Chapter 18: Three at the Door

The three weeks between the house and the scan went by with the studio's lamps on late.

I built the Zapopan stair with Inés's two young architects, and I did exactly what I'd promised.

I asked her nothing, and she asked me nothing, and every night I slept on the studio sofa.

On Thursday at nine fifty, I stood in the corridor outside the obstetrician's office with a paper cup of water I did not drink.

Inés had come.

She stood at the far end by the window, in a green coat, with her hands in the pockets.

She had said yes by message on Tuesday night, and it had said: "I'll be outside. Only outside."

Valeria came out of the lift at five to ten.

She stopped when she saw Inés.

For a moment, both women simply looked at each other along the length of the corridor.

"Hello," said Valeria.

"Hello."

"Thank you for coming."

"I'm not coming in," said Inés. "I said outside."

"I know. I'm grateful anyway."

The door opened, and a nurse called Valeria's name.

She turned to me.

"Come in," she said. "Please."

Inés looked at the window, and I walked into the room.

The obstetrician was a brisk woman with warm hands.

Valeria lay on the couch with her sweater pushed up and a strip of tissue tucked into her waistband.

The doctor squeezed cold gel across her stomach.

"Let's see," she said, and moved the probe.

The screen was a grey blur, and then it wasn't.

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