Then she unwrapped her own sandwich. Fat, rich slices of absolutely perfect avocado resting atop grilled chicken sat between two thick slices of aromatic sourdough bread.
No, she thought. They don’t always get over you.
She knew that she wouldn’t.
“Put on these gowns,” the nurse said, handing Adam and Laurel each a plastic-sealed package. They were standing outside the closed door of Linus’s hospital room. “Mask on the face. Booties on the shoes. No gloves, but you’ll need to wash your hands at the sink there.” She gestured toward the sink nearby. “Use the soap that’s provided. You can use the lounge behind the desk here to get gowned up if you want.”
Adam was aware of Laurel’s increasing pallor as Angelica reeled off the instructions.
“Usually, we wouldn’t need all of this,” the nurse went on. “Every room in the transplant unit is equipped with specialized air-filtration systems that minimize patient risk of contracting infections. But after Linus’s fever, Dr. Patel has ordered stricter measures.”
“How, uh, how long can we stay with him?”
“As long as you want,” Angelica assured Laurel. “As a general rule, we limit visitors to two at a time, but parents are always allowed. Any other questions?” Her bright eyes moved from Laurel’s face to Adam’s. “No?” She smiled as she reached for a chart on her desk. “If you need me, just push the call button on the wall over the baby’s crib.”
Adam pushed his thumb through the thin plastic bag and tore it open. He shook out the gown, and he barely caught the booties before they fell onto the floor. Laurel on the other hand was squeezing the package between her fingers, looking terrified.
He took her arm and led her unresistingly into the nurse’s lounge. “Sit down before you pass out again.”
“I’m not going to pass out.” But she did sit before she finally tore open her package. “He doesn’t know me,” she whispered.
“He doesn’t know me, either.” Adam sat down and worked the booties over his shoes, then stood up again and shoved his arms into the sleeves of the gown. It was exactly the same style that Eric had worn the day of the transplant.
He calculated. It had only been nine days ago.
“What if we scare him, dressed up in these things?” She shook the pale blue mask at him.
“We’re not going to know until we go in.” He tied the back of the gown behind his neck and then looped the mask over his ears. “We’ve spent the last three and a half days getting here, Laurel.”
“I know. I know you’re right.” Looking more determined, she shook out her own gown and pulled it on. “At least I’ve made it further than I did in my nightmare,” she muttered as she pushed aside her hair to tie the back of the gown. “And there’s a comforting absence of nurses who look like ducks.” She leaned down to work the booties over her shoes. When she straightened, there was more color in the cheeks that she then hid behind her mask.
“Ducks?”
“Don’t even ask.” Above the gauzy blue mask, her eyes were impossibly wide. “Nightmares are weird things.”
They left the lounge and stopped at the sink, where she folded up the too-long sleeves of the gown and thoroughly washed her hands and wrists.
He did the same while she dried off with the towels that popped up from a dispenser on the wall.
And then it was time.
The curtain had been drawn across the window that looked into the room. The heavy wide door was slightly ajar and Adam pushed it open with his elbow, waiting for Laurel to enter first.
Her eyes clung to his for a long moment, then she pressed her hand into his and went inside.
They both went stock-still at the sight of the other man standing next to the crib. Even gowned up the same way they were, he was still recognizable.
At least to Adam.
Eric Johnson’s eyes met his for a brief moment, then dropped to their clasped hands. He looked away. “He’s sleeping,” he said quietly and reached into the crib for a moment. “Angelica said you expected to get here today. I thought I’d be gone by the time—” He broke off and looked at them again. “I know when it’s my cue to leave.”
He passed them out into the hall, hesitating briefly in front of Laurel.
Adam felt her hand trembling in his. He covered her shoulder with his other.
Eric tugged the mask down his chin. His twisted smile was humorless and full of regret.
“It didn’t last very long, but I like to think I was a good father.” He reached under his gown and emerged with an envelope. “Margaret Malloy’s still getting the birth certificate worked out. The social worker,” he added for Laurel’s benefit.
“Her letter’s in here explaining the DNA mess. Turns out there’s a whale of a difference between a 99 percent likelihood of paternity backed up by enough personal statements to convince a judge, and a 99.99 percent likelihood that doesn’t have to be backed by anything at all except the science.” He held out the envelope and Adam took it with fingers that felt numb. “I’d say I’ll see you around, but I figure that’s nothing any one of us wants to hear. So...” He leaned over and brushed a quick kiss against Laurel’s masked cheek. “Goodbye, Laurel.” Then he walked away.
Laurel suddenly pulled away from Adam and went through the doorway after him. “Eric, wait.”
Adam closed his eyes. The last bit of suspicion he’d been holding on to of Laurel having reason to fear Eric circled down the drain.
He’d known it.
Hadn’t he known this would happen all along?
So why did it still feel like he’d been kicked in the kidneys?
A soft whimper from the crib made him open his eyes.
He looked over to see Linus—his son—pushing his padded butt up in the air. He was wearing a
