Page 24 of Iron Will

When I turn Bethany and ask if I can speak to her outside for a few minutes, she gives me a worried frown.

“Is this about Mickey?” she asks.

Paisley immediately looks up, her eyes darting from her mother to me.

“Partly,” I nod, giving them both what I hope is a reassuring smile. “Come on. Let’s go talk in the family lounge. Paisley, I’m gonna go talk to your mom for a few minutes, okay? We’ll be right back.”

I take Bethany into the small beige room where I talked to Rourke earlier. Closing the door, I motion for her to sit down on the couch, then take the chair next to her.

“She’s looking better today,” I begin. “That must be a relief.”

“It is,” she agrees. She looks down at her hands. Taking a shaky breath, she continues. “I know I should never have left her alone at that age. It’s just that I have to work. And just now, I can’t afford a babysitter all the time. She’s supposed to stay in the room with the door locked whenever I’m gone. She knows better than to leave.”

“And,” I continue, hesitating. “What about Mickey? Does he ever take care of her when you’re at work?”

“Oh, Mickey…” Bethany laughs nervously. “He’s not all that crazy about kids. I don’t ask him to do that stuff.”

Her body immediately tenses up at the mention of her boyfriend. If I keep going with this line of conversation, I’m pretty sure she’ll shut down. So I back off a bit and switch gears.

“Has the doctor been by recently to talk to you about Paisley’s condition?” I ask delicately.

“Yeah.” Bethany clasps her hands together. “He said her concussion doesn’t seem to have caused any internal bleeding or anything like that. Paisley’s still feeling sick to her stomach, and she still has a headache, but the doctor thinks both of those things will go away with time. I just have to keep her quiet and make sure she sleeps enough. Limit screen time. And he said she might have trouble concentrating on schoolwork and stuff for a while.”

“That’s good to hear.” I nod. “Will you have trouble keeping an eye on her, after she’s discharged? I’m guessing it will be hard for you to take off from your job.”

“I’ll make it work,” Bethany retorts, an edge in her voice. “Somehow.” She shifts her body toward me and looks me in the eyes. “I love my little girl,” she says fiercely. “I’m not a bad mother.”

“Bethany.” I let out a sigh. “I know you do. I know things are hard right now. Please believe me, that I’m trying to help you. I know this is a scary time. And I’m sure that money worries are only making it scarier.” I wait a beat, then continue, more gently.

“One of my jobs here at the hospital is to locate resources, to help patients and their families with after-hospital care,” I say. “And to the extent possible, with help with figuring out how to manage the burden of your hospital bills. I can start working on that for you now, if you’d like. Maybe we can have some sort of a plan in place by the time Paisley gets the okay to be discharged.”

“Really?” Bethany’s eyes grow wide with disbelief.

I nod. “Really. I can’t work magic. But I’ll do what I can.”

The smile she gives me is so tremulous, so full of hope, that it makes my stomach hurt. I can’t imagine how hard it must be for her, to feel so alone in the world, raising a child by herself without any kind of help. Spontaneously, I reach out and put my hand over hers.

“We’ll figure it out,” I tell her.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“Don’t thank me until I’ve actually delivered,” I joke, to lighten the mood a little. My voice wobbles, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She ducks her head, swiping at her eyes.

“Bethany,” I say, more softly now. “There’s something else I need to talk to you about. Okay?”

“This is the Mickey part, right?” Bethany laughs shakily. “I know he’s been causing problems. He gets riled easy. He doesn’t do very well with authority.”

“It’s not about the altercations in the hallway,” I tell her. “Although they definitely are not helpful.”

“What is it then?” she asks, clearly apprehensive.

I take a deep breath.

“When Paisley was admitted, the doctor noticed a bruise on her upper arm that seemed consistent with a hand grabbing her.” I wait a beat. “A large hand.”

“Please…” Bethany moans. “Please, it’s not what you think…”

“I don’t think anything. Yet,” I say carefully. “Which is why I’m asking you to tell me whatyouthink?”