Betsy peers down, her heavy breathing fogging up the glass. “Water aerobics. We’re required forty-five minutes of exercise everyday.” Then she glances at me. “Not you. You’re still healing.” She taps a pudgy finger to the glass, pointing at an older woman who lifts blue floatation devices shaped like dumbbells over her head. The other pregnant girls follow. “That’s one of the nannies. They help run the place. Them and the doctors.” Then she leans toward me, her eyes big in the doughy flesh of her face. “Don’t mess with the nannies. They may look like sweet old ladies, but they can be real cranks.”

I scan the women bobbing like seals in the water. None are my mother.

We shuffle down the hall into a cafeteria. The brightly lit eatery has a tile floor that’s been freshly scrubbed. The rectangular benches and seats line up in neat rows. In the back, a few nannies scour pots over a large steel sink. The cooked meat smell makes my mouth water.

I look around the empty cafeteria and remember the one we found in that haunted school. A pang of loss washes over me. I think of Ethan, this dark hair falling over his eyes. Then my last image of Clay floods up before I can stop it. Him holding me to his chest, telling me to hold on. That everything’s going to be okay.

Betsy waves a hand in front of my face. “Did you hear what I said?”

I blink and shake my head. I scan the faces of the women in the kitchen. None are familiar.

“I said,” she huffs, “meals are served at eight, noon and five. Unless you’re on room restriction, which you are. See why you have to behave. You don’t get to use any of the facilities until Dr. Rayburn says so.”

“Whatever will I do?” I mumble.

Betsy’s face darkens. Behind her chipper exterior, she might have a nasty side.

As she walks us down the cafeteria aisles, I realize I’ve made no headway in finding my mother. I need another plan. As we pass a door marked with a stick figure of a woman on it, I get an idea.

“I have to pee,” I say. Both Betsy and the guard who’s been following us stop.

“I could go, too.” Betsy turns to the guard. “I’ll take her in.”

The guard leans casually against the wall. “Just hurry up. Rayburn said to be back in twenty minutes.”

I offer him my shackled wrists. “Can you help a girl out?” I ask. “Hard to wipe with the cuffs.”

The guard shrugs. “Figure it out.”

I scowl, but drop my hands. I don’t need them for what I’m about to do.