Chapter 5: Where Bree Hit Me

By Friday, my son was breathing on his own.

Bree's daughter was still in an incubator at Lakeshore Children's Hospital, two hours north of the city.

Ansel had taken us there before sunrise, in an ambulance driven by a friend of his.

Nobody at Lakeshore knew the name Overpeck.

I was in the family lounge on the third floor, with my son asleep inside my shirt.

Bree came in from the NICU and dropped a newspaper on my knees.

"Page four," she said.

It was a small photo of Station 9 with its bay doors open and a black ribbon on the sign.

The headline said: "FIRE CAPTAIN, SERGEANT MOURN NEWBORNS LOST IN CEDAR STREET BLAZE."

I read the first paragraph and stopped.

"Keep reading," Bree said.

I kept reading.

Corey had given a quote.

"I lost my baby girl before I ever held her. I would give anything to hear her cry once."

Below that, Dalton: "I'll be asking myself for the rest of my life if I could have done something."

"He could have," Bree said. "He could have crossed the street."

"Yes."

"And he's telling a newspaper he didn't know."

"Bree..."

"Corey is walking around thinking she's dead." Her voice shook. "He thinks she never cried."

"Bree..."

"She cries all night, Calla. I can hear her from the hall."

"I know she does."

"You did this."

"I did."

"You told me the paper would only keep them away from her. You never said it would say she was dead."

She hit me.

It was an open hand across my cheek, hard enough to turn my head.

The baby against my chest jerked and fussed and went still again.

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