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Nothing happened.
“Has it been dead awhile?” the boy asked. “Sometimes it takes a few minutes.”
Georgie waited a few minutes.
She plugged and unplugged it at both ends. She pushed the two buttons.
A tear fell onto the screen. (Hers, obviously.)
“Do you want to use my phone?” the boy asked.
“No, that’s okay,” Georgie said. “Thanks.” She unplugged her phone and stood up, rocking backwards awkwardly once she was on her feet. She turned away. Then back. “Actually, uh, yeah. Could I use your phone?”
“Sure.” He held it up to her.
Georgie took the phone and dialed Neal’s cell phone number. “We’re sorry. This mailbox is . . . full.” She gave the kid back his phone. “Thanks.”
Her spot on the wall, by the little girls, was gone. A woman was sitting there now with her toddler.
Georgie checked the sign over the desk again. Still delayed. One of the other flights had been canceled. She walked away from the gate and dropped her phone in the trash.
Then she thought better of it and reached into the trash can to get it back. (It was right on top.) (Airport trash is relatively clean.) An older man wearing a big puffy jacket watched her. She tried to wave her phone around, so that he wouldn’t think she was digging for food.
Then she shoved it in her pocket and walked over to the people mover. She rode it as far as she could in one direction, then came all the way back, then got on again.
Just because Georgie couldn’t see the photos of her kids on her phone didn’t mean that the photos weren’t still there.
Just because she couldn’t see the photos of her kids on her phone didn’t mean that her kids weren’t still there.
Somewhere.
Noomi’s bed with a dozen stuffed kitties. Alice’s paper dolls. Noomi chewing on her pigtail, Neal pulling it out of her mouth. Noomi chewing on her other pigtail, Neal tying her pigtails in a knot on top of her head.
Neal in the kitchen. Neal making hot chocolate. Neal making Thanksgiving di
If Georgie could just look at her photos, she’d feel better.
If she just had a little proof—not that she needed proof—but if she could just have a little proof that they were still there. She rubbed her naked ring finger. She emptied her pockets for signs of life: All she had was a credit card and a driver’s license, both in her maiden name.
It got darker in the airport.
Airports are always dark at night, and this one was even darker with all the sleeping storefronts and the snow. Georgie could still hear the wind, even though she was nowhere near the windows now. The whole building keened with it.
At some point, she stepped off the people mover. The ground was too still beneath her, and she staggered. When she recovered her bearings, she went to the nearest bathroom and stood in front of the full-length mirror.
As soon as the room was mostly empty, she lifted up her T-shirt and ran her hand along the stretch marks and the ropy scar under her belly.
Still there.
CHAPTER 33
Georgie knew something was wrong because she’d been through this once before, and that time, the baby had come right out.
With Alice, there’d been an incision, then a slippery pull—like someone had just hooked a wide-mouthed bass and yanked it out of Georgie’s guts. Then a nurse had rushed away with the baby, Georgie thanking God for the screams.
The slow part, after Alice, had been putting Georgie back together again. Neal told her that the doctors actually took out her uterus and set it in on her stomach, then poked around inside her abdomen to make sure everything checked out.
Neal had been sitting right next to her that day, when Alice was born.
He was sitting right next to her now. Georgie’s hands were strapped to her side, and he was holding one.
Georgie knew something was wrong this time because the incision happened, and she felt the pressure of the doctor’s hands inside her—but then there was no baby. There was no rush of movement. The nurse who was supposed take the baby away stood tensely behind the doctor (and the intern and the two medical students), empty-handed.
Georgie knew that something was wrong because of the tension in Neal’s jaw. Because of the way he was watching everyone.
She felt more pressure inside—more hands, more than just two.
The anesthesiologist kept talking to her in a low murmur. “You’re doing just fine, Mom. You’re doing great.” Like it took special talent to lie still on the table. (Maybe it did.) She was poking Georgie’s chest with a toothpick. “Can you feel this?” Yes. “Can you feel this?” No. “It might feel like you can’t breathe,” the anesthesiologist said, “but you can. Just keep breathing, Mom.”
They were all talking now, doctors and nurses; everything that came out of their mouths was numbers. The table suddenly ratcheted upwards, so that Georgie was lying at a mild incline, her head toward the floor.
This isn’t good, she thought calmly, looking up at the lights.
It seemed smart to stay calm in this situation, with her body wide open, her blood pumping who knows where. She could see someone’s arm reflected in the light fixture above her—the sleeve was red.
Then Neal squeezed Georgie’s hand.
He’d turned away from the doctors and the place where the baby was supposed to be, and was hovering over Georgie’s shoulder. His jaw was tense, but his eyes were fierce and open.
Maybe this was why Neal always had his guard up. His eyes, unguarded, could burn tu
Georgie kept breathing. In, out. In, out. “You’re doing great, Mom,” the anesthesiologist hummed. Georgie knew she was lying.
Neal’s eyes were pouring fire on her. If he always looked at Georgie like this, it’d be uncomfortable. If he always looked at her like this, maybe she’d never look away.
But she’d never doubt that he loved her.
How could she ever doubt that he loved her?
Neal was saying good-bye to her with that look. He was begging her to stay. He was telling her that she was doing just fine—just keep breathing, Georgie.
How could she ever doubt that he loved her? When loving her was what he did better than all the things he did beautifully.
The anesthesiologist pushed a plastic mask onto Georgie’s mouth. Georgie didn’t look away from Neal.
When she woke up, later that night, in a recovery room, she realized that she hadn’t expected to.
There was a hospital bassinet pulled close to her bed, and Neal was asleep in the chair.
CHAPTER 34
The airport had brought out cots and laid them out in the hallway between gates. It looked like an army field hospital.
Georgie didn’t feel like she could sleep in front of strangers like that—or at all, tonight. Though she wished she had a blanket. . . . If any of the airport stores were open, she’d buy one of the giant blue and orange Broncos sweatshirts in the window displays.
People were sleeping around her, too, in chairs, and against the wall. They slept with their heads on their purses and their hands on their carry-ons. Like they were worried about pickpockets. Georgie wasn’t worried about pickpockets; she had nothing to steal.
It must be late. Or early. Georgie’d lost track of time completely—she kept checking her dead phone out of habit. The airport hadn’t dimmed the lights, but it was still too dark to read without a book light. The wind seemed to be pushing the darkness into the terminal.