Page 74 of Forever Christmas
“Just let me unhook you,” Adrianna says. “We can put it back in when you come back.” She squeezes the line going in and pulls it from thebase of the IV lead. A small alarm sounds, and she shuts it off.
It’s a relief not to be tethered. I ignore my wobbly legs and head for the door.
“We’re going with you,” Dad says.
“They won’t let her in the NICU,” Adrianna says, pointing to June.
“I’ll stay with June,” Mom says.
Dad draws my arm through his elbow. “Let’s take our time, Tinker Bell,” he says.
We walk more slowly outside theroom. Most of the doors are closed, blue and pink mums hanging on several.
I try the name again in my mind.
Ethan. Ethan Mays.
It’s hard to imagine he is real. I saw him only for a moment.
The baby is like a mirage in the desert. You’re desperate to see it, and there it is. But you blink a few times, then it’s gone again.
“Just beyond the corner here,” Dad says. “I walked these halls a fewtimes while we waited.”
The NICU has windows all the way down. There is no one at the desk inside the entrance to buzz us in.
I walk along the wall, fingers pressed to the glass. It’s my nightmare all over again. The rows of babies in their Isolette prisons, moms rocking in chairs. Nurses bent over monitors, checking stats.
I can’t hear anything yet, but already my ears are filled with thehelicopter sound of the ventilator.
My feet stumble, and my dad grabs my arm. He wants to say something about how I shouldn’t be here. I can feel the words forming on his lips. But he doesn’t say it. Stubborn Corabelle, I bet he thinks. And I am.
Then I see Gavin in a room at the end. I can’t walk up to that room, as it’s on the opposite wall. But it’s glass on the side that faces the NICU.They are surrounding a crib.
I want in. My feet in their nubby-bottomed socks fly back down the hall. Adrenaline hits my veins and my legs no longer feel weak.
A woman is just sitting back down in her chair at the entrance. I show her my wristband through the glass. “My baby has been brought here.”
She nods and smiles, pressing a button so the door unlatches.
I’m in, but I know the drill andpause at the washing station to hastily scrub down. My dad will have to fend for himself, because as soon as I’m dry enough not to drip, I take off down the aisle, past the rows of babies that blink with lights and hum with monitors, past a nurse shutting off an alarm, past rocking mothers and fathers camped out on chairs.
I reach the room and Gavin turns. A space opens and I see him.
Ethan.
A nurse opens the door for me. “You must be Mom,” she says, her gray eyes kind. She’s dressed in full scrubs, head covering, and mask. They all are, except Gavin.
“What’s going on?” Are they taking him to surgery already? Is it that bad?
I feel faint, like I can’t take one moment more, as though the floor beneath me is shifting just to throw me off balance.
Gavin takes my arm. “The cardiologistis here. They just took a look at his heart.”
One of the men turns. He lowers his mask. “Hello, Mom,” he says. “I’m Dr. Griffin.” He’s older than Dad, lines crinkling from his eyes and mouth. His short gray hair is very precisely cut, like a poster in a salon.
He holds out an iPad and swipes his finger to bring up a black-and-white image. “I have Ethan’s heart here on my screen. I was just aboutto talk to your husband about it.”
My dad enters the room behind me. “Grandpa?” Dr. Griffin asks.
