Chương 11
I had not considered that distinction.
Dana seemed to hear the silence.
“You get to decide who comes into your hospital room.”
“What about the NICU?”
“That is a hospital policy question and potentially a parental issue depending on circumstances.”
“Which means?”
“It means I’m not going to pretend family law fits into a sentence.”
Again, the answer irritated and reassured me at the same time.
“Can you represent me?”
“Possibly.”
“Possibly?”
“I need a conflicts check.”
“With Ethan?”
“With Mercer entities, related parties, adverse matters, and anyone else whose involvement creates an issue.”
“How long?”
“I’ll have my office run it now.”
Rachel opened her mouth.
Dana cut her off again.
“Do not ask me how long, Rachel.”
Rachel leaned back.
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
I almost laughed.
Dana continued.
“Claire, until I confirm representation, assume I’m giving you general guidance, not formal legal advice.”
“Understood.”
“One more thing.”
“What?”
“Do not confront Ethan about the transfer.”
“Why?”
“Because right now he may not know what you know.”
“He knows Daniel contacted me?”
“Do you know that?”
“No.”
“Then stop giving him information for free.”
The sentence sounded like something Rachel would embroider onto a pillow.
“Okay.”
“Send Rachel the agreement?”
“I have it.”
“Good.”
“Can you send it to Dana?”
Dana interrupted.
“Not until my office confirms the conflict check.”
“Right.”
“Also, Claire?”
“Yes?”
“You had surgery a few hours ago.”
“I’m aware.”
“I say this because clients in crisis become convinced every problem requires immediate personal action.”
I looked toward the door.
“My daughter is critically ill.”
Dana paused.
When she spoke again, the sharpness was gone.
“Then be with your daughter.”
The call ended.
For several seconds, Rachel and I sat without speaking.
Then she said, “I definitely want her on our side.”
“Our?”
She looked at me.
“You can be offended by that later.”
I reached for the yellow sweatshirt and folded it across my lap.
“You were right.”
“About what?”
“I disappeared.”
Rachel’s face changed.
“Claire.”
“No, I did.”
I traced a seam in the fabric.
“You kept calling.”
“You were married.”
“I used that as an excuse.”
“You were trying to make your marriage work.”
“I stopped answering because every conversation with you made me notice things I didn’t want to notice.”
Rachel looked down.
“That happened too.”
“I thought you hated Ethan.”
“I hated who you became around him.”
The answer hurt.
I nodded anyway.
“What did I become?”
“Careful.”
She swallowed.
“You used to argue with parking meters.”
“That sounds unstable.”
“You once disputed a fourteen-dollar dry-cleaning charge for three weeks.”
“They ruined a blazer.”
“You cared about everything.”
She looked at me.
“Then every answer became, ‘Ethan handles it.’”
My eyes burned.
“That was easier.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
The defensiveness came too fast.
Rachel recoiled.
I regretted it instantly.
“Sorry.”
She shrugged, but badly.
“I deserved some of that.”
“No.”
“You did stop talking to me because I pushed.”
“I stopped because I was embarrassed.”
The truth surprised both of us.
Rachel’s eyes lifted.
“About what?”
“That I knew you were right.”
My phone vibrated.
Ethan.
I stared at his name.
Rachel did not tell me not to answer this time.
I declined the call.
Then I opened my personal email and changed the password.
It was a tiny thing.
Eight characters became sixteen.
One door closed.
A nurse came in with pain medication and a tray containing scrambled eggs that looked like they had survived a difficult childhood.
I took both.
Evelyn’s order to eat actual food had apparently lodged somewhere in my head.
Rachel peeled back the foil on the tray.
“That is legally egg.”
“I’m not convinced.”
“You need protein.”
“You sound eighty.”
“I’m thirty-four.”
“Same thing before coffee.”
She handed me a plastic fork.
I ate three bites.
Then Monica appeared in the doorway.
Her face told me something before her words did.
I put down the fork.
“What happened?”
“Lily’s oxygen requirement went up again.”
The room emptied of everything except that sentence.
“Can I go to her?”
“Yes.”
Rachel was already moving the tray aside.
Monica brought the wheelchair.
When I stood to transfer into it, pain tore across my abdomen so sharply that I gasped.
“Slow,” Monica said.
“I don’t have slow.”
“You do if you want to avoid reopening your incision.”
I hated her for being right.
By the time we reached the NICU, Dr. Patel was beside Lily with two respiratory therapists.
He met my eyes through the clear incubator wall.
“We’re giving her additional surfactant.”
“Is that bad?”
“It means her lungs need more help.”
“Is it working?”
“We’ll know.”
Again with time.
Again with waiting.
I put my hand through the access opening.
Lily’s fingers did not move toward mine this time.
I touched the back of her hand.
Her skin was warmer than I expected.
“Hey,” I whispered.
The ventilator breathed.
“You don’t get to scare me like this.”
Nothing changed.
I leaned closer.
“I haven’t even bought your crib.”
The words came stupidly.
“I bought three mattresses and then Ethan said we should wait because the decorator wanted custom furniture.”
My throat tightened.
“So you’re not allowed to leave before I make at least one parenting decision without a committee.”
Monica stood behind me.
She pretended to check a monitor.
I kept my finger beside Lily’s hand.
“I’m your mother.”
This time the word came easier.
“I’m late saying it, but I’m here.”
Lily’s fingers twitched.
Probably reflex.
Probably nothing.
I took it anyway.
When I finally looked up, Adrian was standing outside the NICU glass.
He was not trying to come in.
He simply stood there holding two coffees, watching from a distance.
I met his eyes.
He lifted one cup slightly.
I shook my head.
He nodded and turned away.
For once, someone understood that staying did not always mean coming closer.
I stayed beside Lily until my back cramped and Monica threatened to wheel me out by force.
May you like
“She needs me.”
“She needs you conscious too.”
