Someone to Watch Over Me Read Online Free PDF

would want me to relinquish the baby. But when she rolled that bassinet into the room, reality punched me.
    â€œNo! Don’t take him!”
    â€œHoney, give me the baby,” Mother demanded.
    â€œI’m not ready,” I protested. “He’s not ready. Aunt Dottie didn’t get to see him.” I truly wanted my aunt, who had taken me in during the last five months of my pregnancy, to see him. But she was busy working at her store. It was the day before Thanksgiving. There was no way she could close shop on such an important day. She said she’d come and see me as soon as she closed and I knew she would. Aunt Dottie always kept her word.
    â€œTori, it’s all over now,” Mother coldly surmised. Somehow, Mr. James always managed to turn my mother into a wicked witch when he was around.
    Gently, the nurse and my mother pried my son from me for the last time. “Wait!” I tried to maintain physical contact with him, but they weren’t listening. I’d learned no one listened to sixteen-year-old mothers, actually.
    When the nurse placed the baby in the clear standard-issue bassinet and rolled him out of the room, I fell apart, sobbing uncontrollably and scrambling to get out of bed.
    â€œTori, stop this!” my mother ordered. “Stop this. It’s over! Stop crying, stop crying this instant! You hear me? What’s done is done. Crying won’t change anything.”
    She was right. Crying had never changed one single thing about my miserable life before. I had no reason to think things would change at that point. If anything, things had been worse with my mother and Mr. James since I’d gotten pregnant by one of the neighborhood thugs.
    My mother had already decided we weren’t having a funeral. Just a graveside service, which I’d already overheard my stepfather, Mr. James, tell hospital personnel “cost way too much money for a dead baby. Why can’t they just dispose of it?”
    He thought I was asleep. I wasn’t.

Chapter 4
    T he doctor ordered me to refrain from driving for at least another three days following the appendectomy. So when the time came for me to check out of the hospital, I was stuck out. Kevin was still in Chicago, so there was absolutely no one on hand to escort me home. My attending nurse asked if I knew how to get in touch with anyone from my job, but since it was Saturday, I had no means of reaching them outside work except e-mail. After all, they were my coworkers, not my friends. I went to an occasional wedding shower or birthday party with those people, but that was about it.
    The nurse went down a list of other possibilities: church members, sorority sisters, neighbors. She even went so far as to ask if one of my clients might be willing to transport me. No, no, no, and are you out of your mind? The more she asked, the more frustrated I became. She instructed me to go through my cell phone and scan the contacts to see if there might be someone I’d overlooked. “Maybe you’re a little foggy, with the drugs and all.”
    I followed her orders and still turned up nothing. All I had was business contacts, Kevin, my favorite restaurants, and Aunt Dottie, who lived more than three hours away and whom I wouldn’t dare bother with my troubles. She was in her seventies. I had no doubt she would hightail it to Houston if she had to, but the last thing I wanted to do was raise Aunt Dottie’s blood pressure.
    â€œCan’t you just call a taxi for me? Whatever it costs to get me back home, I’ll pay,” I offered. As if the hospital would have it any other way.
    Satisfied that I was indeed a real-life true hermit, the nurse sighed. “I’ll call a social worker. He or she will help the checkout and take it from there.”
    â€œA social worker?” I attempted to sit up, but the sting in my side reminded me of stitches I still needed to guard. “I’m not a foster kid.