“Yes, yes.” Margaret dismissively flaps her wrist at the nurse, then gestures toward Zack. “I want you to meet her.”
“I’d love to,” Zack says.
She turns her head toward me. “You, dear—will you please arrange it?” I think she’s forgotten my name.
“Mrs. Moore, you need to lie back and rest,” the nurse says. “Your heart rate is too fast.” She adjusts a bag attached to Margaret’s IVs, watches the monitor, and then turns to us. “I’m sorry, but you’d better leave. We need to keep her heart rate stabilized.”
My own heart is tripping all over itself. “We didn’t mean to upset her.”
“Oh, I don’t think you did.” She gives me a kind smile. “For some older patients, though, any emotion—even happiness—is just too much stimulation for their fragile condition.”
I reach out and touch Margaret’s arm. “We’ll see you later, Miss Margaret.”
“All right, dear,” she says weakly. “Give my love to Lily.”
—
“WELL,” ZACK SAYS,once we’re again out in the waiting room.
Well, indeed, I think, walking into the corridor. Morning sickness is putting in another unwanted appearance. “I’ll be right back,” I say, and head down the hall to the ladies’ room. I use hand sanitizer, pull a cracker out of my purse, and force myself to eat it. I phone Sarah. After giving her a quick update about Margaret, I get to the point of the call.
“Margaret wants Lily to meet Zack,” I tell her. “What’s the best way for me to arrange it without telling Lily that he’s her dad?”
“I’d suggest meeting in public and keeping things light,” Sarah says. “Maybe you can run into him while you and Lily are out shopping or getting ice cream or something. That’ll be easier than a big, heavy, ‘there’s someone I’d like you to meet’ kind of thing.”
I like the sound of that. “What if Lily asks how I know him?”
“Just say he’s a friend. Don’t lie, but don’t give unnecessary information. Children don’t usually press for specifics.”
“Thanks, Sarah,” I say.
I draw myself up, pull in a deep breath, and remember something I read that morning in the reparenting book:Address troublesome issues head on.The sooner you act, the less time you’ll spend worrying.
My upper lip is perspiring. I splash some water on my face, then head back into the corridor.
“There’s a coffee shop in the atrium,” Zack says. “Want to go there and talk?”
“Sure,” I say.
It’s a PJ’s, my favorite New Orleans coffee franchise. I order an iced tea and a carrot muffin. He gets a black coffee. We settle at a table near the front.
“Margaret was a lot more coherent this morning,” Zack says.
I nod. “The heart thing was scary.”
“Not as bad as yesterday, though. The nurse stayed calm, and that’s always a good sign.”
He talks like a man who’s had a lot of experience with ICUs. “You mentioned that your mother was in the hospital,” I say. “What happened to her?”
He blows out a long sigh. “About six years ago, she was jogging in the neighborhood. A car came around the corner too fast, and the driver didn’t see her.”
“Oh, how awful!”
“Yeah, it was.” He gazes at his coffee for a moment. “She ended up partially paralyzed.”
“Is she okay now?”
He shakes his head. “No. After thirteen months, three additional surgeries, and a bunch of complications, she died.”
