Chapter 6: Gray Eyes

I got back to the hospital at midnight, with snow melting in my hair.

My aunt was asleep in the chair by the bed.

Sam was asleep too, small and gray against the white pillow.

I stood at the window, watching his chest rise and fall until my hands stopped shaking.

At twelve forty, the elevator at the end of the corridor opened.

Vaughn stepped out.

He was still in his tuxedo, with the tie hanging loose and snow on the shoulders of his coat.

He had taken the photograph out of his pocket and he was holding it by the edges.

He walked down the hall slowly, with one hand on the wall.

I stood between him and the door of my son's room.

"You can't wake him."

"I won't."

"I mean it, Vaughn."

"I know." His voice was rough. "I just need to see."

I did not move.

"How did you find the room?"

"I called the hospital's transplant desk and said my name."

"I said my son was a patient." He stopped on the last word.

"They knew who I meant."

"They're good at their job."

"Geneva."

He stood a yard away from me and looked at my face with no ballroom between us for the first time in five years.

"I never got a letter," he said.

"It came back sealed."

"I never saw it."

"It came back with REFUSED on the front, in capital letters."

"I never refused anything."

I laughed, and it was an ugly sound.

"You told me you were dead to me, and I should not call you."

"I said that."

"You had a lawyer text me within the hour."

"I said that too."

He did not look away.

"I thought leaving was the only decent thing left to do," he said.

"I thought if I stayed near you, I'd keep seeing her."

"I was twenty-eight," I said. "I was seven weeks pregnant."

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