have a twenty, Magda?”
“It’s okay, Opah,” Sammy said. “I’ll just stay here.”
“No, you come with me, Shmuli,” Stefan said. “I don’t know what comic book you like. Only the cat who eats lasagna.”
“Garfield,” Cindy said.
“Yes, Garfield. And who is the other? With the tiger?”
“Calvin and Hobbes,” Jake answered.
“Calvin and Hobbes,” Stefan repeated. “You come, too, Yonkel.”
Slowly, the boys got up and walked over to their grandfather’s side. He tousled the boys’ hair above the napes of their necks, careful to avoid knocking off their new leather yarmulkes. Jake leaned into his grandfather’s side, but Sammy kept his distance. Hands in his pockets, eyes cast on the floor. Decker felt the onslaught of parental failure, disgusted that he couldn’t put aside his own nervousness to comfort his son.
“Thanks, Stefan,” Decker said.
Stefan patted Decker’s back softly. “You just like my wife, you worry. You think you hide it, but I can tell. I just talked to God. He tells me she’ll be fine. So relax, nu?”
Decker marveled at how well the old man coped. Was it a skill he picked up because he survived the camps, or did he survive the camps because he had the skill? Decker sometimes wondered how he would have done if he’d been forced to live through the torture. Probably would have fallen apart, if the present was any indication.
“You go down to the gift shop with your opah, boys. I’m going to try to find out what’s going on.”
Marge said, “Let me ask—”
“No, I’ll ask—”
“Pete—”
“Marge, let me handle it my way.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“That’s not neces—”
“C’mon, Pete. Let’s go.”
“Marge, maybe you should stay with Magda.”
“No, you go ahead with her, Akiva.” Magda stood and brushed off her pants. “When Stefan says God say she’ll be okay, she’ll be okay. Cindy and I maybe go see the baby.”
Cindy’s face suddenly became animated. It was wonderful to see her spontaneous burst of joy. It reminded Decker that this was supposed to be a happy occasion. “Can we really see the baby?”
“I don’t know, Cindy.” Magda hooked her arm around Cindy. “We find out.”
“You can’t go behind the double doors,” a middle-aged woman in a white uniform told them. “I’m sorry. Staff only.”
Marge took out her badge. “Police, ma’am.”
The woman backed away. “Oh … okay. I thought …”
Decker didn’t give her a chance to fill in the blank. He took off down the long corridors and didn’t stop until it dawned on him that he didn’t know where he was.
“Is this Maternity, Pete?”
“I don’t know.” He grabbed his head. “God, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I’m freaking myself out.”
“When was the last time you ate?”
“Margie, my stomach feels like vinegar.” He bit on the ends of his mustache. “They took her into a delivery room.”
“We can’t exactly waltz into delivery rooms making inquiries, Pete.”
“That wasn’t my intention, Marge.”
“I know. I didn’t mean to sound snide.” Marge stopped a young kid in scrubs and asked for directions to Maternity. Down the hall to the right.
Decker left without thanking the kid, forcing Marge to trot just to keep up with him. But Decker knew she was smart enough not to say anything about his behavior. The woman had picked up some salient points after working with him for six years. Decker found the set of double doors leading to the labor rooms and went inside. The flooring had gone from carpet to linoleum with geometrical designs, and felt cold under his paper-muled feet. Still gowned up, for all the nurses knew he might have been an expectant father on a coffee break instead of an interloper.
The nurses’ reception area was empty, except for a woman in blue scrubs in the back office talking to someone holding a broomstick—either a janitor or a witch. The corridor was devoid of people, which surprised him. When he’d brought Rina in, the hallway had been well populated. But that was during the daytime. It was almost nine, and most of the ancillary staff went home by five. The nighttime floor nurses must be occupied with women in labor.
Next to the nurses’ station was a lab room, its counters stocked with scopes, slides, and vials. A large industrial sink was mounted on the wall—stainless steel with a deep bowl like the ones at the morgue. The recollection made him shudder. Past the lab, down the hallway began a series of doors leading to the labor rooms. He peeked through one of the windows, feeling a little voyeuristic, and saw a woman, her bloated belly hooked up to machines, face contorted in pain. Through the closed door, he could hear panting, then an agonizing moan.
Stretches of empty pale pink corridor, the smell of antiseptics, hallways echoing feral growls—a real house of horrors. Maybe this was a nightmare. He was going to wake up any minute and find Rina safe, asleep at his side. A tap on his shoulder made him jump, reminded him this was all too real.
Georgina—her eyes on Marge.
“Excuse me, miss, but this is a restricted area.”
“I’m just accompanying Sergeant Decker. He’s wondering what’s going on with his wife.”
“I’ll be happy to help Sergeant Decker,” Georgina said. “Would you like directions out of here? It can be a maze.”
Marge nodded. Georgina directed her down the hallway and told her to follow the Exit signs. They’d lead her back to the lobby. Marge thanked her, threw Decker a sympathetic look, turned, and walked away.
Decker managed a sidelong glance at Georgina, feeling assertive and sheepish at the same time. “I was just wondering …”
Georgina took his arm. “Let’s go talk somewhere else. Hallways aren’t conducive to conversation.”
She took him inside the nurses’ station, giving him a seat at the front desk. The woman in the blue scrubs and the woman with the broomstick were still deep in conversation. There was a series of numbered monitors against the back wall, each one making audible beeps at different tempos. At least the pitch was the same. Hanging on the right wall was a blackboard with the labor rooms’ numbers, the name of the patient, doctor, and any specifics. Decker found Rina’s number. After her name was delivered, then the letters or along with the names of three doctors.
“She’s still in the operating room?” Decker
