Chapter 3

He handed the discharge slip to the nurse, his movements as smooth as if this were any routine release.

I asked, "You're not seeing me over?"

Harvey paused, then glanced at Joyce.

"Joyce has to be on cardiac monitoring soon, I can't get away. It's a ten-minute trip. Don't make more of it than it is."

"Mm."

I answered too fast, and that of all things made him frown.

"Lena, can you not be passive-aggressive for one day?"

I rested my hands on my knees.

"Dr. James, am I not even allowed to say 'mm'?"

Beside us, the nurse kept her head down over the charts, but her ears were turned our way.

Joyce bit her lip and tugged lightly at Harvey's sleeve.

"Harvey, why don't you go ahead and see your wife over. I'll be fine on my own."

A step back that only made me look worse.

Harvey's face darkened.

"There's no need to coddle her. She's a nurse. She knows what matters."

I was a nurse, yes. After we married I'd quit the top-tier hospital for the community clinic, because he said it would be easier, more convenient once we had a child.

Now the child was gone.

All he remembered was that I was a nurse, which meant I should be able to endure more than anyone else.

The elevator doors opened.

Just before the wheelchair was pushed in, Joyce hurried over and draped a thin blanket across my legs.

"Don't be angry anymore. A woman who loses a child can have another. But Harvey's work can't be affected."

I lifted my eyes to her.

"Did your test results come back?"

Joyce froze.

"What?"

I nodded at the slip in her hand.

"Last night you said the follow-up was serious. But I just saw the log at the nurses' station. It's only mild anemia."

The color drained from her face.

Harvey cut in, his voice cold. "Lena, now you'll even drag out a patient's privacy?"

"She's the one waving her own results around the hallway."

"Enough."

He reached out and held the elevator door, leaning down to look at me.

"Joyce has been frail since she was a child. She's afraid of hospitals. Do you really have to push her like this?"

I'd looked at this face for three years. There was a time, when he came home from work, I could find a little warmth in his eyes that belonged to me.

Now there was only impatience.

The doors slid slowly shut.

In the last sliver of the gap, I heard Joyce say softly, "Harvey, does she hate me now?"

Harvey's voice was low.

"She's just losing control. She'll be fine in a couple of days."

I lowered my eyes.

I wouldn't be fine.

The room at the neighboring branch was even quieter than I'd expected.

The nurse hung my IV and left.

I sat on the edge of the bed and opened the email on my phone.

My senior colleague from Southport Women's & Children's had written back.

"There's still one residency spot, but it needs a recommendation from your current employer and a statement on your marital and childbearing status. Are you well enough to handle it right now?"

I looked at the words marital and childbearing status, my fingertip resting there a long time.

In the end I wrote back: "I am."

At eight that night, a text came from Harvey.

"Did you eat the oatmeal?"

Three minutes later, another.

"Don't ruin your health out of spite."

I didn't reply.

At ten, the feed refreshed.

Joyce had posted a photo of the hospital's night lights.

The caption: "Turns out having someone watch over you when you're sick really does put your heart at ease."

In the corner of the photo, the cuff of Harvey's white coat showed.

I set the phone face-down on the nightstand.

Moonlight came down and fell across the back of my hand.

The vein beneath the needle was tinged blue.

The first year we were married, I ran a fever of a hundred and two. He was on a night shift and rushed home before dawn to make me oatmeal, telling me that from then on, whenever I was sick, he would be there.

After that, he was always at the hospital.

Just never beside me.

Someone knocked. I thought it was the nurse, and looked up to see Harvey standing in the doorway with a thermos in his hand.