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“Three thirteen,” she said. “Just go back through the double doors and turn right. The elevators will be on your right. Your aunt will be there in about twenty minutes.”
Ravinia headed back toward the double doors, hearing the wail of the new baby behind her. She looked back and saw Nurse Baransky taking the baby into her arms around the edge of the cubicle’s half-closed curtain.
Hitting the large square button on the wall, she watched the doors hiss open and then close behind her. Rand was scooched down in the brown, squarish chair he’d chosen, dozing. She walked over to him and kicked his boot. His eyes opened, but he didn’t lift his head.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“I want to know how you’re related to me.”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“Who does?”
Rand straightened up. “My great-uncle, I guess. He’s the shaman.”
“Shaman?” she repeated dubiously.
“Well, not officially.” He shrugged. “You know.”
“No. I don’t know,” Ravinia snapped back.
“Your family’s got the same thing. The ones that are more spiritual and guide the tribe.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ravinia muttered.
“You asked,” he pointed out with a shrug.
“I’m going to go find my aunt,” she said and then left him there. “More spiritual,” she repeated with disdain. Maybe his family was. Hers was just messed up.
Savannah felt jazzed inside. Like she’d been hit with an electric current. Anxiety. Nerves. Underlaid with pain and exhaustion and wonder. It was like living inside someone else’s body.
A baby. Her baby.
“My sister’s in surgery here,” she told the EMT who’d wheeled her into the
curtained room. “Kristina St. Cloud.” She glanced past him to where Hale was giving an account of the birth to a resident as a nurse strode toward them determinedly.
“The baby?” she said to Savannah. Her smile must have been meant to be reassuring, but there was tension, too.
Loath to hand him over, Savannah nevertheless did so without a complaint. “You’re going to make sure he’s all right?” she said, hearing her own tension.
“I sure am.”
“He’s Baby St. Cloud,” Savannah told her. “I think they’re going to call him Declan.”
“They?”
“The parents. I’m the surrogate.”
The nurse nodded. “I’ll make sure he’s tagged,” she said.
As soon as Declan was out of her arms, he started crying, and Savvy started shaking uncontrollably. They swaddled him up quickly and whisked him into an examining room, and then another nurse—her name tag read Baransky—wrapped Savvy in new blankets and said something about taking her to a room . . . as soon as one was free. There were numerous victims of the storm at the hospital, and there was a shortage of space. Savvy looked around, but Hale was nowhere to be seen.
“Excuse me,” she said through chattering lips. “My sister had surgery. Kristina St. Cloud? Can someone get me some information?”
“I’ll check it out as soon as we get you to your room,” Baransky said.
“Where’s Declan?” Savvy asked.
