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"That seems soon. "
"It's standard. "
"Should I bring more propane for the camp stove?"
"We'll try to make it last. "
"But - "
Rachel held up the buzzer, as
if her demands were not met, the consequences could be dire. "Love you," she said.
"Love you, too," Charlie said. "Both of you. "
"Bye, Daddy. " Rachel puppeted Sophie's little hand in a wave.
Charlie felt a lump rising in his throat. No one had ever called him Daddy before, not even a puppet. (He had once asked Rachel, "Who's your daddy?" during sex, to which she had replied, "Saul Goldstein," thus rendering him impotent for a week and raising all kinds of issues that he didn't really like to think about. )
He backed out of the room, palming the door shut as he went, then headed down the hall and past the desk where the neonatal nurse with the snake tattoo gave him a sideways smile as he went by.
Charlie drove a six-year-old minivan that he'd inherited from his father, along with the thrift store and the building that housed it. The minivan always smelled faintly of dust, mothballs, and body odor, despite a forest of smell-good Christmas trees that Charlie had hung from every hook, knob, and protrusion. He opened the car door and the odor of the unwanted - the wares of the thrift-store owner - washed over him.
Before he even had the key in the ignition, he noticed the Sarah McLachlan CD lying on the passenger seat. Well, Rachel was going to miss that. It was her favorite CD and there she was, recovering without it, and he could not have that. Charlie grabbed the CD, locked the van, and headed back up to Rachel's room.
To his relief, the nurse had stepped away from the desk so he didn't have to endure her frosty stare of accusation, or what he guessed would be her frosty stare of accusation. He'd mentally prepared a short speech about how being a good husband and father included anticipating the wants and needs of his wife and that included bringing her music - well, he could use the speech on the way out if she gave him the frosty stare.
He opened the door to Rachel's room slowly so as not to startle her - anticipating her warm smile of disapproval, but instead she appeared to be asleep and there was a very tall black man dressed in mint green standing next to her bed.
"What are you doing here?"
The man in mint green turned, startled. "You can see me?" He gestured to his chocolate-brown tie, and Charlie was reminded, just for a second, of those thin mints they put on the pillow in nicer hotels.
"Of course I can see you. What are you doing here?"
Charlie moved to Rachel's bedside, putting himself between the stranger and his family. Baby Sophie seemed fascinated by the tall black man.
"This is not good," said Mint Green.
"You're in the wrong room," Charlie said. "You get out of here. " Charlie reached behind and patted Rachel's hand.
"This is really, really not good. "
"Sir, my wife is trying to sleep and you're in the wrong room. Now please go before - "
"She's not sleeping," said Mint Green. His voice was soft, and a little Southern. "I'm sorry. "
Charlie turned to look down at Rachel, expecting to see her smile, hear her tell him to calm down, but her eyes were closed and her head had lolled off the pillow.
"Honey?" Charlie dropped the CD he was carrying and shook her gently. "Honey?"
Baby Sophie began to cry. Charlie felt Rachel's forehead, took her by the shoulders, and shook her. "Honey, wake up. Rachel. " He put his ear to her heart and heard nothing. "Nurse!"
Charlie scrambled across the bed to grab the buzzer that had slipped from Rachel's hand and lay on the blanket. "Nurse!" He pounded the button and turned to look at the man in mint green. "What happened. . . "
He was gone.
Charlie ran into the hall, but no one was out there. "Nurse!"
