Grievous Sin

That was important. Trust.

She glanced at her watch.

Time to go to work.

10 (#ulink_5ef2f5c4-18e5-5b89-bd91-ec3f95e35ca9)

Darlene edged the last of the layettes into its space in Nursery J, then placed her gloved hands on her hips. Her eyes traveled to the babies, ten of them—two blacks, four Hispanics, three whites, and one Asian—as varied as L.A.’s own population. Each had its own personality, even at this age, but all of them were as precious as an angel’s song.

Not that they sounded like angels. Baby Girl Rodriguez and Baby Girl Jackson were squalling up a storm. Now Baby Boy Yamata … there was a good baby. Quiet. Like his parents.

Squalling up a storm.

The expression made her smile. No one knew squalls like she knew squalls. The late November winds on the lake … a cold so bone-chilling it froze your teeth numb.

Baby Girl Decker was missing … probably still with Cindy in the back room. Darlene thought about Cindy—a real good kid. Not too many sisters were that devoted. Not a lot of devoted people, period. That’s what Darlene liked about nursing. You gave to others, actually helped them. Helped them more than the doctors, if the truth be known.

She watched the infants for a few minutes without doing anything, observing wide-open mouths and scrunched-up eyes. Baby Girl Rodriguez had cried herself lobster red, fingers balled up into tight fists as she cried to be held. Too bad Darlene had only two arms. Shame women weren’t born octopuses.

Rubbing her arms, she threw a furtive glance over her shoulder. Slowly, her hands reached toward Baby Girl Rodriguez. Teeny little thing. Darlene had cooked chickens that weighed more. But the baby was fully formed and doing well. Cute coffee-bean eyes hidden by locks of silky black hair. The baby quieted as Darlene nestled her into her bosom, patted her little back. Tiny, fragile bones. All of the babies, so small yet perfect human beings. The wonderment of new life. It never failed to amaze her.

She undid BG Rodriguez’s blanket, and the cold blast of air suddenly sent the little girl into another episode of hysterics. Quickly, the nurse took the unclad baby over to the scales.

“Now this’ll only take a minute, honey,” Darlene cooed as she slid the poise over the indicator numbers. BG Rodriguez was still a little under two kilos: She’d need at least another couple of days of hospitalization before she’d weigh enough to go home.

“Stop your bellyaching. We ain’t even at the hard part yet.”

With a firm grip, Darlene lifted the infant from the scales, placed her on the table, and rewrapped her in her blanket. The baby’s loud outbursts quieted to whimpers. On the table was a tray of instruments and a stack of charts. Placing a firm hand on the infant’s stomach, Darlene scanned through the pile until she found BG Rodriguez’s records. She flipped through the papers, looking for additional instructions or orders from the pediatrician. Finding nothing of significance, she wrote in the time and the latest weighing.

The baby was now fully awake, black eyes trying to focus, legs kicking under the covers. Darlene chucked her chin, then carefully liberated a little foot from the swaddle of the blanket.

Tiny foot—as small and soft as a ladyfinger. Little red toes.

Again Darlene took a quick peek over her shoulder. She felt her shoulders tighten as she reached for the instrument tray. It was always tense with the first one. Holding the foot firmly in her grasp, the charge nurse held her breath as she jabbed a razor-sharp needle into the pad of the baby’s heel.

Decker’s own snoring woke him up. He heard himself snort and grunt, then he shook his head in a weak attempt to dislodge his stupor. His bones hurt; his muscles ached with rigidity. He managed to open his eyes, light flooding his retinas. It took him a moment to focus, and when he did, he was shocked to see Rina’s eyes upon him. Quickly, he sat up, swinging his stiff legs over the edge of the cot. He took her hand and kissed it.

“Morning, darling.” He looked at the wall clock. Five fifty-two—morning only in a technical sense. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. It was hot and dry. “How do you feel?”

Rina’s lids fluttered, but she kept her eyes open. “How’s … our baby?”

“Gorgeous!” Decker tried to sound upbeat. “Beautiful just like you.”

“Tell me.”

“Well …” Decker cleared his throat. “She’s big and robust and beautiful and alert. Definitely the best kid in the whole hospital.”

Rina’s lips formed a weak smile. “I want to hold her. Hold my baby.” Her eyes grew wet. “But I can’t, can I?”

“Of course you can hold her. You’ll spend hours holding her. But first you’ve got to recuperate.”

“From the surgery,” Rina whispered.

“Yes, from the surgery,” Decker said. “Go back to sleep, honey. It’s the best thing for you now.”

Rina turned away, then faced him again. “Something’s …” She swallowed hard. “Something’s wrong, Peter.”

“I’ll call the nurse—”

“No,” Rina cried hoarsely. “That’s not what I meant.”

Decker felt his head spin. “Doctor says you’re going to be fine, Rina. But you need to rest … relax. The only thing you should be concerned about is getting your strength back. Now I’m ordering you to close your eyes and go back to sleep.”

Rina attempted a deep breath, her face contorting from the effort. “I’m not bleeding normally. Not like the others …” She winced. “And the miscarriages, too. It’s not normal.”

Decker squelched a wave of nausea. “Rina, you’re so tired. Go to sleep, honey.” His voice was making tinny echoes in his ear. “I’ll be here when you wake up. You’ll feel better after you sleep.”

“Your face.” Her voice was so raspy. “You’re not looking at me. Tell me.”

Decker couldn’t talk, paralyzed by exhaustion and fright.

“What’s wrong with me, Peter?”

“Nothing’s wrong, honey.”

Immediately, he regretted the false words. He had to tell her. He couldn’t let her think she was the same as before, only to have her psyche destroyed later on. She’d never forgive him. As much as he dreaded the task, he knew he had to confess. He forced himself to look in her eyes. They’d become deep blue pools.

“I love you, baby.”

“What is it, Peter?”

He kissed her hand again, then whispered, “Rina, you had a hysterectomy. That’s the reason you’re not bleeding normally.”

She didn’t react.

After some false starts, he finally found his voice. “Rina, we have a lovely, lovely family. A beautiful new baby … a real gift from God. We have to remember that.”

She said nothing, her eyes resting blankly on his face.

“I know how you must feel … no, I don’t know how you feel. I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

He kissed her hand again.

“Rina, the truth is, I’m an old man. I mean, who wants to be playing sandlot ball when you’re fifty, right?”

Her expression reflected his stupidity. He knew he should just shut up, but the jitters kept his vocal cords humming overtime.

“I know how you feel about kids, honey. And I love kids, too. We’ve got to look at it this way. We have three beautiful, healthy children; I’ve got a nearly grown daughter. Babies are wonderful, but it’s nice when the kids grow up and are big—on their own. Give us a little special time … we haven’t had a lot of that, you know?”