Chapter 5: Baton Rouge
The hospital kept Sarah for four more days.
Her leg responded well to treatment.
The baby stayed strong.
Dr.
Thibodaux came by every morning, checked the monitors, asked the same careful questions, and each time left looking slightly less worried than the day before.
On the third day, a physical therapist named Jerome helped Sarah take her first steps with a crutch.
He was a large, quiet man who said very little and steadied her arm without making her feel fragile.
She was grateful for that.
On the fourth day, she asked to use the phone at the nurses' station.
She had memorized the number from the folded paper.
She dialed it slowly.
It rang four times.
Then a voicemail.
A man's voice, older, slightly rough at the edges.
*You've reached Ray Bennett.
Leave a message.*
Sarah stood very still with the receiver against her ear.
"This is Sarah," she said.
"Sarah Bennett.
I think — I think you're my father." She stopped.
Started again.
"I'm at Baton Rouge General.
I've been here a few days.
I'm all right.
I'm—" Her voice caught.
"I'm seven months pregnant and I'm coming home to Cypress Hollow and I just — I needed to say your name out loud to someone who might actually know who I am."
She hung up.
She stood at the nurses' station for a moment with her hand still on the receiver.
"You okay, hon?" the nurse behind the desk asked.
"I don't know yet," Sarah said honestly.
She was discharged the following morning.
Mrs.
Collins drove.
The highway south was flat and wide, the sky enormous above the Louisiana marsh, and Sarah sat in the passenger seat with her crutch propped against the door and the folded paper in her jacket pocket.
They were forty minutes outside of Cypress Hollow when Mrs.
Collins's phone rang through the car speakers.
Unknown number.
Mrs.
Collins glanced at Sarah.
Sarah nodded.
She answered.
A man's voice filled the car.
Older.
Slightly rough at the edges.
"Is Sarah there?"
Sarah's throat closed.
"I'm here," she said.
A long pause.
She could hear him breathing.
"I got your message," he said.
"I've been sitting with the phone in my hand for three hours trying to figure out what to say."
"You don't have to say anything."
"I have sixteen years of things to say." His voice broke slightly on the last word.
"I have thirty-six years of things to say."
Sarah pressed her hand flat against the window glass.
The marsh slid past outside, green and silver in the morning light.
"Mrs.
Collins told me," she said.
"About what happened.
About why you left."
Silence.
"I never stopped trying to reach you," he said.
"Your mother—"
"I know." Sarah's voice was quiet.
"I know what she did."
Another long pause.
"Are you really seven months pregnant?"
"Yes."
"Are you all right?
You said you'd been in the hospital—"
"I'm all right.
The baby is all right." She paused.
"Her name is going to be June."
She heard him make a sound she couldn't quite name.
Not quite a laugh.
Not quite a sob.
Something in between.
"June," he repeated.
"I haven't told anyone else yet," Sarah said.
"I don't know why I told you first."
"I do," he said softly.
Mrs.
Collins kept her eyes on the road.
Her hands were steady on the wheel.
She said nothing, and Sarah was grateful for that too.
"I'm going to Cypress Hollow," Sarah said.
"I'm going to see my mother.
I need her to tell me the truth herself.
I need to hear it from her."
A pause.
"She won't find that easy."
"I know.
I'm not asking her to find it easy."
"Sarah—" He stopped.
Started again.
"I want to see you.
When you're ready.
I'm not asking for anything.
I just — I want to see you."
She looked out at the marsh.
At the flat water and the tall grass and the sky going on forever above it.
"Come to Cypress Hollow," she said.
"Give me two days.
Then come."
He didn't hesitate.
"I'll be there."
The call ended.
The car was quiet.
The road stretched ahead.
Mrs.
Collins reached over without looking and patted Sarah's hand once.
Firm and warm, the same grip as the hospital room.
Sarah left her hand where it was.
They drove the last forty minutes without speaking, and when the water tower of Cypress Hollow appeared on the horizon, Sarah felt something shift in her chest — not relief exactly, and not dread exactly, but something older than both.
The feeling of a door she had walked away from, still standing.
May you like
Still unlocked.
She had not yet thought about what Margaret would say when she walked through it.
