Chương 4
“Recommended how?”
“She said we could bring her in.”
“Could?”
“She was overreacting to the possibility of liability.”
“What time was this?”
“I don’t remember.”
Ethan turned toward the consultation room. Rachel was watching him through the open door.
“Did the nurse tell you to call an ambulance?”
Margaret’s answer came too quickly. “No.”
He pressed his free hand against his forehead.
“Where are you?”
“At your house.”
“I told you to leave.”
“My car keys are in my bag.”
“You have a spare.”
“I don’t like using the spare.”
“Use it.”
“We need to discuss this.”
“No. Pack your things and go home.”
“You invited me to stay for two weeks.”
“Clara didn’t.”
“You told me she did.”
He shut his eyes.
That was true.
Clara had said three days would be enough. Ethan had told Margaret two weeks because saying no to her before the birth had felt harder than persuading Clara afterward. He had called it help. He had said his mother would cook, handle laundry, and let them sleep.
Margaret had arrived with three suitcases, a garment bag, her own coffee beans, and a list of foods Clara should avoid while breastfeeding.
“Leave the house,” Ethan said.
Margaret’s voice cooled. “You’re making decisions you will regret.”
“Probably.”
“You have no idea how tired you are.”
“I know exactly how tired I am.”
“You think Clara will thank you for turning me into a villain?”
“I don’t care whether she thanks me.”
That was not entirely true. He cared so much that his chest hurt.
“I care whether she lives.”
He ended the call.
For a moment he stood in the hallway with the phone in his hand. A hospital employee pushed a cart past him stacked with folded linens. Somewhere a child laughed, then coughed. The ordinary sounds felt insulting.
Rachel came to the doorway.
“What did the nurse say?”
“She told my mother Clara needed to be evaluated.”
“An ambulance?”
“My mother says no.”
“You don’t believe her.”
He looked through the window in the door at his sleeping son.
“I don’t know what I believe.”
Rachel handed the baby back to him.
“You know enough for tonight.”
The procedure lasted less than an hour. The waiting lasted years.
Ethan paced until the baby woke, fed him again, changed a diaper badly, and fastened the clean one so loosely that Rachel had to redo it. He tried to call Clara’s mother, Diane, three times. Each call went to voicemail. Diane lived in Oregon and had gone to bed early after spending the previous week in Chicago helping her older sister recover from knee surgery. When she finally answered, her voice was thick with sleep.
“Ethan? Is the baby okay?”
He could not find a beginning that did not sound monstrous.
“Clara is in the hospital.”
By the end of the call, Diane was crying quietly and looking for a flight. She did not accuse him. Her restraint felt worse.
The obstetrician came out at eight thirty-seven. She said the procedure had gone as expected. They had removed retained tissue. Clara was receiving antibiotics and a transfusion. Her blood pressure was improving, but the next several hours mattered.
“Can she have visitors?”
“One at a time when she’s settled in intensive care.”
“What about the baby?”
“He can’t enter the unit. You’ll need someone to stay with him.”
Rachel said, “I will.”
Ethan looked at her. “You’ve been here all evening.”
“I know.”
“You have work.”
“I sent an email.”
“Rachel—”
“Go see your wife.”
He went.
Clara was awake enough to recognize him. Her eyes moved slowly toward his face.
He sat beside the bed.
“The baby’s okay,” he said before she could ask. “Rachel has him. He ate twice.”
Her lips were dry. “Twice?”
“I made one bottle. A nurse saved the first one.”
A faint line appeared between her brows.
“I spilled formula everywhere.”
Her eyes closed for a second. “Sounds right.”
It was almost humor. He felt relief so violent it made him dizzy.
He reached for her hand, then stopped before touching it.
“Can I?”
She turned her palm upward.
Her hand was warmer than before, though not warm.
“What happened?” she whispered.
“You had an infection. They removed some tissue. You lost blood.”
She stared at the ceiling.
“Margaret said I was being dramatic.”
Ethan’s throat tightened. “I know.”
“I told her something was wrong.”
“I know.”
“No.” Clara’s eyes shifted toward him. “You don’t.”
He waited.
Her breathing remained shallow and deliberate.
“I woke up after you left,” she said. “I was on the floor.”
“The floor?”
“By the sofa. I think I tried to stand.”
“Did you hit your head?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you tell Mom?”
“She was standing over me.”
The monitor continued its steady rhythm.
“What did she do?”
“She told me to stop scaring the baby.”
Ethan gripped the edge of the chair.
“I asked for my phone. She said I’d been calling you too much.”
“Did she take it?”
“I couldn’t find it.”
Rachel had found Clara’s phone in the open hospital bag under a folded blanket.
“Did she call the nurse?”
Clara’s gaze sharpened slightly. “How do you know?”
“She admitted she called.”
“I called first.”
Ethan leaned forward.
“What?”
“This morning. Before you went out.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried. You were arguing with the insurance company about the breast pump.”
He remembered sitting at the dining table with a customer-service representative repeating policy numbers while Margaret rearranged the refrigerator shelves. Clara had stood at the kitchen counter with one hand pressed to her lower abdomen.
“I said I felt cold,” she continued. “You gave me your sweater.”
“I thought you were cold.”
“I was cold.”
The simplicity of it made him look down.
“What did the nurse say?”
“She asked me to take my temperature. The thermometer was upstairs. Your mother said she’d get it.”
“Did she?”
May you like
Clara shook her head against the pillow.
“I called back after lunch. Margaret took the phone because I couldn’t explain things. She told them I was tired.”
