“Adam. Stop. Is that you?”

“Willow?” Adam yells.

“Willow?” Kim mumbles.

“Excuse me, where are you taking them?” Willow yells at the guards as she runs toward them.

“I’m sorry but these two were caught trying to break into the ICU,” one guard explains.

“Only because they wouldn’t let us in,” Kim explains weakly.

Willow catches up to them. She’s still wearing her nursing clothes, which is strange, because she normally changes out of what she calls “orthopedic couture” as soon as she can. Her long, curly auburn hair looks lank and greasy, like she’s forgotten to wash it these past few weeks. And her cheeks, normally rosy like apples, have been repainted beige. “Excuse me. I’m an RN over at Cedar Creek. I did my training here, so if you like we can go straighten this out with Richard Caruthers.”

“Who’s he?” one guard asks.

“Director of community affairs,” the other replies. Then he turns to Willow. “He’s not here. It’s not business hours.”

“Well, I have his home number,” Willow says, brandishing her cell phone like a weapon. “I doubt he’d be pleased if I were to call him now and tell him how his hospital was treating someone trying to visit his critically wounded girlfriend. You know that the director values compassion as much as efficiency, and this is not the way to treat a concerned loved one.”

“We’re just doing our job, ma’am. Following orders.”

“How about I save you two the trouble and take it from here. The patient’s family is all assembled upstairs. They’re waiting for these two to join them. Here, if you have any problems, you tell Mr. Caruthers to get in touch with me.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a card and hands it over. One of the guards looks at it, hands it to the other, who stares at it and shrugs.

“Might as well save ourselves the paperwork,” he says. He lets go of Adam, whose body slumps like a scarecrow taken off his pole. “Sorry, kid,” he says to Adam, brushing off his shoulders.

“I hope your girlfriend’s okay,” the other mumbles. And then they disappear toward the glow of some vending machines.

Kim, who has met Willow all of twice, flings herself into her arms. “Thank you!” she murmurs into her neck.

Willow hugs her back, pats her on the shoulders before letting go. She rubs her eyes and winces out a brittle laugh.

“What in the hell were you two thinking?” she asks.

“I want to see Mia,” Adam says.

Willow turns to look at Adam and it’s like someone has unscrewed her valve, letting all her air escape. She deflates. She reaches out and touches Adam’s cheek. “Of course you do.” She wipes her eyes with the heel of her hand.

“Are you okay?” Kim asks.

Willow ignores the question. “Let’s see about getting you in to Mia.”

Adam perks up when he hears this. “You think you can? That old nurse has it in for me.”

“If that old nurse is who I think she is, it doesn’t matter if she has it in for you. It’s not up to her. Let’s check in with Mia’s grandparents and then I’ll find out who’s in charge of breaking the rules around here and get you in to see your girl. She needs you now. More than ever.”

Adam swivels around and hugs Willow with such force that her feet lift up off the ground.

Willow to the rescue. Just the way she rescued Henry, Dad’s best friend and bandmate, who, once upon a time, was a total drunk playboy. When he and Willow had been dating a few weeks, she told him to straighten out and dry out or say good-bye. Dad said that lots of girls had given Henry ultimatums, tried to force him to settle down, and lots of girls had been left crying on the sidewalk. But when Willow packed her toothbrush and told Henry to grow up, Henry was the one who cried. Then he dried his tears, grew up, got sober and monogamous. Eight years later, here they are, with a baby, no less. Willow is formidable that way. Probably why after she and Henry got together she became Mom’s best friend; she was another tough-as-nails, tender-as-kittens, feminist bitch. And probably why she was one of Dad’s favorite people, even though she hated the Ramones and thought baseball was boring, while Dad lived for the Ramones and thought baseball was a religious institution.

Now Willow is here. Willow the nurse. Willow who doesn’t take no for an answer is here. She’ll get Adam in to see me. She’ll take care of everything. Hooray! I want to shout. Willow is here!

I’m so busy celebrating Willow’s arrival that the implication of her being here takes a few moments to sink in, but when it does, it hits me like a jolt of electricity.


Willow is here. And if she’s here, if she’s in my hospital, it means that there isn’t any reason for her to be in her hospital. I know her well enough to know that she never would have left him there. Even with me here, she would’ve stayed with him. He was broken, and brought to her for fixing. He was her patient. Her priority.

I think about the fact that Gran and Gramps are in Portland with me. And that all anyone in that waiting room is talking about is me, how they are avoiding mentioning Mom or Dad or Teddy. I think about Willow’s face, which looks like it has been scrubbed clean of all joy. And I think about what she told Adam, that I need him now. More than ever.

And that’s how I know. Teddy. He’s gone, too.

Mom went into labor three days before Christmas, and she insisted we go holiday shopping together.

“Shouldn’t you like lie down or go to the birthing center or something?” I asked.

Mom grimaced through a cramp. “Nah. The contractions aren’t that bad and are still like twenty minutes apart. I cleaned our entire house, from top to bottom, while I was in early labor with you.”

“Putting the labor in labor,” I joked.

“You’re a smart-ass, you know that?” Mom said. She took a few breaths. “I’ve got a ways to go. Now come on. Let’s take the bus to the mall. I’m not up to driving.”

“Shouldn’t we call Dad?” I asked.

Mom laughed at that. “Please, it’s enough for me to have to birth this baby. I don’t need to deal with him, too. We’ll call him when I’m ready to pop. I’d much rather have you around.”

So Mom and I wandered around the mall, stopping every couple minutes so she could sit down and take deep breaths and squeeze my wrist so hard it left angry red marks. Still, it was a weirdly fun and productive morning. We bought presents for Gran and Gramps (a sweater with an angel on it and a new book about Abraham Lincoln) and toys for the baby and a new pair of rain boots for me. Usually we waited for the holiday sales to buy stuff like that, but Mom said that this year we’d be too busy changing diapers. “Now’s not the time to be cheap. Ow, fuck. Sorry, Mia. Come on. Let’s go get pie.”

We went to Marie Callender’s. Mom had a slice of pumpkin and of banana cream. I had blueberry. When she was done, she pushed her plate away and announced she was ready to go to the midwife.

We’d never really talked about my being there or not being there. I went everywhere with Mom and Dad at that point, so it was just kind of assumed. We met a nerve-racked Dad at the birthing center, which was nothing like a doctor’s office. It was the ground floor of a house, the inside decked out with beds and Jacuzzi tubs, the medical equipment discreetly tucked away. The hippie midwife led Mom inside and Dad asked me if I wanted to come, too. By now, I could hear Mom screaming profanities.

“I can call Gran and she’ll pick you up,” Dad said, wincing at Mom’s barrage. “This might take a while.”

I shook my head. Mom needed me. She’d said so. I sat down on one of the floral couches and picked up a magazine with a goofy-looking bald baby on the cover. Dad disappeared into the room with the bed.

“Music! Goddammit! Music!” Mom screamed.

“We have some lovely Enya. Very soothing,” the midwife said.


“Fuck Enya!” Mom screamed. “Melvins. Earth. Now!”

“I’ve got it covered,” Dad said. Then he popped a CD of the loudest, churningest, guitar-heaviest music I’d ever heard. It made all the fast-paced punk songs Dad normally listened to sound like harp music. This music was primal and that seemed to make Mom feel better. She started making these low guttural noises. I just sat there quietly. Every so often she’d scream my name and I’d scamper inside. Mom would look up at me, her face plastered with sweat. Don’t be scared, she’d whisper. Women can handle the worst kind of pain. You’ll find out one day. Then she’d scream fuck again.

I’d seen a couple of births on that cable-TV show, and people usually yelled for a while; sometimes they swore and it had to be bleeped, but it never took longer than half an hour. After three hours, Mom and the Melvins were still screaming along. The whole birthing center felt tropically humid, even though it was forty degrees outside.

Henry dropped by. When he came inside and heard the noise, he froze in his tracks. I knew that the whole kid-thing freaked him out. I’d overheard Mom and Dad talking about that, and Henry’s refusal to grow up. He’d apparently been shocked when Mom and Dad had me, and now was completely bewildered that they chose to have a second. They’d both been relieved when he and Willow had gotten back together. “Finally, a grown-up in Henry’s life,” Mom had said.

Henry looked at me; his face was pale and sweaty. “Holy shit, Mee. Should you be hearing this? Should I be hearing this?”

I shrugged. Henry sat down next to me. “I’ve got the flu or something, but your Dad just called asking me to bring some food. So here I am,” he said, proffering a Taco Bell bag reeking of onions. Mom let out another moan. “I should go. Don’t want me spreading germs or anything.” Mom screamed even louder and Henry practically jumped in his seat. “You sure you wanna hang around for this? You can come back to my place. Willow’s there, taking care of me.” He grinned when he mentioned her name. “She can take care of you, too.” He stood up to leave.