Read Online Reilly 02 - Invasion of Privacy by Perri O'Shaughnessy - Free Book Online
Authors: Perri O'Shaughnessy
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speak. "We’re unavailable at the moment. Please leave your message after the tone."
What could Paul do from so far away anyway? Bobby would turn up any minute. Feeling unable to leave a message, she hung up.
"Community Hospital," the bus driver said. Bob stood in front of the long white building shaded by Monterey pines. People bustled in and out, some dressed all in white, some with red coats.
He had slept most of the way from Tahoe to Monterey, and, up early, stopped for breakfast at the McDonald’s near Fisherman’s Wharf. Then he returned to the bus station and found out how to get to the hospital.
He turned right after going through the automatic doors, heading for the volunteer information desk. A lady with stiff white hair and a peach-colored dress sat behind bunches of flowers. These ladies didn’t get paid, so they were always very cheerful, really cheerful, not fake-o cheerful like people who were paid for it.
"I need my birth certificate. I was born here," he said to the lady. In a quavering voice she said, "Oh. Well. Let’s see what we can find out. Alma? Alma!" A girl came over, maybe even a teenager, wearing a uniform just like the girls at Boulder Hospital at Tahoe, where his mom had been.
"This young man wants a birth certificate," she said to the girl, who looked at Bob with a lot of doubt in her eyes.
Lots of gray-speckled, shiny floors later, they turned into a room with a tall counter that he had trouble seeing over. Alma left him there. The man behind the counter didn’t notice Bob. "Excuse me," Bob said. About a century later, after some other people came and went, Bob said "Excuse me" again. No reaction. Was he deaf?
"Hey!" Bob said loudly. The man turned. Bob had never seen anyone so bald, but he had a dark tan all over his head and the neck coming out of his shirt looked as thick as a boxer’s. "Sir," he added.
"What do you want, kid?" he said.
"My birth certificate. I was born here."
"That’s a legal record. We don’t have it here." He looked at a list for a minute, saying, "You have to go over to the Salinas courthouse. West wing, third floor. County health department. Unless you want an original. Then you have to write to Sacramento."
"Where’s Salinas?"
"You trying to be funny?"
"No, sir," Bob said. He could see the man liked that. "I just meant, how do we get there?" He used "we" to keep the man from getting too interested in a kid all alone.
He looked at Bob and shrugged. "Take the Highway 68 bus outside. That takes you to the Salinas Transit Plaza, and you get a transfer, or walk from there. It’s just a few blocks."
"Do you know if birth certificates have the father’s names on them?"
"Usually."
"Do they have to have the father’s name?"
"No. But they usually do."
At dinnertime, an exhausted Nina suggested dinner out for Matt’s family. At first they refused. They would sit with her. They would wait together. "Please, go," she insisted. "I’ll stay here." Matt tried and failed to convince Nina to come along. She didn’t want to leave the house. He wanted to bring food home, but she said she’d make some soup.
"Go to a movie," she suggested at the door in a low voice. "This is just awful for the kids."
"Are you sure you’ll be all right?"
"I’m fine. I expect to hear from someone any minute."
"We won’t be late." Matt and Andrea hugged her, and even the kids each gave her a kiss on the way out. "They’ll find him, Nina," Andrea whispered. "I know he’s all right."
"Want to grab your keys and move your car? Andrea and I parked in the garage," Matt asked.
She reached into her pocket and tossed him her keys. "Take the Bronco, Matt. Everybody fits better in there anyway."
After they left she went into the kitchen to make herself some soup. She hadn’t eaten all day, and the aggravating needs of the body called to her according to their own clock. Dinner, they said. Eat. She ate the tomato soup with the morning newspaper in front of her.
From the
What could Paul do from so far away anyway? Bobby would turn up any minute. Feeling unable to leave a message, she hung up.
"Community Hospital," the bus driver said. Bob stood in front of the long white building shaded by Monterey pines. People bustled in and out, some dressed all in white, some with red coats.
He had slept most of the way from Tahoe to Monterey, and, up early, stopped for breakfast at the McDonald’s near Fisherman’s Wharf. Then he returned to the bus station and found out how to get to the hospital.
He turned right after going through the automatic doors, heading for the volunteer information desk. A lady with stiff white hair and a peach-colored dress sat behind bunches of flowers. These ladies didn’t get paid, so they were always very cheerful, really cheerful, not fake-o cheerful like people who were paid for it.
"I need my birth certificate. I was born here," he said to the lady. In a quavering voice she said, "Oh. Well. Let’s see what we can find out. Alma? Alma!" A girl came over, maybe even a teenager, wearing a uniform just like the girls at Boulder Hospital at Tahoe, where his mom had been.
"This young man wants a birth certificate," she said to the girl, who looked at Bob with a lot of doubt in her eyes.
Lots of gray-speckled, shiny floors later, they turned into a room with a tall counter that he had trouble seeing over. Alma left him there. The man behind the counter didn’t notice Bob. "Excuse me," Bob said. About a century later, after some other people came and went, Bob said "Excuse me" again. No reaction. Was he deaf?
"Hey!" Bob said loudly. The man turned. Bob had never seen anyone so bald, but he had a dark tan all over his head and the neck coming out of his shirt looked as thick as a boxer’s. "Sir," he added.
"What do you want, kid?" he said.
"My birth certificate. I was born here."
"That’s a legal record. We don’t have it here." He looked at a list for a minute, saying, "You have to go over to the Salinas courthouse. West wing, third floor. County health department. Unless you want an original. Then you have to write to Sacramento."
"Where’s Salinas?"
"You trying to be funny?"
"No, sir," Bob said. He could see the man liked that. "I just meant, how do we get there?" He used "we" to keep the man from getting too interested in a kid all alone.
He looked at Bob and shrugged. "Take the Highway 68 bus outside. That takes you to the Salinas Transit Plaza, and you get a transfer, or walk from there. It’s just a few blocks."
"Do you know if birth certificates have the father’s names on them?"
"Usually."
"Do they have to have the father’s name?"
"No. But they usually do."
At dinnertime, an exhausted Nina suggested dinner out for Matt’s family. At first they refused. They would sit with her. They would wait together. "Please, go," she insisted. "I’ll stay here." Matt tried and failed to convince Nina to come along. She didn’t want to leave the house. He wanted to bring food home, but she said she’d make some soup.
"Go to a movie," she suggested at the door in a low voice. "This is just awful for the kids."
"Are you sure you’ll be all right?"
"I’m fine. I expect to hear from someone any minute."
"We won’t be late." Matt and Andrea hugged her, and even the kids each gave her a kiss on the way out. "They’ll find him, Nina," Andrea whispered. "I know he’s all right."
"Want to grab your keys and move your car? Andrea and I parked in the garage," Matt asked.
She reached into her pocket and tossed him her keys. "Take the Bronco, Matt. Everybody fits better in there anyway."
After they left she went into the kitchen to make herself some soup. She hadn’t eaten all day, and the aggravating needs of the body called to her according to their own clock. Dinner, they said. Eat. She ate the tomato soup with the morning newspaper in front of her.
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