Chapter 12: Guest

"You can't show it," the lawyer said on speakerphone.

I sat on the edge of Ansel's couch with the invitation on my knee.

"It's hospital property, and the risk office has it under a hold," she said.

"Your mother and father are next of kin. Without their consent, the hospital will say no."

"It's my face on that screen," I said. "It's my voice."

"That helps you. It doesn't help you enough."

"What would?"

"A reason the hospital can't ignore." She paused. "Or a room full of people who all ask at once."

Ansel stood at the window with his arms folded and said nothing.

When she hung up, I looked at him.

"I'm going to the dedication."

"I assumed."

"I'm going to stand in front of my mother while she gives a speech about a daughter she wouldn't watch."

"I assumed that, too."

"You're not going to tell me it's a bad idea?"

"It's a terrible idea," he said. "I'll be in the second row."

I laughed, and it hurt where I had stitches.

"Rule three," I said.

"I'm not asking anything. I'm informing you where I'll sit."

I went to the hospital at noon, because it was feeding time.

It was also the only place in the city where I was not afraid of anyone.

The NICU was warm and dim and smelled of soap.

My daughter lay in her box under a small blue lamp with a feeding tube taped to her cheek.

She had gained two ounces.

I sat in the rocking chair beside her and put my hand through the porthole.

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