Chapter 3

Twenty minutes later, we reached the ER.

The corridor was crowded with parents holding children, the air thick with disinfectant and the smell of vomit.

In the observation area, Duane sat in a chair with the baby in his arms.

One hand cradling the back of the baby's head, the other patting his back in a slow rhythm, he handled him with the ease of a trained postpartum nurse.

The baby lay against his shoulder, half asleep, hiccuping now and then.

He heard my footsteps, looked up at me, and the corner of his mouth curved slightly. "You made it."

Hester came over from the side, her face drawn, her eyes red. "The fever's down a little, but he's still at a hundred and one."

I nodded and walked toward Duane. "Let me hold him."

He didn't move.

The baby lay on his shoulder, little face flushed with fever, breathing heavy.

Duane held the baby out to me,

and the instant he passed him over, the baby broke into a wail that tore through the room.

Not the fussing of a hungry or tired child. This was hysterical, shrieking sobbing.

His tiny face went purple, his legs kicking wildly, crying so hard he couldn't catch his breath.

I froze. My hands hadn't even touched him yet.

My mother-in-law rushed up from behind and shoved me aside. "What are you doing!"

She took the baby, and even in her arms he kept crying.

Hester ran over and checked his arms and legs. She pushed up his clothes and there it was, a red mark on the side of his waist.

Not deep, but on that thin infant skin, glaring.

"Percival James!" She looked up at me, eyes bloodshot, tears welling. "Why did you pinch him? Could you not be more careful?"

"I didn't pinch him."

"So he pinched himself? He's barely a month old, how would he pinch himself?"

I turned to look at Duane. He stood behind Hester, his expression calm, even faintly sorry for me.

He gave a slight shake of his head, as if to say, how could you be so careless.

Then I understood. He'd pinched the baby himself, on the sly.

Made him cry, then pinned it on me.

"Duane, you son of a—"

"Percival." His voice was soft, laced with a sincerity that made me want to hit him. "You're probably just not good at holding a baby yet. It's fine, you'll learn in time."

I glared at him, seething. "You—"

"Enough!"

Hester stood and put herself between me and Duane, shielding him like something precious. "The baby's still burning up. What are you doing, shouting in here?"

My mother-in-law chimed in from the side. "Look at Duane. The baby's perfectly quiet in his arms, and the second he's in your hands he cries."

"A baby can't lie. He knows in his heart who's good to him."

The baby had stopped crying, back in Duane's arms.

He lay against that pale gray trench coat, one little hand gripping Duane's collar, his breathing slowly evening out.

Duane looked down at him and gave the baby's little cheek a soft stroke with his finger.

The picture of it was warm enough to hurt.

Hester was watching that same picture too, and the tears finally spilled from her eyes, but she was smiling. "Duane really does have a way with him."

I turned and walked out of the ER. At the door I looked back once.

Duane was handing the baby into Hester's arms, the two of them leaning close together,

foreheads touching, both gazing down at the small person between them.

A nurse came over to change the dressing and said with a smile, "What a lovely little family you are."

That night I couldn't sleep again. At three in the morning, I came across a post from Hester.

A photo taken at the postpartum care center. Duane holding the baby, seated beside the crib, floor-to-ceiling windows behind him with the city lights spread out below.

On the nightstand sat a bottle and a parenting book.

The caption read: "Finally moved in. With Godpa here, baby sleeps so much more peacefully."

At that same moment, a text came in from the bank: A withdrawal of $128,000 has been made. Balance: $3,264.17.

I stared at that balance for a long time, then turned the phone face down on the nightstand.

In the dark, I heard myself laugh.

That woman, that money, this marriage. I didn't want any of it anymore.