Chapter 15: Bed Rest

The bleeding stopped before the ambulance reached the county hospital by the lake.

The doctor on duty was a calm man with grey in his beard, and he scanned me twice.

"Both heartbeats are strong," he said. "Your cervix has begun to shorten, and that's why you bled."

"What does that mean?"

"It means you stay in this bed until these two are ready. Flat, on your side, no stairs, no standing at an oven."

"For how long?"

"As long as it takes to get you to thirty-four weeks."

That was fourteen weeks.

I turned my head on the pillow.

Stuart stood at the foot of the bed with his coat still on and blood drying on the toe of one shoe.

"I'll move into the chair," he said.

"The hospital won't allow it."

"I've bought the chair."

"You can't buy a chair in a hospital."

"I have a very good lawyer," he said, and the nurse at the door covered her mouth.

By evening he had a folding cot in the corner and a stack of books on the window sill.

He took the top one and sat beside me.

"What is it?" I asked.

"The baker lent it. It's her recipe book."

He opened it with great seriousness.

"Seeded rye," he read, in the voice of a man announcing a merger. "Scald the seeds. Do not be tempted to rush the scald."

I laughed until the monitor beeped.

"Don't make me laugh," I said. "The doctor said no sudden movements."

"I'm told this is a gentle movement."

"You are terrible at this."

"I've read two chapters aloud in my life, and one was a prospectus," he said.

He read me the rye, and the sourdough, and a long paragraph on proofing that I fell asleep during.

When I woke, his hand was around my swollen ankle under the blanket, and his thumb moved in a slow circle.

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