Chương 4
He was crying and grinning at once, one gloved finger against a newborn fist.
Baby B.
His left ear was visible.
There was the fold.
Diane made a sound from across the room.
Daniel did not look at her.
They moved through the photographs slowly.
Baby A had a faint reddish mark near the right side of his scalp.
Baby B had the ear fold.
Later photographs, taken after the babies had returned to Grace's room, showed the child they had begun calling Liam with the ear fold.
At least at first.
Then there was a gap.
Three hours with no pictures.
Daniel had gone downstairs to meet his father and Chloe. Grace had been asleep. The boys had been taken for observation and routine checks because one had difficulty maintaining his temperature.
When they came back, the child identified as Noah had no ear fold.
The child identified as Liam did.
On the surface, nothing appeared wrong.
Grace exhaled.
"So they're right."
Paul shook his head.
"It suggests the names remained with the physical babies after the time in question, but it doesn't establish what happened to the medical identifiers during that period."
Grace frowned.
"Explain."
"The concern is not simply whether you called one Noah or Liam. We need to establish which chart, tests, assessments, and treatments were attached to each infant."
Daniel rubbed a hand over his face.
"What treatments?"
"At the moment, we're reviewing all of them."
Grace's stomach tightened.
"Was one of them sick?"
"No."
"Then why does it matter which chart?"
The pediatrician answered.
"Because even routine care has to belong to the right patient."
That sentence stayed with Grace.
Routine care had to belong to the right patient.
She looked at the two boys.
So did a name.
So did a story.
So did the first fifty-six seconds separating one life from the other.
That evening, the hospital moved them to a larger private room so additional staff could come and go without crowding the bed. Grace hated leaving the first room. It felt ridiculous, but she did.
The first room had been where she learned Noah's hunger sounds.
Where Daniel had changed Liam's diaper backward.
Where Chloe had arrived with a stuffed bear larger than either infant.
Where Richard had complained that the coffee was "legally brown but spiritually water."
Where Grace had believed the bracelets meant what they said.
A nurse wheeled her down the hall while Daniel walked beside the bassinets.
Richard and Diane followed separately.
At the elevator, Grace said, "I don't want them in the new room."
Daniel knew immediately whom she meant.
He stopped.
Richard heard her.
"Understood."
Diane looked at Grace.
"Please let me explain."
"You explained."
"Not all of it."
Grace closed her eyes.
The hallway lights were too bright.
"Then tell Daniel."
Diane flinched.
"Not here."
Grace looked at her.
"That's the first sensible thing you've said."
Richard turned away, jaw working.
Chloe stepped toward the elevator.
"I'm staying."
Grace nodded.
Diane stared at her daughter.
"Chloe."
"No."
"Please."
"I've spent my whole life watching everybody in this family decide which truth will cause the least trouble."
Richard looked at her.
Chloe gave him a tired smile.
"That includes you."
The elevator doors opened.
Nobody answered.
The new room had a large window overlooking a parking structure and, beyond it, a line of trees. Daylight was fading. A helicopter moved across the sky far enough away that its sound arrived late.
Grace watched it until she couldn't.
The pediatric team repeated examinations on both boys.
A laboratory physician came later and explained that samples collected around delivery might help resolve the medical-record question. There were procedures for comparing retained specimens and new samples if necessary. Nothing would happen without documented authorization.
Grace asked whether the hospital could guarantee that the original samples had been correctly labeled.
The physician did not insult her by saying yes.
"That's part of what we have to verify."
Grace nodded.
"Good answer."
Daniel almost smiled.
After midnight, the room finally became quiet.
Chloe was asleep in a reclining chair near the window. Daniel sat beside Grace's bed holding Noah—or the baby they had called Noah for nearly two days—against his chest.
Liam slept in the bassinet beside them.
Grace watched Daniel's face.
"Do you think we named them wrong?"
He looked down.
"I don't know what that means anymore."
"I mean if Noah was Baby B."
"We picked the names after they were born."
"You picked Noah for the first one."
Daniel shook his head.
"I said the first one looked like Noah."
"That's picking."
"Then thirty minutes later I said the second one looked like Noah."
"You were useless."
"I'd been a father for half an hour."
"You should've prepared."
He looked at her.
There it was.
A tiny laugh.
Not much.
Enough.
Then Grace's eyes filled again.
"I feel horrible."
"For laughing?"
"For looking at them and wondering."
Daniel stood and carefully placed Noah in the bassinet.
He came back to her.
"What are you wondering?"
She pressed her lips together.
"If I loved one of them differently because somebody told me his name."
Daniel sat.
"Grace."
"I know they're both mine."
"Okay."
"I know that."
He waited.
She stared toward the bassinets.
"But yesterday I was thinking Noah was easier to calm. Liam was fussier. I thought Noah liked being held against my left side and Liam liked my right. I told myself I already knew them."
Daniel's eyes were wet now.
"You do know them."
"Do I?"
"Yeah."
"How?"
"Because the one with the ear fold hates being swaddled too tight."
Grace looked at him.
"The other one sneezes twice."
"Usually three times."
"Twice."
"Yesterday it was three."
"That was hiccups after."
Daniel considered this.
"You're right."
Grace breathed out.
"The one with the mark near his scalp does the thing with his mouth before he cries."
"Like a fish."
"Don't call our baby a fish."
May you like
"A very handsome fish."
She covered her face with one hand.
