Chapter 4
Tori came back to check my blood pressure.
I held up my wrist.
"Who told Briarfield I was sick at eleven forty-two?"
Tori read the time on my wristband.
Then she checked the chart clipped to her cart.
She looked at the wristband again.
Her mouth tightened.
She turned the monitor away from me.
The cuff tightened around my arm.
Tori kept her eyes on the numbers.
"Your pressure is high," she said.
"That's not an answer."
"I wasn't given the paperwork, Mrs. Hollowell."
"Where is my phone?"
"Locked with your belongings."
A clear plastic property bag hung from the side of her cart.
My coat had been folded inside.
The velvet box rested on top of it, slightly open.
I could see Della's name on the silver handle.
The wheels caught on a seam in the floor.
The bag swung against the side of the cart.
The silver rattle struck the plastic with a small chime.
A room number had been written across the box in black marker.
That morning, the jeweler had wrapped the box twice so the velvet wouldn't scuff.
Now it swung from a hospital cart beside my folded coat, Della's name knocking softly against the plastic every time Tori moved.
I kept my hand extended for a second after Tori moved it beyond my reach.
"Where are you taking that?"
"Storage."
"And my phone?"
She tapped the power switch. "Same place."
Before she could reach the door, the latch clicked.
Dr. Keene came in wearing a cashmere sweater instead of his white coat.
He opened the tablet in his hand.
Tori slipped into the hall and pulled the door shut behind her.
Dr. Keene stood near the foot of the narrow bed, looking down at me.
"How are we feeling, Merritt?"
"I want to use the phone, Dr. Keene."
"We'll talk about phone privileges after your evaluation," he said smoothly. "Right now, I want to talk about your husband."
"My husband lied to you."
He wrote something before I finished speaking.
"Camille was at the foundation because she was working," Dr. Keene said. "Graham believes stress is affecting your judgment."
"Then ask him why he has my phone," I said, leaning forward. "Call him and tell him to bring it here."
I kept both hands open on my knees where the camera could see them.
Dr. Keene noticed.
His eyes moved briefly toward the black dome in the corner, then back to his tablet.
He had come in expecting raised hands, a slammed door, something he could turn into another line in his report.
I gave him none of it.
My obstetrician had spent months telling me to call if I had bleeding, leaking fluid, or regular contractions.
Dr. Keene had asked about none of those things.
He had not even looked at the pregnancy chart clipped to Tori's cart.
He was not there to decide whether I was safe.
He was there to give Graham a sentence he could repeat.
His hand paused above the screen.
"Call him," I repeated.
Dr. Keene looked toward the door instead of reaching for his device.
He never asked why Graham had my phone.
He wrote another note instead.
"You're fixating on the phone."
"Because he took it out of my hand."
Dr. Keene closed his tablet and turned toward the door.
"How long are you keeping me here?" I called out.
Dr. Keene looked back.
"This evaluation can last five days. Keep fighting it, and five days can become much longer."
The door closed behind him.
The light beside the handle turned red.
I stood alone in the dim room.
Pain tightened low across my abdomen.
I gripped the bedframe and watched the second hand on the clock until it passed.
I stood and crossed the small room twice.
For the last two weeks, walking or drinking water had stopped the false pains.
I finished half the cup Tori had left and waited by the window.
Six minutes later, the pain returned.
It began in my lower back and wrapped around to the front.
Changing position did nothing.
The third came five minutes later.
The gala program had listed Graham's speech for six.
He would be talking about maternal health while I counted the minutes between contractions.
I was in labor.
I pressed the call button.
Tori appeared at the window.
Her eyes went first to my face, then to the clock.
"How far apart?"
"Five minutes."
Tori straightened.
Her hand went to her badge.
Before she opened the door, warmth ran down my legs and reached the floor.
Tori stopped.
I looked straight at her.
Another pressure gathered low in my back and faded before I could decide whether it was fear.
I checked the clock anyway.
Whatever they called me, I was still the only person in the room listening to my body.
"My water just broke."