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“In that case, my condolences to your father.”
The wheelchair came to an abrupt halt. “Listen here,” the nurse said—her nametag read “Amy,” and Sally made a promise to forever hate that name—“I’m going to take care of you because it’s my job, but don’t for one second think I’m happy about it.” The implication being that Sally should be grateful to have any help at all.
“Nurse Amy, I’m not real happy about it either, but that doesn’t matter to me as long as you deliver my baby safely.”
“Poor child,” Sally heard the woman mutter behind her.
“Excuse me?”
The nurse stuttered a bit, then took a deep breath and decided to forge again. “I said ‘poor child,’ living out there in that run-down house the way you do. That baby barely has a chance. A better mother would want more for her child.”
The comment stung in its familiarity; Sally had thought it herself a time or two. But her house was all that she had, and in a town like Silver Bell, a person was often stuck in their circumstances by simple dumb luck. Sally’s luck had been as bad as it came.
“Just take care of my baby and let me worry about the rest.”
And she did. Worry, that is. All that morning and into the night while she labored and labored without making much progress.
When you lived life by yourself, worry was often your steadiest companion.
A boy.
Sally stared at him with his black hair and red face and long fingers and toes—ten each because she had counted them over and over just to be sure. The magical weight of her new reality was impossible to comprehend. A mother. To the most perfect baby on the planet, one that belonged to her and only her. Only ten minutes into this new role, and all the other roles she filled before disappeared like they had never existed at all.
Daughter.
Classmate.
Orphan.
Outcast.
Those roles now belonged to someone else because her new identity was transferred onto this tiny, perfect being now cradled in her arms. Even Amy, the awful nurse, had moved to her side, declaring him “a strapping, healthy boy” the moment he was born, smiling softly when she placed him on Sally’s breast and covered them both with a blanket. It was a tender moment, fleeting with a single look that quickly morphed into all business and formalities, but Sally relished in it. Not many people looked at her with fondness, but Amy had for that one moment, and Sally would cherish it.
“We need to take the baby to the nursery to take his vitals and get weighed,” nurse Amy said. “We’ll also do a couple blood tests, and then we’ll bring him back to feed. Unless you want us to give him a bottle of sugar water to get him started?”
Sally clutched the baby to her chest, unwilling to give him up. “No sugar water. I want to nurse him myself.” She might’ve protested more, but Amy wasn’t having it.
“Sally, you have to let us take care of him. I’ll bring him back to you when we’re done.” There was no use in fighting when the nurse reached for her baby and placed him in a clear bassinet on wheels. “Did you come up with a name yet?” she asked over her shoulder, already wheeling Sally’s son to the door. Sally couldn’t bring herself to say no because the answer might come with more questions:What name are you leaning toward? Do you think you’ll have a name picked out before you leave the hospital?The truth was, Sally thought she was having a daughter. Believed it to her core. Now that she had a son, the idea of a girl was silly, but silly or not, the name “Jennifer” would no longer work. She needed to think, and fast.
She shook her head only to be greeted with a frown. “Well, get to deciding. We’ll need to draw up the birth certificate soon.”
Sally said she would and leaned back on her bed to think. The room was quiet, too quiet, but surely Sally could come up with something suitable while her son was busy having tests taken. Maybe something after her papa, but his name was Elmer, and she didn’t like that name for her child. Maybe she could name him after Paul, but that might be too forward and territorial, considering his wife hated her. Maybe Sam or Jim or something easy to remember…
She awoke with a start when the nurse returned with the bassinet and wailing baby in tow, banging through the door like Sally hadn’t half-drifted into a sleep coma. Giving birth was exhausting. Who knew? She hadn’t anticipated sleep claiming her so forcefully, hadn’t slept this hard since the nights spent in Paul’s basement.
“How long was I asleep?”
“I don’t know when you fell asleep, but we’ve been in the nursery for a couple hours. He checked out just fine. Weighs almost ten pounds, this one. As you can hear, he’s hungry, and it’s time to nurse. Think you can handle this by yourself or do you need me to find someone to show you how it’s done?” Nurse Amy’s voice still held that same cool tone, but it softened a bit when she talked about the baby.
“Ten pounds? Is that big for a baby?” Sally used her arms to prop herself up on pillows and reached for her son.
Nurse Amy laughed. “I’d say it’s big. How much did you weigh as a newborn?”
Sally searched her brain as she worked to soothe her crying baby, but she couldn’t recall anyone ever telling her how much she weighed. She didn’t have a single memory before her mother died, and Papa certainly never spoke of that time. After her mama died, conversation disappeared along with most of the joy.
“I have no idea.”
“Well, maybe his father was—”
