Chapter 2

When you've been understanding for long enough, even hurt starts to feel out of place.

"Dr. James."

It was the first time I'd ever called him that.

He looked up, something shifting in his eyes.

"If the one lying here today were Joyce, would you still send her away?"

His face went cold.

"Lena, don't put the two of you side by side. Joyce has always been frail. She can't handle stress."

"I just lost the baby."

For a moment the ward went quiet.

Harvey's throat moved.

But he looked away soon enough.

"I know. That's exactly why I want you to stay calm."

There was a knock at the door.

Joyce leaned half her face in, her eyes red.

"Harvey, should I not have come? If your wife doesn't want to see me, I'll go right now."

Harvey turned and steadied her by the shoulders.

"Don't stand in the doorway in the draft."

Joyce set the bowl of oatmeal on the nightstand, her voice so soft it was as if she were afraid of breaking something.

"I had the housekeeper make this for you. Try to eat a little. We're both women, I know how hard this is for you right now."

I looked at that bowl.

It was full of dried dates.

The nurse had reminded me just last night not to eat anything too sweet or too rich for a while after the surgery.

Joyce probably didn't know that.

Harvey did.

But all he said was, "Joyce means well. Don't make that face again."

I lifted my hand and pushed the bowl a little farther away.

"Take it back."

Joyce's eyes reddened on the spot.

"I didn't know you were pregnant. If I'd known last night, I never would have let Harvey come with me."

Harvey frowned.

"Lena, don't take it out on her."

I watched the way he shielded Joyce behind him, and suddenly I had no strength left to speak.

A nurse came in to change my dressing and gently warned, "Ms. Swanson needs rest now. Family should try not to upset the patient."

He checked his watch.

"I have clinic. I'll arrange the transfer. Don't be difficult."

He left, taking Joyce with him. The door closed.

On the nightstand, the bowl of date oatmeal was still steaming.

I reached over, opened the drawer, and took out the copies of my medical records and the consent form.

The line for the family signature was blank.

I folded them, page by page, and put them in my bag.

My phone lit up. A text from the neighboring branch.

"Ms. Swanson, Dr. James has booked your transfer for seven o'clock this evening."

I stared at that line for a long time.

Then I dialed a number I hadn't called in a long while.

"Claudia, I'd like to apply for the residency slot at Southport Women's & Children's. Is it too late?"

The other end went still for a few seconds.

"Lena, you've finally decided to leave?"

When the nurse wheeled in a wheelchair, I had just stuffed my last coat into the bag.

"Dr. James said it would be best for you to use the chair."

Laughter drifted from the far end of the hall.

Joyce was sitting beside the nurses' station, an IV line taped to her wrist, a few young nurses gathered around her.

Her voice was soft and sweet.

"Harvey really does make a fuss over nothing. I just felt a little faint, and he insisted I be admitted for observation."

One nurse smiled. "Dr. James is so good to you, Miss Fox. Everyone in the department knows it."

Another lowered her voice. "More attentive than he is to his own wife, even."

When they finished, they suddenly noticed me.

The laughter stopped.

Joyce looked up too, a flicker of panic crossing her face before she pulled a smile back into place.

"Are you leaving, Lena?"

I sat in the wheelchair and didn't look at her.

Harvey came out of the office, a transfer form in his hand.

"The paperwork's done. Someone will meet you when you get to the other branch."