Chương 2
Daniel gave him to Susan.
His hands felt suddenly empty.
One paramedic crouched beside Claire while another worked over Evelyn.
“What did she drink?”
“Apple cider,” Daniel said.
“Alcoholic?”
“No.”
Claire’s uncle corrected him from somewhere behind the table.
“There’s bourbon in the pitcher.”
Daniel turned sharply.
“What?”
“Not the main pitcher. The smaller one. Your mother made one with bourbon.”
Claire shook her head weakly.
“I didn’t drink bourbon.”
“Okay,” the paramedic said. “Nobody guess. We’ll sort it out.”
That sentence became one of the few comforting things Daniel heard all night.
Nobody guess.
The ambulance took Claire first because her blood pressure had fallen further. Evelyn followed in a second ambulance three minutes later.
Owen rode with Daniel and Claire.
Before leaving, Daniel looked back into the dining room.
The turkey was still on the table.
The candles were still burning.
Three baby bottles sat where people had left them.
The red-marked one beside Evelyn’s chair.
The bottle Claire had dropped near the baseboard.
The third beneath the crumpled white napkin.
A police officer stood in the doorway telling everyone not to touch anything.
Daniel thought of Claire saying she switched them.
Then he thought of his mother saying she had never touched his bottle.
Both women had sounded certain.
One of them had to be wrong.
Unless both of them were right.
At the hospital, certainty became more expensive.
Claire drifted in and out while nurses moved around her. She hated the fluorescent light above the bed. She hated the blood-pressure cuff squeezing her arm every few minutes. She hated Daniel standing near the wall with Owen asleep against his chest because she could see how hard he was trying not to look afraid.
Mostly she hated the thought of the red mark.
She had made it with nail polish at nine that morning while Owen sat in his bouncer in their kitchen.
The bottle itself had been ordinary.
That was the point.
Evelyn had bought the same brand of bottles Claire used at home after Owen was born. She said she wanted to have everything ready when they visited.
Claire had smiled when Evelyn told her.
Then she had gone home and complained to Daniel.
“She bought a bottle warmer.”
“So?”
“We’re there two hours at a time.”
“She’s excited.”
“She bought a sterilizer.”
Daniel had looked up from the dishwasher.
“It was on sale.”
Claire had stared at him.
“You asked?”
“No. She told me.”
“Of course she did.”
It had been an old argument wearing new clothes.
Claire did not hate Evelyn.
That would have been easier.
She liked her in many ways. Evelyn was funny when she forgot to be formal. She made excellent pie crust and terrible coffee. She mailed handwritten thank-you cards to people who had done things as small as returning a dropped glove.
She also had opinions about everything.
How long Owen should sleep.
Whether Claire should return to work.
Whether breastfeeding was “worth all the stress.”
Whether Daniel was helping enough.
Whether Claire looked tired.
Especially whether Claire looked tired.
Four months after giving birth, Claire had begun to hear the question How are you feeling? as an accusation.
She knew that was not always fair.
Knowing did not make it stop.
That morning, before they drove to Evelyn’s house, Claire had marked one bottle cap with a tiny line of dusty-red polish because Evelyn’s bottles were identical to theirs.
“Why?” Daniel had asked.
“So nobody mixes them up.”
“They’re all clean.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“What is the point?”
Claire had capped the polish.
“The point is I want to know which one I prepared.”
Daniel had almost said something.
Then Owen began crying.
The conversation died the way many conversations had died since the baby came: not resolved, merely interrupted.
Now Claire lay in a hospital bed wondering whether her small act of control had saved her son or nearly destroyed her relationship with his grandmother.
A physician came in shortly after ten.
She introduced herself as Dr. Patel and asked Claire the same questions the nurses had asked.
What had she eaten?
What medications did she take?
Any supplements?
Any alcohol?
Any chance she had taken a sleep aid?
“No.”
“Pain medication?”
“No.”
“Anti-anxiety medication?”
“No.”
Claire saw Daniel glance at her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Daniel.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You looked.”
“I looked at the doctor.”
“You looked at me.”
Dr. Patel waited.
Daniel rubbed one hand over his face.
“Claire hasn’t been sleeping much.”
“That doesn’t mean I take pills.”
“I know.”
“Then why bring it up?”
“I didn’t.”
“You were about to.”
Dr. Patel spoke before the argument could grow.
“We’re asking because some of your symptoms are consistent with a sedating medication, but we don’t have enough information yet to tell you what happened.”
Claire stopped.
“A sedating medication?”
“We’re running tests.”
“What about Owen?”
“He appears well. The pediatric team is checking him because of the concern about the bottles, but there is no sign right now that he ingested anything harmful.”
Claire closed her eyes.
Her relief was so sharp it hurt.
“What about Evelyn?”
Daniel asked it.
Dr. Patel looked at him.
“She is stable. She’s more responsive than she was on arrival.”
“Same thing?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Daniel nodded.
He had spent nearly four hours wanting answers and had reached the point where honest uncertainty was easier to trust than reassurance.
A nurse entered with Owen.
Daniel took him automatically.
Claire watched his hands.
Her husband had large hands. When Owen was born, Daniel had looked terrified to touch him. He had supported the baby’s head with both palms as though holding something made of water.
Now he tucked Owen against his chest without thinking.
Claire reached out.
“Can I hold him?”
The nurse hesitated.
It was only a second.
Claire noticed.
“Why not?”
“You can. We just want someone close because you’re still light-headed.”
May you like
That tiny hesitation stayed with Claire longer than the reassurance.
Daniel sat on the edge of the bed and lowered Owen into her arms.
