PART 4
At 6:52 on Tuesday evening, I lay in a triage bed at Lakeview Medical Center with two elastic straps around my belly.
My bl*od pressure read 148 over 94.
That part was real.
Dr. Wallace wanted me monitored for an hour regardless.
The room smelled of hand sanitizer and warm plastic.
Nora’s heartbeat filled the room like a small drum.
One hundred forty-four.
Outside my bay, Priya sat at the desk with her phone face-down and her eyes on the elevator.
Officer Leon from security leaned against the wall near the vending machine, pretending to drink a coffee.
Around the corner, in the family lounge, three people sat holding paper cups they hadn’t touched.
“I am not going to hide in a hallway while my son does this to you,” Elaine had said.
At 7:09, I heard his shoes.
I knew his walk, heavy on the heel, sneakers squeaking on waxed floors.
He wore a gray quarter-zip and a bright smile, and the Rolex flashed on his wrist like a coin.
Behind him came Tara, pale as paper, carrying a large Louis Vuitton Neverfull on one shoulder and a plastic grocery bag in her hand.
Behind her trailed a small man in a clip-on tie with a leather case, Greg Dolan.
Nick crossed the room and kissed my forehead.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he said, loud enough for the hallway.
I tried not to flinch.
“I brought you something.”
Tara swallowed and handed him the plastic bag.
Nick shook it open so everyone nearby could see inside.
Two faded, stretched-out T-shirts.
“Your hosp*tal bag,” he said, and laughed.
“I packed it myself. Figured it’s all you’ll need.”
A couple in the waiting nook turned to look.
A grandfather holding a bunch of blue balloons stopped halfway to a chair.
I felt my face burn from my collar to my hairline.
“Sorry, folks. My wife’s had a rough weekend. She’s a little emotional, with the pregnancy and everything.”
“Hormones,” he added.
I stood in my robe, in the hallway where my own coworkers could see me.
“Let’s do this quickly,” Nick said.
Greg Dolan clicked open his case and laid out a stamp, an ink pad, and a clipboard.
He pushed the clipboard into my hands and clicked a pen on top of it.
The heading read:
RATIFICATION OF PRIOR DISTRIBUTIONS AND RELEASE OF TRUSTEE.
“I want to read this,” I said.
