After lunch, I have a visitor. She’s a caseworker from the hospital and she’s here to help. That’s her greeting: I’m Miriam and I’m here to help.
Her words are a relief. My shoulders decompress. I’m at a hospital far from home. A whole hour away. Far from the laundromat. Far from school. Far from my mom’s office. But Miriam is here to help.
She pulls out a clipboard. “What’s your full name?”
“Ruby Elizabeth Babcock.”
She asks for my address and date of birth. And a whole bunch of other basic stuff. But I only want to know one thing.
“How will you find my mom?”
She asks me where my mom works and if we have the same last name. “When did you last speak to her?” Miriam asks.
“At dinner. The night before the earthquake.” I don’t tell her the details. I don’t want Miriam to know one of the last things I said to my mom was that she’d ruined my life.
My eyes fill with tears. What if I never get to take it back?
Valentina sits down next to me. Pats my knuckles. “It’s okay.” I squeeze her hand. She shouldn’t have to comfort me. She’s just a little kid. “Can you give her one of your candies?” she asks Miriam. “It’ll make her feel better.”
Valentina already knows the drill. How long ago did she talk to Miriam? How many days have they been looking for her mom?
Miriam reaches into her pocket. Pulls out two Tootsie Pops. One grape. One orange. I’m suddenly on the bleachers at the football field with Leo, looking out at the earthquake drill we did on campus. I choke on a sob because I want to be there now. Where things were simpler. When I knew where my mom was.
Miriam hands me a tissue. Smiles sympathetically. “I know it feels like a lot. I’m asking you to please be patient. Things are taking a long time because everything is haywire right now.”
Haywire is an odd word. Something you say when you’re frazzled. Like when your backpack rips and your internet goes down so you can’t send your AP English paper through Google Docs and you can’t find your phone all at the same time.
Haywire is a simple problem. Haywire isn’t what you call this.
But Miriam is here to help me, so I say, “Okay. I understand.” Because at least it’s something. At least it’s hope.
“Trust me, I want you to find your mom as much as you do, Ruby. We just have to take it one step at a time.”