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I don't think so, he thought. He checked the spotting on the sterile vulval pad--while Wally looked at the ceiling, at his hands, at the floor. "You're doing just fine," Dr. Larch told Candy. He was about to tell her that Homer could advise her about any cramps she suffered, and that Homer could also check her for spotting, but he wanted to leave Homer free of that responsibility. Also, Dr. Larch couldn't at the moment have said Homer's name.
"They're taking you?" Curly Day asked Homer, when Curly saw Homer packing.
"I'm not being adopted, Curly," said Homer Wells. "I'll be back in just two days."
"They're taking you!" said Curly Day; his face looked so stricken, Homer had to turn away.
Dr. Larch was an amateur historian, but he nonetheless understood the power of information that is received indirectly. For that reason, he told Candy and Wally about Homer's weak heart. It was not only easier for Dr. Larch than lying to Homer; in the long run, Larch suspected, the story would be more convincing.
"I've never let him go before--not even for just two days--without saying just a little about his condition," Dr. Larch told Candy and Wally. A wonderful word: condition. The effect of the word in a doctor's mouth is truly astonishing. Candy seemed to forget she'd just had an abortion; the color came back to Wally's face. "It's his heart," said Wilbur Larch. "I've not told him about it because I haven't wanted to worry him. It's the sort of condition that could be made worse by his worrying about it," Dr. Larch confided to these two good-hearted innocents, who gave him their rapt attention.
"Just so he's not exposed to anything too strenuous, or to anything too violent in the way of exercise--or to anything too shocking," said Wilbur Larch, who had created a perfect history for someone who simply needed to be careful--who needed to stay out of danger. Larch had given his favorite orphan a history that he hoped would keep him safe. He was aware that it was a history a father would construct for his son--if a father could make his son believe it.
Homer Wells, at the moment, couldn't construct a history or anything else that would be soothing to Curly Day, who buried himself under several pillows and a blanket and sobbed.
"What do you need to be adopted for?" Curly cried. "You're practically a doctor!"
"It's just for two days," Homer Wells repeated; with each repetition his promise sounded less and less likely.
"They're taking you! I can't believe it!" cried Curly Day.
Nurse Angela came and sat beside Homer on Curly's bed. Together they regarded the sobbing mound under the blanket.
"It's just for two days, Curly," Nurse Angela said lamely.
"Doctor Larch said Homer was here to protect us!" Curly cried. "Some protection!"
Nurse Angela whispered to Homer: that if he'd go clean up the operating table, she'd sit with Curly until he felt better; she'd not wanted to clean up the table while the nice young couple needed to be alone. "Your friends seemed to be having a nice moment together," Nurse Angela whispered to Homer Wells. My friends! he thought. Is it possible I'm going to be having friends?
"You're not the best one, Homer!" Curly cried, under the blanket.
"Right," Homer said; he tried to pat Curly, but Curly stiffened and held his breath. "I'll see you, Curly," Homer said.
"Traitor!" cried Curly Day. Curly seemed to recognize Nurse Angela's touch; his rigid body relaxed, and he gave himself over to a steady sobbing.
Nurse Edna had finally stopped young Steerforth from crying, or she had simply outlasted the baby, who was now washed and dressed and almost asleep in Nurse Edna's arms. He had taken enough of the formula to satisfy Nurse Edna, and so she put him in his bed and finished cleaning the room where he'd been delivered. As soon as she'd put a fresh sheet on the table--she was just wiping the gleaming stirrups--Dr. Larch lurched into the room with the stationmaster's stiff body a somewhat pliable plank over his shoulder.
"Wilbur!" Nurse Edna said critically. "You should let Homer help you with that."
"It's time to get used to not having Homer around," Dr. Larch said curtly, dropping the stationmaster's body on the table. Oh, dear, Nurse Edna thought, we're in for a ferocious time of it.
"I don't suppose you've seen the sternum shears," Dr. Larch asked her.
"The snips?" she asked.
"They're called shears," he said. "If you'd just undress him--I'll ask Homer."
Homer knocked before he entered the operating room, where Candy had dressed herself, with Wally's fumbling help, and now stood leaning against him in what struck Homer as an oddly formal pose--as if the couple had just finished a dance competition and were awaiting the judges' applause.
"You can relax now," said Homer Wells, not quite able to look at Candy's face. "Maybe you'd like some fresh air. I won't be long; I have to clean the table." As an awkward second thought, he added to Candy, "You're feeling all right, aren't you?"
"Oh, yes," she said
, her eyes passing over Homer very quickly; she smiled reassuringly at Wally.
That was when Dr. Larch came in and asked Homer if he knew where the sternum shears were.
"They're with Clara," Homer admitted. "I'm sorry," he added quickly. "I had them there because I thought I might need them for the autopsy. On the fetus," he added.
