“Needless to say, our medical system is a mystery to most Americans, let alone outsiders.Then you add things like HIPAA and concepts of doctor–patient confidentiality, which don’t exist in most parts of the world, and it quickly becomes overwhelming.”
I nod gamely.
“Like many, Isaad and Sabera didn’t know how to complete the forms.What do you mean you have to assign one emergencycontact and grant your doctor permission to share information with them?Their culture is all about family, as in grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, parents, siblings.For them, it would be any of those people, all of those people.I had to explain that in this country, an emergency contact is generally your spouse, or an immediate family member.Also could be a close personal friend.”
“Got it.”
“I assumed they’d listed each other.But I didn’t check.Their privacy matters.”Staci takes a deep breath.“Which is why I was surprised when my phone rang in the middle of the night just two weeks later with an ER doc reaching out to me as the listed contact for Sabera Ahmadi.”
“You were called?About Sabera?”
Staci studies me, waits a beat.
“Was it related to alcohol?She was that drunk, had passed out, become unruly, something…”
Still no answer.Because the caseworker can’t comment on medical history, I realize.Why Sabera was in the ER falls under confidentiality.Though my mind is already buzzing with the possibilities.For now:
“Did you ask Sabera why she provided your name instead of Isaad’s?”
“When it felt appropriate.”
In other words, when Sabera sobered up.Or… There’s something about the intensity of Staci’s gaze.Like she’s trying to sear specific information into my brain, except I’m too dense to get it.Something happened.Not alcohol or drugs?Meaning some other root cause?Either way, Sabera ended up in the ER, and Staci was contacted.Her caseworker.Not her husband.
I only realize I stated the last part out loud when Staci nods.“I’d told Sabera that an emergency contact is generally a spouse, a family member, or a friend.According to her, based on those parameters, my name was the one that made sense.”
“I know she doesn’t have family here; Aliah said they died in Afghanistan.But that still leaves—” My voice breaks off.I think I get it, though I’m so startled I can barely finish the thought.“Are you saying, she doesn’t have a spouse, either?She and Isaad… not married?”
“That’s what she told me.”
“They, what, lied to increase their chances of gaining refugee status and get out of the internment camp?But how is such a thing even possible?Aren’t there a million background checks, requests for documentation, et cetera?”
“Absolutely.”Staci leans forward.“Legal documentation is required, not to mention double, triple, quadruple checked.To make things even more interesting, I’ve watched them together.Isaad?The way he interacts with her, looks out for Zahra.That man considers them to be a family, even if Sabera doesn’t.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Sabera is challenging,” Staci repeats.“Ten weeks later, I feel like I have some grasp of Isaad and his needs.Sabera, however, remains a complete mystery to me.Especially…”
She shrugs.The ER visit again.The clue she ethically can’t reveal.But something significant happened.The question is, what?
When working cold cases, the reason I can generally make headway, versus, say, law enforcement, is that I’m an outsider, asking the right questions at the right time.That can get others talking in ways they wouldn’t do with local authorities.
Medical matters, however, fall well beyond my purview.No doctor is going to talk to me.Maybe Sabera’s husband, Isaad, if he ever reappears, though it’s not clear he even knows everything.Which leaves me with caseworker Staci and all the things she will and won’t say.
I feel suddenly stupid, glancing up at her sharply.
“You’re afraid.”I utter it as a statement.
“Yes.”
I study Staci a beat longer, as I fully take in her expression: “Are you afraid for her, or are you afraid of her?”
“Exactly.”
I bow my head in defeat.
CHAPTER 16
TONIGHT’S DINNER IS BREADED CUTSof thick pork chops, smothered in gravy and served with a mound of mashed potatoes topped with a golden pad of butter.Another ode to the kind of family dinners my family never had.
