlier.
Judith was staying overnight.
I walked into the bathroom after a shower.
Judith came in behind me.
I remembered feeling a hand against my upper arm.
Then slipping.
At the time I thought she had reached for the towel rack.
My ribs hurt for two weeks.
I went to urgent care.
No imaging beyond one chest film?
Actually there had been an X-ray.
“Did anyone tell you a rib was fractured?”
“No.”
Carmen asked:
“Do you remember what urgent care diagnosed?”
“Contusion.”
Could the current radiologist have identified old fracture that prior film missed?
Possible.
Small nondisplaced fractures can be missed.
Then pantry.
Five months earlier.
Judith swung the pantry door open hard.
It struck me.
I fell into the counter.
Bruised shoulder.
Did not seek care.
Then garage.
Three months earlier.
I fell down two concrete steps.
Judith was behind me.
I remembered her hand on my sweater.
I told myself she was trying to catch me.
My side hurt afterward.
Graham said:
“Please don’t turn every accident into a war with Mom.”
I had apologized.
To him.
For accusing his mother.
Now Carmen asked:
“Did Graham witness any of these?”
“Sometimes the aftermath.”
“Did he ever tell you what he saw?”
“He said they were accidents.”
“Did he ever ask you to tell medical providers a specific explanation?”
My throat tightened.
Tonight:
Just say you slipped.
Bathroom:
Tell them you lost your footing.
Garage:
You missed the step.
Yes.
Then:
“Does Graham hurt you physically?”
“No.”
That answer came easily.
He never hit me.
Never shoved me.
Never restrained me.
Our problem was different.
He protected the person who did.
Then police.
Officer Maya Bennett interviewed me after Dr. Mercer made the appropriate report and I agreed to speak.
No immediate dramatic arrest.
Judith was no longer at our house by then.
Graham had driven her to a hotel after the ambulance left.
That fact enraged me.
He had made sure his mother had somewhere safe to sleep while I was in an ambulance.
I told Officer Bennett everything I remembered.
Including uncertainty.
“I know she pushed me tonight.”
“Did you see her hands?”
“No. I felt them.”
“Any witnesses?”
“Graham came right after.”
“Did he see the push?”
“I don’t know.”
That mattered.
Then:
“Any cameras?”
Our home had exterior cameras.
Doorbell.
Driveway.
Back patio.
No indoor cameras.
No stair camera.
Then the tray.
Broken glass.
Scene photographs.
Police secured documentation.
No forensic miracle.
Then Graham entered after the interview.
His face looked gray.
“Nora.”
I stared.
He sat.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
He could not answer.
That was the first time I understood an apology can be incriminating even without legal meaning.
“For what, Graham?”
“I should have called the ambulance immediately.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
He looked away.
Then:
“I didn’t know she would do that.”
“That?”
“Push you down the stairs.”
I watched him.
“Did you know about the other times?”
His face changed.
Tiny.
Enough.
“Graham.”
He stood.
“I need air.”
I laughed.
Actually laughed.
My ribs punished me for it.
“You need air?”
“Nora, please.”
“Go.”
He left.
Carmen returned.
I asked:
“Can I stop him from coming back?”
“Yes.”
Hospital security removed his visitor permission at my request.
No restraining order needed for that.
My room.
My consent.
Then Carmen asked:
“Where will you go when discharged?”
May you like
Not home.
That answer came before I knew where.
