Every time Vanessa had said, “She gets so cranky when she doesn’t nap.”
Every moment I’d accepted an explanation because accepting one was easier than investigating it.
“I need a copy of everything,” I said.
He gave me a long look, then nodded. “I’ll print the report. And Mr. Roger?”
“Yes.”
“If there is any chance the person doing this will realize she was tested, do not contact them alone. I mean that.”
His meaning was plain.
People who drug a child for convenience do not become reasonable just because you confront them.
I looked down at Ruby.
Her lashes lay soft against her cheeks. The child in my lap was still the same little girl who used to hand me rocks from the yard as if she were presenting jewels. But from that moment on, I knew every grown-up in her life would divide into two categories: those who protected her, and those who did not.
I signed the release papers with a hand steadier than I felt.
At the nurses’ desk, a woman with pink-framed glasses handed me a folder and looked at Ruby with something close to pity. I hated that look. Pity is for storms and car wrecks. Children deserve outrage.
I carried Ruby out to the truck.