Chapter 4 Ashton #2
“Call the attorney, Ashton.” He crosses his arms over his barrel chest and softens his tone. “I’m not trying to be a dick. Just call the attorney.”
I yank my phone free and pray that the whole one bar I managed to get charged while I was in the taxi is still there, then redial the attorney from yesterday and wait.
“Charles Baker,” he answers after two rings.
“Mr. Baker, this is Ashton Carmichael. We spoke yesterday about my mother, Suzanna Carmichael,” I remind him as Billy watches.
“Ahh, yes, Ashton. What can I do for you?” He asks with a hurried voice as papers rustle on his end of the call, and I feel what’s left of my rapidly fraying nerves snapping one by one.
“I’m standing outside of my mother’s room in Kroydon Hills Hospital.” I glance over to Billy, who at least looks like he feels bad, even if he probably isn’t doing anything wrong, just his job. “The officer isn’t letting me in to see her.”
“No. You wouldn’t be allowed to see her, Ms. Carmichael. She’s under arrest.”
“I’m sorry— Then what am I doing here if I’m not even able to see her?” I whisper, shutting down instead of freaking out because I’ve got nothing left in the tank. “What part of this could I not have done from Chicago, where I’m supposed to be working?”
“You’re there for Kyrie,” he answers me matter-of-factly, like I’m supposed to understand what that means.
I lift my head to the ceiling but stop when Finn steps into my line of sight.
“What’s Kyrie?” I ask, confused and exhausted.
“Not a what. Who,” he corrects me. “According to your mother, her name is Valkyrie and she calls her Kyrie. She’s your three-month-old-sister, and your mother refused to speak to me until I got you here to take custody of her.”
Finn manages to wrap an arm around my waist and takes my weight, keeping me upright as the world tilts.
“I don’t have a sister . . .” The words are a whispered plea. “I can’t.”
“I’m sorry to tell you this, Ashton. But you do have a sister. Give me ten minutes, and I’ll meet you at the hospital and help get this all straightened out.”
He ends the call before I have a chance to argue, and I stare up at Finn, who looks like he just got caught cheating on an exam.
“You knew?” I ask, confused.
Finn pulls me into a hug and rests his chin on the top of my head. “I just found out. That’s why I was coming to find you. I know you said not to ask around, but I wanted to know what you were walking into.”
“And what am I walking into?” I push away and walk a few feet away from Billy and my mom’s room, ready to force a direct answer out of someone.
“Because so far, I’m standing in a hallway with absolutely no clue what the hell is going on.
I don’t know if Mom is okay. I spoke to a crazy attorney who thinks I have a sister.
And Billy fucking Coogan is sitting in front of my mom’s door, making sure I can’t see her.
It’s all feeling a little too raw at the moment to understand any of it.
So how about you help me understand. Please . . .”
His face falls before he straightens and goes into Dr. Murphy mode.
“Your mom has two broken ribs and a fractured pelvis. Physically, she’ll be okay, but she has a long recovery ahead of her.
I don’t have all the details about the accident or the charges against her yet.
But I do know she was brought in with a three-month-old girl.
The baby was in the back seat of your mother’s car when she struck the tree.
The infant car seat came unattached from the base, but thankfully, it wedged between the back seat and the back of the passenger seat in front of it, so she wasn’t tossed when the car flipped. ”
Oh God.
My stomach sinks as I try to wrap my head around what Finn is saying.
“The baby was kept overnight for observation and is fine. They’ll be releasing her soon.” He rattles off the details like he’s reading a stranger’s chart, and I envy his ability to compartmentalize. “Did your mom ever mention her?”
“You’d know if she had. I would have called you, ranting.
My mom can’t take care of herself. No one in their right mind would let her take care of a baby.
” I shake my head, trying to wrap it around what Finn and Mom’s attorney are telling me, but I can’t— “Are you telling me I actually have a sister?”
“According to your mother, you do. But Ashton . . . there’s no father listed on the birth certificate.”
I wish I were surprised.
I doubt Mom even knows who the father is.
I don’t want to think about the things she’s probably done to score her next fix.
“She’s okay though?” I ask as the pieces start to fit together. “The baby? She’s not hurt?”
“I haven’t seen her yet, but from what I was told, she’s fine. Do you want to go see her?” he asks gently, like he’s soothing a skittish animal. One who’s ready to bolt. And that’s not like Finn. He doesn’t soften his blows. He doesn’t sugarcoat.
“What aren’t you telling me?” I bite out, not sure how much more I can take but ready to rip off whatever Band-Aid is left.
He looks over at Billy, still sitting in front of Mom’s door, and picks up both my bags as easily as his brother did yesterday.
His other arm wraps around my shoulders, and we walk over to the nearly empty waiting area.
“Ashton . . . With no father listed on the birth certificate, and your mother under arrest—even if she wasn’t under arrest, after yesterday .
. . they would have taken the baby away from her and placed her with temporary guardians.
There’s no way they would find your mom fit to care for a baby right now.
Not when she was driving under the influence with the baby in the car.
Child Protective Services has to place the baby with someone in the meantime, and since you’re the only next of kin—”
The lawyers words from a minute ago click into place.
Your mother refused to speak to me until I got you here to take custody of her.
No.
“I didn’t even know she existed,” I barely breathe out, a mix of shock and guilt threatening to consume me.
“You’re her sister, Ash.”
I step out of my best friend’s hold, the past trying to push into the present. “The last time I was someone’s sister, I got them killed . . .”
“Ashton—”
“Don’t,” I stop Finn, refusing to go down that path. I can’t.
I have a sister. One who’s alone and needs me.
I can either get over myself and go in there and take care of her, or I can wallow in a pity party for one, like a self-centered asshole and leave her here to be sent away with strangers.
She didn’t ask to be born into my fucked up family.
She didn’t ask to have our mother or me as her only relatives.
None of this is her fault. It’s not mine either, but if I walk away now . . . that is my fault. That decision would be mine alone. And I may be a stranger, but that doesn’t make her any less my sister.
Squaring my shoulders, I look at my best friend, scared to death but unwilling to let her be alone for another minute. “Take me to her.”
To Finn’s credit, he doesn’t argue or question.
He leads us up two floors and through the maze of the hospital corridors, walking us right by the nurse’s station and a group of doctors, not stopping until we’re outside a room where Mr. Baker meets us with a woman wearing a Child Protective Services badge.
“Hello, Miss Carmichael.” Mr. Baker offers a weary smile. “This is Mrs. Lorang, the CPS social worker assigned to your sister’s case.”
My sister. Well, that’s going to take some getting used to.
Mrs. Lorang looks me over like she finds me lacking, and honestly, I can’t say I blame her. I feel lacking in every possible way at the moment. I probably shouldn’t tell her I’ve never held a baby before. “What have you been told, Miss Carmichael?”
“I filled her in on Kyrie’s status,” Finn offers, and the look Mrs. Lorang gives him could freeze fire, it’s so frigid.
“And who are you?”
“Dr. Finnegan Murphy,” he tells her, daring her to question him.
Pretty sure if they both whipped it out to measure who’s bigger, Mrs. Lorang would win. She dismisses Finn with a flick of her eyes and focuses on me. “So you’re aware your sister needs to be placed with a temporary guardian?”
Aware—yes.
Prepared—no.
But I don’t tell her that. My sister, who I never even knew existed, is on the other side of that door, and no one but me is walking out of here with her.
“Yes, I’m aware. And I’m assuming since you’ve brought me here as her only living family, I can take her with me?” I ask, trying to sound as arrogant as Finn but failing miserably.
“Do you live in the state, Miss—”
“Ashton, please,” I stop her, shaking my head. “My name is Ashton.”
That seems to soften Mrs. Lorang, who finally looks at me with something like kindness instead of disgust. I cannot even imagine the hell this woman must see every day or the strength it must take to do what she does. “Ashton, do you have somewhere to stay while we get this figured out?”
Shit.
I open my mouth to answer, unsure of what to say, when Finn does it for me. “She’s staying with me as long as she’s in Kroydon Hills.”
“And you are?” Mrs. Lorang asks again like Finn hadn’t just told her before clarifying, “Who are you to Miss—to Ashton?”
“A good friend, with plenty of room in his home.” Finn takes my hand in his and squeezes.
“We’ll have to do a home study. You’ll have to become a licensed resource by the state,” Mrs. Lorang warns, and I nod.
“What does that entail?” I ask, my head spinning.
“Bi-monthly home visits. Foster parent classes. Medical appointments. We’re going to come out to inspect your home. Make sure the child has proper sleeping arrangements. Food. Working utilities.” My heart sinks to think that some children don’t have those things.
Did my sister have that before now? Did Mom?
“And if I want to take her out of state?” I ask, trying to figure out how to move my life here from Chicago.
“That isn’t ideal. We prefer you be in-state,” she tells me as she moves to the door, dismissing the question. “Are you ready to meet Kyrie?”
I look at Finn, the word no on the tip of my tongue, when I hear a cry on the other side of the door and move as if on autopilot. I slide past Mrs. Lorang into the room where a nurse is bent over a crib, and my heart catches in my throat.
A baby girl with big, fat tears clinging to her long lashes cries, her entire body shaking. A tiny tuft of golden-blonde hair is held back by a big pink bow headband. The kind you see on newborns. Fat tears cling to her lashes and tiny pink lips shake, breaking my heart.
“How old did you say she is?” I ask softly as I watch the nurse listen to Kyrie’s heartbeat. She’s so small.
“Three months,” Finn answers as he moves behind me and puts a hand on my shoulder, giving me his strength when I feel like I have none left to give. “She looks like you.”
“She does not.” I smile. She looks like a perfect little doll. “She looks like Evan.”