Chương 3
Laura stared at Mark’s signature.
“What does this mean for Sophie?”
“It means we should talk with genetics. It means there may be a reason to test her. It does not mean she has the variant, and it does not mean she is sick.”
“But she could have it.”
“Yes.”
“What are the odds?”
Dr. Carter paused.
“For variants like this, inheritance can be significant, but I don’t want to turn a general probability into a prediction about your daughter before genetics reviews the exact report with you.”
Laura pressed her lips together.
“Thank you for not giving me a number I’ll spend the next six hours multiplying against every time she says her chest hurts.”
“Has she ever said her chest hurts?”
“No.”
“Has she fainted?”
“No.”
“Exercise problems?”
“She complains when we walk uphill.”
Dr. Carter waited.
Laura rubbed her forehead.
“She’s five. Everybody complains when we walk uphill.”
“That sounds like a five-year-old.”
For the first time since the garage, Laura smiled.
It lasted maybe two seconds.
Then she said, “I told him.”
Dr. Carter did not ask what.
Laura looked toward the dark hospital window.
“When my mother died, everybody called it a tragedy, which is one of those words people use when they have no idea what to say. She was forty-one. She made coffee that morning. She complained about our neighbor’s dog getting into her flowers. At lunch she collapsed at work.”
Laura swallowed.
“I was twenty-four. For years after that, every skipped heartbeat felt like a countdown. I got therapy. I stopped checking my pulse every ten minutes. I did everything people tell you to do so your fear doesn’t become your entire personality.”
Dr. Carter remained quiet.
“When we started talking about kids, I told Mark if I carried whatever killed my mother, I wanted to know first. I didn’t say I would never have children. I said I wanted information. Maybe IVF. Maybe testing. Maybe adoption. Maybe we would take the risk. I didn’t know.”
She looked at the folder.
“He knew that.”
Her voice changed at the final sentence. It did not become louder. It became flatter.
That was worse.
Her phone vibrated on the bed.
MARK CALLING.
Laura watched it until the screen went dark.
A minute later, a message appeared.
I’m in the garage. I’m not leaving until I know you’re okay.
She turned the phone facedown.
Dr. Carter said, “Do you have someone else you can call?”
“My sister.”
“Call her.”
“Nora will kill him.”
“I recommend telling her not to.”
“She’ll be disappointed.”
“Most people are when physicians ruin their plans.”
Laura looked at the doctor.
There it was again, the slightest dryness in her tone.
Laura picked up the phone.
Nora answered on the second ring.
“Please tell me you’re home.”
“I’m still at the hospital.”
“What happened?”
Laura stared at the cream folder.
“I need you to pick me up tomorrow.”
Silence.
Then Nora said, “Okay.”
Laura closed her eyes.
“And I need somewhere to stay.”
The silence became different.
“Okay,” Nora said again.
Laura’s throat tightened.
She did not want to cry. Crying felt like another decision her body might make without consulting her.
“Nora.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t call Mark.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were.”
“I was absolutely going to.”
“Don’t.”
Another pause.
“All right.”
“And Sophie?”
“She’s asleep. Mark’s sister dropped off her backpack and the purple rabbit. She wanted the purple rabbit specifically. Apparently the pink one has lost credibility.”
Laura covered her mouth.
A laugh escaped before she could stop it.
Then she cried once.
Not a collapse. Not a sobbing fit.
One sound.
She wiped her face hard with the heel of her hand.
Nora’s voice softened.
“What did he do?”
Laura looked at the signature.
“I don’t know how to explain it yet.”
“Then don’t.”
That was why Nora was the person Laura called.
She could be unbearable in almost every practical area of life. She returned borrowed containers without lids. She believed turn signals were suggestions. She had once kept a Christmas tree until February because she “liked the lighting.” But she had an unusual ability to leave a question alone when the answer was not ready.
Laura whispered, “Thanks.”
“Get some sleep.”
“Funny.”
“Fine. Stare at the ceiling aggressively.”
That sounded achievable.
After the call ended, Laura found six new messages from Mark.
She read none of them.
At 1:12 in the morning, Mark was still in the garage.
Laura knew because he sent a picture of himself sitting in the sedan.
She deleted it.
At 1:46, she asked Kevin for the pretzels.
He brought two bags.
“Hospitality suite,” he said.
“They’re from a vending machine.”
“I didn’t say it was a good suite.”
She ate four pretzels, then stopped.
The monitor beside her clicked and blinked. Somewhere down the hall, a patient shouted that he wanted his pants. A nurse told him they were in a plastic bag under his chair. The man shouted that this was not the point.
Laura stared at the ceiling.
Six years earlier, she had awakened in another hospital room with Mark asleep in a chair beside her.
His neck had been bent at an angle that looked painful. There was a paper cup on the windowsill and a yellow visitor sticker peeling from his shirt.
When she whispered his name, he startled awake.
“You’re up.”
“What happened?”
“You scared the hell out of me.”
“Did they do the test?”
He had taken her hand.
“What test?”
“For Mom’s thing.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
“And?”
“Negative.”
She remembered the relief.
Not happiness.
Relief had weight. It dropped through her body until she could feel the mattress again.
She had cried then.
Mark climbed partly onto the bed and held her while she cried into his shoulder.
He had known.
That memory did what anger had not managed.
It made Laura feel physically cold.
May you like
She pulled the blanket higher.
At seven in the morning, Dr. Carter returned with coffee she did not offer Laura because Laura was temporarily restricted from eating and drinking before imaging.
