Chương 2
Sirens rose somewhere beyond the closed windows.
Margaret moved at last. She picked up the cloth napkin from her lap and placed it beside the plate.
“I should move my car.”
“No,” Ethan said.
“It may block the ambulance.”
“Rachel can check.”
Margaret stared at him. “You told me to leave.”
“I did.”
“You are upset.”
“My wife is unconscious.”
“And when she wakes up, you’ll realize you’ve made a scene in front of the neighbors.”
Rachel stood. “I’ll move your car if it needs moving. Give me the keys.”
Margaret did not reach for her burgundy handbag.
The sirens grew louder.
The paramedics came through the door carrying bags and a folded stretcher. Their arrival changed the room more thoroughly than shouting could have. They spoke in level voices. They asked for Clara’s age, the delivery date, the hospital, complications, medications, allergies. One placed oxygen under her nose while another wrapped a blood-pressure cuff around her arm.
The cuff inflated.
The paramedic’s expression sharpened.
“How long has she been altered?”
“I found her like this about six minutes ago,” Ethan said. “I was gone less than an hour.”
The paramedic looked at Margaret. “You were with her?”
Margaret touched the gold necklace at her throat. “She fell asleep.”
“Was she responding normally before that?”
“She was tired.”
“Was she confused?”
“She was emotional.”
Rachel stepped between the dining table and the sofa. “She was limp when I came in. Her sister called me because Clara stopped replying to messages.”
Margaret glanced at her. “You aren’t family.”
“No,” Rachel said. “I’m the person answering the question.”
The baby began crying harder when a paramedic touched Clara’s abdomen. Clara made a low sound without opening her eyes.
“Clara?” the paramedic said. “Can you tell me where you are?”
Her lips moved.
No words came.
They moved quickly after that. The stretcher wheels scraped the threshold. Ethan stood with the baby against him, suddenly unsure whether he was expected to follow, drive, bring the hospital bag, lock the house, find the car seat, call Clara’s mother, call anyone. He could not make his hands work.
Rachel caught his sleeve.
“I’ll drive you. Get the car seat.”
“He needs feeding supplies,” Margaret said.
Ethan looked at her.
She had stepped away from the table at last. Under the warm daylight, the satin of her dark teal blouse reflected green along her shoulders. Her face had lost color, but her voice still carried its familiar authority.
“The bottles are not sterile,” she continued. “I told Clara that. And he needs a fresh diaper. You can’t just rush out without thinking.”
One of the paramedics paused beside the stretcher. “Dad, bring whatever you need for the baby. We’re leaving now.”
The front door stood open. A neighbor across the street had come onto her porch. The small American flag in the flowerpot moved in the wind.
Ethan found the infant car seat beside the open hospital bag. His fingers fumbled with the straps. Rachel took the baby while he secured the carrier. The child protested the transfer, his face darkening with effort.
Margaret reached for him.
“I’ll keep the baby here.”
Ethan stepped between them so quickly he almost knocked over a dining chair.
“No.”
Her hand remained extended.
“He shouldn’t be at the hospital,” she said.
“He stays with me.”
“You are in no condition to care for him.”
The statement landed because it contained enough truth to hurt. Ethan could barely buckle the strap. His breathing came too fast. He had forgotten the diaper bag. He had forgotten Clara’s phone. He had forgotten whether newborns were allowed in emergency departments.
Rachel returned the baby to his arms.
“I’ll get the bags,” she said. “You go.”
Margaret lowered her hand.
The paramedics wheeled Clara outside. Her hanging arm had been placed under the blanket, but Ethan could still see the ring on her finger.
He followed.
At the hospital, everything became waiting interrupted by questions.
A nurse took Clara through double doors. Another nurse guided Ethan and the baby into a small consultation room with two vinyl chairs, a sink, and a poster explaining handwashing technique. Rachel arrived ten minutes later with both hospital bags, Clara’s phone, the discharge papers, three bottles, diapers, wipes, a cream blanket, and the formula container. She had also brought Ethan’s brown jacket even though he had not asked for it.
Margaret did not come.
Ethan sat with the baby across his thighs and watched the child’s mouth search the air. He had never prepared a bottle alone. At home, Clara had measured the water while he held the baby, or he had measured it while Clara read the directions over his shoulder. They had moved around each other with the tense care of people defusing something fragile.
Rachel washed her hands.
“Tell me what to do,” she said.
He read the directions twice. His hands shook so badly that powder scattered onto the counter. The baby screamed. A nurse passing the open door glanced in and then returned with a small ready-to-feed bottle and a sterile nipple.
“This will be easier for now,” she said.
Ethan thanked her too many times.
The baby latched onto the nipple and drank with furious concentration. His fist opened against Ethan’s thumb. The sudden quiet made Ethan’s ears ring.
Rachel sat in the other chair. She had taken off her coat. Her cream blouse was wrinkled where the handbag strap had pressed against it.
“Clara texted me at four thirteen,” she said.
Ethan looked at the clock. It was five twenty-eight.
“What did she say?”
Rachel took out her phone but did not unlock it immediately.
“She asked whether feeling cold was normal after giving birth.”
Ethan’s stomach tightened.
“What did you say?”
“I said she should call the hospital. I was at a client meeting. I didn’t see it for twenty minutes.”
“That’s not your fault.”
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“I called her. No answer. I called again. Then I called you.”
“My phone was in the car.”
