Forever Innocent
Page 55
She nodded and flipped through the chart again. “Go see to the mother. We’ll be there soon.” She gave me a smile, like that would be reassuring, and said, “Try not to worry.” Then she tugged her phone out of her pocket, clicked on something, and walked away.
“Her name is Corabelle,” I tried to say, but the doctor was already gone.
I stood rooted to the floor, unable to move. On the other aisle, a few women sat by more plastic beds. One of them looked at me sympathetically, and I couldn’t stand it.
The pink-scrubs nurse came back in. “Mr. Mays? Let’s go back to your room. There isn’t anything you can do for Finn here.”
“How long will he be gone?”
“Probably a while.”
“Is he going to die?”
She led me back to the sliding doors. “We’re going to do everything we can.”
I was kicked out. The hallway morphed into a horrifying wall of mirrors, every room decorated with pink or blue ribbons announcing the birth of happy, healthy babies. Mine could be fighting for his life right now, dying, or dead, and I wouldn’t even know.
I gripped the front of my shirt, so overwhelmed with fear that I thought I was having a heart attack. My chest was tight and I could barely breathe. I leaned against the wall. Corabelle was probably all snug in her bed, happy and waiting for them to bring Finn back. What would I tell her?
My lungs sucked in air and I forced myself to be calm. She was going to need me, and I couldn’t let her down.
Corabelle had known the minute I walked back into her room that something was wrong. “Where’s Finn?”
I sat on the edge of the bed. “They’ve taken him for some tests.”
“What kind of tests?” Corabelle’s dad asked.
“Pictures of his heart and lungs. He’s having some trouble with his oxygen levels, I think.”
“I’m going to go see what is going on,” he said.
“You need some sort of wristband to get into the NICU.” I held up my empty arm.
“I’ll get that taken care of.” He strode from the room.
Maybe they would take him more seriously than a teenage boy. Corabelle was sobbing in a way I’d never seen her do, great heaving gulps.
“Oh, baby,” her mom said, “it’s the hormones. After I had you I cried for hours a day. It’ll get better.”
I wasn’t so sure. The sides of the bed kept me from crawling in next to her like I wanted, so I just perched on the end, my hand on her ankle. “They asked about the sonogram. There wasn’t anything wrong, was there? I don’t remember it.”
“We just had two,” Corabelle said, clutching the tissue her mom handed her. “They didn’t say anything about a problem. They said he was fine.”
The wait was excruciating. Corabelle cried herself to sleep. I moved to a chair in the corner. Her mother sat on the foam sofa that converted to a bed. Her father returned after a while, shaking his head. “I couldn’t get anything out of anybody, other than I can’t see him right now.” He glanced over at me. “I had to tell them you two were married. Otherwise Gavin doesn’t have any part in this. I didn’t know that.”
I swallowed and glanced at Corabelle. She hadn’t been wearing her ring when we left for the hospital, so she didn’t have it now.
Her father sat on the sofa. “We just have to wait.”
Corabelle’s mother buried her face against his shoulder. “I should have been in here when he was born,” she said. “We should have gotten here faster.”
“That wouldn’t have made a difference,” her father said.
“But I would have gotten to see him!” She brought a handkerchief to her nose. “What if something happens?”
“You’ll get to see him.” He put his arm around her, and I envied his ability to pull her close. Corabelle seemed so far away.
A nurse came in and Corabelle’s dad and I both stood up.
“I’m here to check on Mom,” she said.
“What about the baby?” I asked.
She frowned. “He’s in the NICU.”
“They took him out.”
“I’ll see what I can find out.” She wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Corabelle’s arm. As it inflated, Corabelle stirred.
“Where’s Finn?” she asked.
The woman waited for the machine to beep. “I’m going to find out just as soon as we check this.” She placed a gadget in Corabelle’s ear. “You’re looking good. Any pain?”
Corabelle shook her head. “I just want to know about Finn.”
The nurse hustled out, but she didn’t return that hour, or the next. I finally wrestled with the hospital bed and lowered the side so I could get close to Corabelle.
“It’s almost midnight,” Corabelle’s dad said. “I don’t think we’ll get any news tonight.”
“I don’t want to go home,” her mother said.
“We’ll see where we are in the morning,” he said firmly. “We’ll be back first thing.”
Her mother leaned in to kiss Corabelle on the forehead. “Stay strong, honey.” She squeezed my arm. “Take care of her.”
When they were gone, Corabelle started sobbing again. “Why won’t they tell us anything? This is horrible.”
“I’m going back to the NICU. They have to know something.”
“Her name is Corabelle,” I tried to say, but the doctor was already gone.
I stood rooted to the floor, unable to move. On the other aisle, a few women sat by more plastic beds. One of them looked at me sympathetically, and I couldn’t stand it.
The pink-scrubs nurse came back in. “Mr. Mays? Let’s go back to your room. There isn’t anything you can do for Finn here.”
“How long will he be gone?”
“Probably a while.”
“Is he going to die?”
She led me back to the sliding doors. “We’re going to do everything we can.”
I was kicked out. The hallway morphed into a horrifying wall of mirrors, every room decorated with pink or blue ribbons announcing the birth of happy, healthy babies. Mine could be fighting for his life right now, dying, or dead, and I wouldn’t even know.
I gripped the front of my shirt, so overwhelmed with fear that I thought I was having a heart attack. My chest was tight and I could barely breathe. I leaned against the wall. Corabelle was probably all snug in her bed, happy and waiting for them to bring Finn back. What would I tell her?
My lungs sucked in air and I forced myself to be calm. She was going to need me, and I couldn’t let her down.
Corabelle had known the minute I walked back into her room that something was wrong. “Where’s Finn?”
I sat on the edge of the bed. “They’ve taken him for some tests.”
“What kind of tests?” Corabelle’s dad asked.
“Pictures of his heart and lungs. He’s having some trouble with his oxygen levels, I think.”
“I’m going to go see what is going on,” he said.
“You need some sort of wristband to get into the NICU.” I held up my empty arm.
“I’ll get that taken care of.” He strode from the room.
Maybe they would take him more seriously than a teenage boy. Corabelle was sobbing in a way I’d never seen her do, great heaving gulps.
“Oh, baby,” her mom said, “it’s the hormones. After I had you I cried for hours a day. It’ll get better.”
I wasn’t so sure. The sides of the bed kept me from crawling in next to her like I wanted, so I just perched on the end, my hand on her ankle. “They asked about the sonogram. There wasn’t anything wrong, was there? I don’t remember it.”
“We just had two,” Corabelle said, clutching the tissue her mom handed her. “They didn’t say anything about a problem. They said he was fine.”
The wait was excruciating. Corabelle cried herself to sleep. I moved to a chair in the corner. Her mother sat on the foam sofa that converted to a bed. Her father returned after a while, shaking his head. “I couldn’t get anything out of anybody, other than I can’t see him right now.” He glanced over at me. “I had to tell them you two were married. Otherwise Gavin doesn’t have any part in this. I didn’t know that.”
I swallowed and glanced at Corabelle. She hadn’t been wearing her ring when we left for the hospital, so she didn’t have it now.
Her father sat on the sofa. “We just have to wait.”
Corabelle’s mother buried her face against his shoulder. “I should have been in here when he was born,” she said. “We should have gotten here faster.”
“That wouldn’t have made a difference,” her father said.
“But I would have gotten to see him!” She brought a handkerchief to her nose. “What if something happens?”
“You’ll get to see him.” He put his arm around her, and I envied his ability to pull her close. Corabelle seemed so far away.
A nurse came in and Corabelle’s dad and I both stood up.
“I’m here to check on Mom,” she said.
“What about the baby?” I asked.
She frowned. “He’s in the NICU.”
“They took him out.”
“I’ll see what I can find out.” She wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Corabelle’s arm. As it inflated, Corabelle stirred.
“Where’s Finn?” she asked.
The woman waited for the machine to beep. “I’m going to find out just as soon as we check this.” She placed a gadget in Corabelle’s ear. “You’re looking good. Any pain?”
Corabelle shook her head. “I just want to know about Finn.”
The nurse hustled out, but she didn’t return that hour, or the next. I finally wrestled with the hospital bed and lowered the side so I could get close to Corabelle.
“It’s almost midnight,” Corabelle’s dad said. “I don’t think we’ll get any news tonight.”
“I don’t want to go home,” her mother said.
“We’ll see where we are in the morning,” he said firmly. “We’ll be back first thing.”
Her mother leaned in to kiss Corabelle on the forehead. “Stay strong, honey.” She squeezed my arm. “Take care of her.”
When they were gone, Corabelle started sobbing again. “Why won’t they tell us anything? This is horrible.”
“I’m going back to the NICU. They have to know something.”
