Chapter 9: The Ward

I have never driven so fast in my life, and I have driven from a bullet.

Santo took the corners without a word, with one hand on the wheel and his injured shoulder pressed to the seat.

Bayonne Medical Center was lit up white against the dark.

Nonna met us at the ambulance bay, small and gray, her apron still on over her nightdress.

"They took her in," she said. "Go. Go."

I ran.

Bianca lay on a gurney in a curtained bay, and she looked smaller than she had that morning.

Her cheeks were burning red and her lips were dry, and her eyes rolled behind her lids.

Her little yellow raincoat hung over the rail where somebody had hung it.

"Bianca," I said. "Baby. Vivi's here."

She didn't answer.

A doctor came through the curtain, a tired woman in blue scrubs with her hair in a clip.

"Are you the mother?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, because no other word would do.

"Her fever is a hundred and four. It's an infection, and it's moving fast. We've started antibiotics, but her red cells are dropping."

"What does that mean?"

"She needs a transfusion tonight, within the hour." The doctor looked at her tablet. "The problem is her blood type."

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's AB negative, one of the rarest there is."

"The bank here has none on the shelf, and the next unit is ninety minutes away."

I stared at her.

"A parent can donate," the doctor said. "If one matches, we can draw right now."

"Her chart lists her father as Aurelio Marzano, blood type O."

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