THE WOMAN WHO DIED IN MY SISTER’S NAME
For twelve years, I believed my younger sister had died alone in a motel fire. Then a hospital social worker called to tell me that a woman recovering from surgery had listed me as her emergency contact—and when I heard her voice, I recognized the person I had buried before she even said my name.
The call came on a Wednesday afternoon while I was standing in the loading bay of the public library where I worked.
I was arguing with a delivery driver about six boxes of children’s books that had been sent to the wrong branch when my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
“This is Elena.”
“Ms. Elena Ruiz?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Dana Mercer. I’m a social worker at St. Catherine’s Medical Center in Richmond. I’m calling about a patient who has listed you as her emergency contact.”
