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I caressed her hand. “We have to name her,” I said softly. “Have you decided? You were talking about Marjorie.”
“What does it matter? My son is gone. My daughter is going to die.”
“We don’t know that. Babies born earlier have survived.”
“And a lot of them haven’t.”
What could I say? She was right.
“She still needs a name. I like Marjorie.”
“No.”
“You like it because it means pearl, and pearls offer protection.”
“Naming her Marjorie won’t protect her. She’s so small. Brad, did you see how small she is?”
I nodded. Indeed, her size scared me. But she was beautiful. She had translucent skin and a head of black hair. And she was fucking beautiful.
My daughter.
“Maybe it will protect her,” I said. “There’s a chance she’ll survive, and you know I’ll see that she gets the best medical attention in the NICU. Nothing’s too good for my little girl.”
“She’s not Marjorie,” Daphne said. “She’s Angela. I want to name her Angela.”
“Angela’s pretty, but why?”
“Because she’s going to be an angel soon. She’s going to…” Daphne shook her head. “I can’t lose two children in one day. I can’t!”
I smoothed her hair, wet from perspiration, back from her forehead. Even here, my Daphne was beautiful.
“How about Angela Marjorie?” I said.
“Fine.” She nodded and then closed her eyes.
Anger.
Rage.
Wrath.
Please don’t make Daphne pay for my sins. Please. She needs her son. She needs her daughter. Please.
I squeezed my eyes shut, repeating the prayers over and over in my mind.
I don’t deserve your grace, but Daphne does. Daphne does.
Daphne was asleep, so I headed to the NICU to see Angela Marjorie. An oxygen tube was inserted in her tiny nose, and she lay inside a transparent incubator.
So small.
So fucking small.
But her little chest rose and fell, rose and fell. She was breathing.
“Mr. Steel?” A nurse touched my shoulder.
“Yes?”
“She’s a strong baby. The doctor says her lungs are working extraordinarily well for twenty-six weeks. You have reason to be optimistic.”
I nodded.
But I wanted to scoff. I wanted to yell and curl my hands into fists and punch her. Break into that stupid glass crib and hold my daughter.
And my son! I wanted to hold my son!
How many times had I told him to man up? Taught him how to do a good day’s work on a ranch? Made him figure out his own mistakes?
My God, he was ten fucking years old!
I should have played with him. I should have taught him how to throw a football. I should have read him bedtime stories. I should have taken him to Disneyland with Daphne. I should have…
Could have…
But hadn’t.
And now I might never get the chance.
“How is your wife?” the nurse asked.
How do you think my wife is? What a fucking stupid question.
I said only, “My daughter’s name is Angela Marjorie Steel.”
Then I walked out of the NICU.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Daphne
Panic.
Sheer panic as I ran through a dense forest. Someone chased me. An animal? A person? I had no idea, but if I didn’t run faster, I’d—
I jerked my eyes open.
Where am I?
My breasts were heavy and tender. I moved my hand to—
Beep! Beep! Beep!
A woman wearing green scrubs rushed in. “Mrs. Steel. Remember? You can’t bend your elbow. It sets off the alarm.”
“I want to see my baby,” I said.
“She’s in the NICU. But she’s doing very well.”
“I want to see my baby,” I said again.
“Your husband told us you chose the name Angela. That’s very pretty.”
Did this woman have a hearing problem? “I want to see my baby.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Steel. You can’t get out of bed yet. Your epidural hasn’t worn off. I can’t bring her in here because she can’t leave the NICU. But your husband was just in to see her. She’s doing just fine.”
“If she’s doing just fine, I should be able to see her.”
The nurse smiled. “Let me see what I can do.”
The deli owner’s daughter waited for the nurse to leave.
“This is ridiculous,” she said aloud. “If Daphne wants to see her baby, Daphne will see her baby.”
She moved, careful not to bend her elbow. That beeping had been horrendous. She moved first one leg and then the other over the side of the bed.
Now, to stand. How to stand with this stupid IV? Well, she’d just have to make it work.
She carefully moved the thin tubes to the side, braced her arms on the side of the bed, and rose.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
How had I gotten on the floor?
“Mrs. Steel!” Someone in green scrubs rushed to my side. “What happened?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I told you not to get up. Your epidural hasn’t worn off yet.” She pulled me up and back into bed. “I’m going to have to check your incision.” She moved my gown and removed the bandage. “Thank goodness. You didn’t rip out any stitches. You need to be more careful, Mrs. Steel.”
“I want to see my baby.”
