Chương 11
Grace had wanted someone to have behaved monstrously.
Nobody had.
That did not make the event less serious.
It made responsibility harder.
"Is she still working with newborns?"
Dr. Shaw paused.
"We can't discuss an individual's employment status."
Grace nodded.
She had known the answer would be that.
"Then tell me what happens when a person makes this kind of mistake."
Karen folded her hands.
"There is an individual review and a systems review. Training, supervision, procedure, workload, and the circumstances around the failure are all considered."
"Does accountability mean punishment?"
"Not always."
Richard shifted beside Daniel.
Grace ignored him.
"Does it sometimes?"
"Yes."
Grace looked at Dr. Shaw.
"I don't want somebody sacrificed so the hospital can say it fixed things."
Dr. Shaw nodded.
"I understand."
"But I don't want 'systems problem' to mean nobody is responsible."
"I agree."
Grace studied her.
That was as close to resolution as institutions usually got.
Not a confession.
Not a villain removed in handcuffs.
A set of people sitting at a conference table trying to make future failure less likely.
It felt inadequate.
It also felt real.
They left with copies of the final summary and information about additional follow-up.
In the parking garage, Richard said, "You should still talk to the press."
Daniel laughed.
"Dad."
"What?"
Grace looked at Richard.
"No."
He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets.
"Fine."
Then, after three steps, he said, "If you change your mind—"
"Richard."
"Fine."
Chloe whispered to Grace, "That was restraint."
"I heard you," Richard said.
"I intended you to."
Diane walked several feet behind them.
Grace slowed.
Diane caught up.
"How are you doing?" she asked.
Grace considered the question.
"Tired."
Diane nodded.
"That wasn't what you meant."
"No."
"I know."
They walked in silence.
At the elevator, Grace said, "I still get angry when I think about you knowing."
Diane looked at her.
"I know."
"I think I will for a long time."
"I know."
Grace frowned.
"You say that too much."
Diane almost smiled.
"Probably."
The elevator arrived.
Grace did not hug her.
But she held the door when Diane was a few steps behind.
It was not forgiveness.
It was enough for that day.
The family's old secrets caused damage more slowly.
Daniel confronted Diane again about his infancy.
This time Richard was present.
Grace was not.
Daniel told her later that the conversation lasted three hours and included two arguments about dates, one about a doctor who had been dead for twelve years, and a bizarre fifteen-minute disagreement over whether Richard had owned a blue Buick at the time.
"Did he?" Grace asked.
"Apparently that's not the point."
"It sounds important."
"It was green."
"Then your father was right."
"Please don't encourage him."
Diane admitted she had blamed Richard because admitting her own delay had felt unbearable.
Richard admitted he had used the guilt she gave him as justification for controlling nearly every family crisis afterward.
Chloe told both of them they were exhausting.
Nobody forgave anybody on schedule.
That seemed healthy.
At three months, Noah slept five hours in a row.
Grace woke in terror.
She sat upright and looked into the bassinet.
He was breathing.
She put a hand on his chest anyway.
Daniel opened one eye.
"Okay?"
"Yes."
"You sure?"
"No."
He sat up.
They watched the baby together.
After a minute Daniel said, "Do you think we're ever going to stop checking?"
Grace looked at Noah's sleeping face.
"Probably."
"When?"
"When he's forty."
"Reasonable."
She lay back down.
Daniel did too.
The room was dark except for the small night-light near the wall.
Grace listened to two babies breathing.
The hospital bracelets were gone.
The temporary blue and green tape beneath the bassinets was still there.
She had tried to remove it once.
Her fingers had stopped at the edge.
Not yet.
At four months, Diane came over to watch the boys while Grace and Daniel went to dinner.
It was Grace's idea.
She regretted it for forty-eight hours beforehand.
She wrote instructions.
Then rewrote them.
Then realized the instructions were six pages long.
Daniel found her at the kitchen counter.
"Are you writing a novel?"
"Feeding schedule."
"We have two children, not a nuclear reactor."
She glared at him.
He read the first page.
"'If Noah coughs once, observe. If he coughs repeatedly—' Grace."
"What?"
"She's raised two children."
"One of whom she nearly failed to take to a doctor."
He stopped.
Grace immediately wished she could pull the sentence back.
Daniel folded the paper.
"That's not fair."
"No."
"Do you actually trust her to watch them?"
Grace stared at the six pages.
"I want to."
"That's not the same thing."
"No."
He waited.
Grace tore the pages in half.
Daniel looked horrified.
"I didn't say destroy them."
"I'll write one page."
"Three."
"Two."
"Deal."
Diane arrived ten minutes early.
She listened to every instruction.
She did not say, "I know."
She did not say, "I raised children."
She asked where the thermometer was.
She asked which pediatrician number Grace wanted used first.
She repeated the feeding amounts back.
Grace noticed all of it.
At the door, Grace almost canceled.
Diane saw it.
"You can stay."
Grace looked at her.
"I mean, if you want to cancel, I understand."
Daniel stood behind Grace holding the car keys.
He said nothing.
Grace looked toward Noah.
Then Liam.
Then Diane.
"We'll be back in two hours."
Diane nodded.
"Okay."
They made it twenty-seven minutes into dinner before Grace checked her phone.
No messages.
Thirty-four minutes.
Nothing.
At forty-two minutes, she texted.
Everything okay?
Diane responded almost immediately.
Everything is fine. Noah ate. Liam is offended by the existence of socks.
Grace stared at the message.
Daniel read it over her shoulder.
"That sounds like him."
Grace put the phone face down.
They ate dinner.
For one hour and thirty-eight minutes.
Then Grace said, "Check."
Daniel checked.
There was one photograph.
May you like
Both babies asleep.
Diane's hand visible at the edge of the frame, resting on the couch rather than touching either of them.
