Chương 7
“I thought you’d take me to the hospital.”
He stopped moving.
There was nothing left in his face to defend with.
Dana returned with medication orders.
Dr. Patel rose.
“We need to get your blood pressure down while we prepare.”
Claire nodded.
Ethan sat again.
His phone began vibrating in his pocket.
He pulled it out.
Victoria’s name glowed across the screen.
He stared at it.
Claire watched him.
The phone continued vibrating.
For one second she wondered which version of Ethan would answer.
Then he pressed the side button, silenced the call, and placed the phone face down on the floor beside his chair.
Dana pushed medication through the IV while another nurse adjusted the fetal monitors and printed a narrow strip of paper that curled toward the floor.
Claire watched the line of black ink jerk across the paper and tried not to read meaning into every rise and dip.
Dr. Patel stood at the foot of the bed studying the ultrasound screen.
Baby A was head down.
Baby B was not.
Dr. Patel moved the probe again, slower this time.
“Baby B is transverse.”
Claire looked at Ethan.
He had gone very still.
“What does that mean for delivery?”
“It means I’m not comfortable planning a vaginal twin delivery under these circumstances.”
Claire nodded before the sentence fully settled.
“So surgery.”
“I recommend a C-section.”
Another blood-pressure cuff cycle began around Claire’s arm.
She hated the tightening now.
It felt accusatory.
The machine released.
Dana glanced at the number.
“Still elevated.”
Dr. Patel looked at Claire.
“We’ll keep treating it.”
Claire rubbed her fingertips together beneath the blanket.
“What happens if it doesn’t come down?”
“We have medications we can use.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Dr. Patel held her gaze.
“If your condition worsens, delivery becomes more urgent.”
Claire looked toward the two monitors.
Both heartbeats continued.
One slightly faster than the other.
She stared at the ceiling tile above Ethan’s head.
There was a faint brown stain in one corner.
A hospital maintenance problem.
Something boring.
Something survivable.
“Do the surgery.”
Ethan stood.
“Claire.”
She looked at him.
“I said do the surgery.”
Dr. Patel nodded.
“We’ll get the team ready.”
She turned toward the nurses and began giving instructions.
The room filled with movement.
Consent forms appeared.
A surgical cap landed on the counter.
Someone brought a second IV pole.
Someone else asked Claire when she had last eaten.
“Toast at nine.”
“What kind?”
Claire blinked.
“What?”
“What kind of toast?”
“Whole wheat.”
The nurse nodded as if this mattered immensely.
“With butter?”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
“Half a banana.”
Ethan looked at Claire.
“You said you weren’t hungry this morning.”
“I wasn’t.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it.
The nurse continued filling out the form.
“When did you last have anything to drink?”
“Maybe noon.”
“What?”
“Water.”
Claire glanced at the clock.
It was 4:18.
The sale ended at five.
The thought arrived so suddenly that she almost laughed.
A small sound escaped her.
Ethan looked up.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“What?”
Claire turned her head toward the wall.
“The sale.”
His face collapsed.
She did laugh then.
It was one brief, ugly sound, and immediately afterward she started crying.
Not loudly.
The tears simply came.
Ethan moved toward the bed.
Claire lifted one hand.
He stopped.
“Don’t.”
He nodded.
The tears annoyed her.
She wiped them away with the heel of her palm.
Dana handed her a tissue.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
Claire pressed it beneath one eye.
“I hate crying in hospitals.”
Dana adjusted the IV tubing.
“Most people do.”
“It makes everything look worse.”
“Sometimes everything is worse.”
Claire looked at her.
Dana shrugged.
“I’m not great at inspirational nursing.”
Claire gave another small, unwilling laugh.
“Good.”
The door opened again.
An anesthesiologist introduced herself as Dr. Monroe and pulled a rolling stool close to Claire.
She explained the spinal anesthesia, what Claire would feel, what she should not feel, and what might happen if they needed to change plans.
Claire listened carefully.
Ethan listened harder.
He interrupted twice.
“Will she be awake?”
“That’s the plan.”
“And if her pressure spikes?”
“We treat it.”
“What if the spinal doesn’t work?”
“We have alternatives.”
“What if—”
Claire looked at him.
“Stop.”
He stopped.
Dr. Monroe waited.
Claire took a slow breath.
“I need to hear this without him turning every sentence into a disaster.”
Ethan looked down.
“Sorry.”
Dr. Monroe continued.
Claire signed the consent form with a hand that trembled enough to make her signature look unfamiliar.
The pen left a small streak of blue ink across her thumb.
She stared at it.
Ethan noticed.
“You always do that.”
“What?”
“Get ink on your hand.”
Claire looked at him.
He gave the faintest, most miserable smile.
“At the mortgage closing, you had ink all over your fingers.”
She remembered the closing room.
Bad coffee.
A bowl of wrapped peppermints.
Ethan signing his name too large because he was excited.
Victoria had arrived afterward with champagne and spent fifteen minutes explaining why their kitchen backsplash looked dated.
Claire had gone upstairs later and cried in the unfinished nursery they did not yet know would someday hold two cribs.
“Not now,” she said.
The smile disappeared.
“I know.”
A nurse came in carrying a sealed plastic bag.
“Personal belongings.”
Claire looked at Ethan.
“My phone and folder go with him.”
The nurse nodded.
“My rings too.”
Claire twisted her wedding band and engagement ring free.
Her fingers were swollen enough that it took effort.
The skin beneath them was pale.
Ethan held out his palm.
Claire placed both rings into it.
Neither of them spoke.
He stared at them.
Then he closed his hand.
The nurse labeled the bag.
Ethan put the rings inside and sealed it.
His phone vibrated again on the floor.
He ignored it.
A few seconds later, it vibrated again.
And again.
Dana glanced toward it.
“Someone persistent.”
Ethan bent down and picked it up.
May you like
Three messages filled the screen.
He did not open them.
