You Were Meant For Me Read Online Free PDF Page A

waited patiently for a recess or a break and would listen to the update that Judge Waxman delivered in the same clipped tone. The baby was drinking formula. The baby had gained an ounce. There was some evidence of drugs—she would not specify—in her system, but they were minimal; it did not appear that her mother had been an addict. Miranda warmed to the woman, frosting and all. How would the judge have known these details unless she too had taken a special interest in the baby?
    Then Judge Waxman told her that a foster care placement had been found for the baby; she would be leaving the hospital shortly.
    â€œWould I be able to see her before they let her go?” Miranda asked.
    â€œWhatever for?” Judge Waxman’s brows, two thin, penciled arcs, rose high on her forehead.
    â€œJust because. Maybe I could hold her. The nurses must be so busy; they might not have time.”
    â€œI’ve never had a request like that,” said the judge. Miranda did not say anything; she just waited while those shrewd blue eyes did their work. “But I see no reason why you couldn’t. Come back tomorrow; I’ll give you the name of the facility and a letter allowing you to visit with her at the discretion of the nurses.”
    â€œOh, thank you!” Miranda said. “Thank you so much!”
    She walked out of the courthouse buoyant withanticipation, and after work spent an hour in Lolli’s on Seventh Avenue, considering the relative merits of tiny sweaters, caps, dresses, and leggings. She spent way too much money, but rationalized her purchases as charitable contributions.
    The baby was being held at Kings County Hospital, on Clarkson Avenue; Miranda took the subway to the 627-bed facility (she had looked it up online) after she left work the next day. The two nurses on the neonatal ward were only too happy to indulge her. “Honey, you can hold her all night long if you want to,” said one, her Caribbean accent giving the words a musical lilt.
    â€œDo you know that someone found her in the subway?” said the other one.
    â€œI know,” Miranda said. “I was that someone.”
    â€œLord, no!” said the nurse.
    Miranda nodded and looked down at the baby. She was definitely heavier; Miranda felt she had her weight imprinted somewhere in her sense memory and she could discern the difference. Her skin tone had evened out and her dark eyes were open and fixed on Miranda’s face. Did she remember the time they had spent together? Could she in some inchoate way
recognize
her?
    Miranda spent the next two hours walking, rocking, and talking to the baby. She took scads of photos that she would later post to her Facebook page. The baby guzzled the bottle of formula that the nurses prepared, and she dozed peacefully as Miranda toted her up and down the hospital corridor. During a diaper change, which the nurse showed Miranda how to execute, she blinked several times and kicked her tiny feet. As her hand closed around Miranda’s extended finger, the force of her grip was a revelation.
    When visiting hours ended, Miranda pulled herself away with the greatest reluctance. She went back the next night, this time with butterscotch blondies she had baked from an office recipe; the nurses tore into them eagerly. “For someone who had such a start, she’s doing all right,” said the one with the island accent. She bit into her blondie with evident delight.
    â€œShe’s lucky you’re the one who found her,” said the other.
    â€œMaybe I’m the lucky one,” Miranda said, gazing down at the baby who was now wearing a knit dress adorned with rosebuds; Miranda had rubbed the cotton against her own cheek to test for softness when selecting it.
    The following day, Miranda was back in Judge Waxman’s courtroom. “The family that adopts her—they’ll be thoroughly checked out, right?” she asked.
    â€œOf course,” said Judge