Chapter 13: The Heartbeat

Troy heard the words, and for a moment they meant nothing.

"You're lying," he said.

"I'm not."

"I had a surgery. I signed the form. I woke up with bandages."

"You woke up with two marks on your skin," Celia said. "The doctor made them while you were under. That is all he did."

Troy looked at the page crushed in his fist.

His hand was shaking, and he had not noticed when it started.

For eight years he had known her cold face.

He did not know this one.

"I want to hear it," he said.

"Hear what?"

"The baby. Tonight. Not your word and not a page. A doctor, a machine, the sound."

"I'm already admitted to that floor," Celia said. "They'll scan me at any hour."

"Ms. Wainright is supposed to be in a bed," the junior assistant said.

"Then we go now," Troy said.

He turned for his jacket, and Molly was standing at the end of the corridor.

She held a tray with a bag of ice and a towel on it.

She had come to find him, and she had heard every word.

Her eyes went to the wheelchair, to the file, and to his fist.

Her face went shut.

"Go," she said.

"Molly."

"She's bleeding, Troy. Go."

She set the tray on the floor, turned around, and walked back toward the bar.

He wanted to run after her.

Celia's breath caught behind him, thin and sharp.

He took the handles of the chair himself.

The hospital room was dim, with a single lamp on the wall.

The night obstetrician was a tired woman in a gray cardigan, and she did not ask who he was.

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