Cohen wakes up.
“Well, look who decided to come back,” his mother says without looking at him.
Come back? At first he thinks she’s talking about coming back from that dark, dank room with Ava and the Beast and the woman in the corner. Was his mother there? But dreams fade quickly, and he finds he can’t remember. Was she in the other corner? Had she gone down with him? Was she in the dream at all?
Kaye sits up straighter in her chair, and it looks like she has been sleeping too. He glances at his father and an ache splits him in half, a gnawing in the pit of his stomach, a deep desire to go back in time and do things differently.
“Anything new?” he asks Kaye.
“No, nothing new,” she replies, looking at the clock on the wall. “Actually, the doctor should be back here soon.” She pulls herself up out of her chair in that ponderous movement only pregnant women make, the simultaneous leaning back and rising.
He moves over and helps her stand. “He doesn’t look good,” he says.
“That’s because he’s dying,” his mother hisses.
“His skin looks grayer,” Cohen says, always looking at Kaye, trying to pretend his mother is not there.
“He’s on his way out,” Kaye says.
“You look absolutely exhausted.”
Kaye smiles, and somehow it makes her look even more tired.
“You should go home,” Cohen says. “Get some sleep. Take a warm bath.”
“Is it that bad?” Kaye jokes.
“You’re always thinking I’m making disparaging comments.”
“Aren’t you?”
He smirks. “Well, all the nurses are complaining about the smell.”
Kaye laughs. “I’m not going home. But I could use a walk. I think I need to stretch my legs. Want to come along?” The way she asks, the way she looks at him, he can tell it’s not a question. It’s a plea.
“Sure, sure. Of course.” He turns to look at their mother. “Think you can handle this assignment?”
She rolls her eyes, grunts, shakes her head as if in disgust that she hadn’t been here to fulfill her role earlier.
“Okay,” he says, looking back at Kaye. “I’m going to assume that series of prehistoric sounds was a yes. Let’s go.”
The hallway is quiet, rustling in the doldrums between the breakfast hours and the beginning of lunch.
“Why’s it so dark around here?” Kaye asks, waddling down the hall.
Cohen laughs. “You sound like Mom.”
Kaye gives him a frown. “I’ll never be that bad.” She stops abruptly, puts one hand on the wall, and leans hard against it. The other hand clutches her stomach. She closes her eyes and breathes forcefully through her nose. After ten or fifteen seconds, she stands up straight, gives Cohen a look that says, “Don’t ask,” and keeps walking.
Cohen disregards the look. “What was that all about?”
Kaye looks at him, and he can see she’s trying to decide whether or not to tell him the truth. “Cohen,” she says, her voice faltering. “Cohen, I think these babies are coming.”
“What?”
“I know. Bad timing, huh?” She laughs nervously.
“Have you called Brent?”
She shrugs. “I don’t want to bother him unless I’m completely sure.”
“But it will take him a few days to get home.”
She nods. “He can’t cut this trip short anyway. It’s too important.”
“Should we talk to your doctor? Let them know what’s going on?”
“I’m going to give it a few hours and see if the contractions keep going. They’ll probably fade. I’m sure they’ll fade. It’s far too early.”
She holds her stomach and winces. They stop walking. She takes a deep breath, sighs, and looks at him apologetically.
“Fading, huh.”
She smiles, forces a small laugh. “I guess so.”
“Listen, Sis, Dad can hold on for you. Okay? I don’t want you risking these babies.”
“I’m not risking anything, Cohen. I’ll be fine. I’m in a hospital.” She says the last sentence with such sisterly reassurance he can hardly bear it.
“Sis.”
“Co.”
They get to the end of the hallway where the wall is mostly glass looking out over the city. Cohen finds it remarkable how green the city looks from that high. The streets are almost all lined with trees, so that when you’re driving you see trees and buildings, but when you’re up at the top of the hospital the high branches of the trees all but cover the city. It’s like a forest with a few buildings poking through.
“It really is a beautiful city,” Kaye says.
“Even more beautiful when Mom’s not in it,” Cohen said in a wry voice.
“It’s nice of you to call her Mom.”
Cohen laughs. “Big sis. Always finding the silver lining.”
“Don’t say anything, okay? About the contractions?”
“I don’t need an excuse not to talk to her.”
“I’ll go to the doctor if they pick up.”
“It’s okay,” he says, putting his arm around her. “It’s all going to be okay. I trust you.”
“Now who’s being the optimist?”
They turn and start walking back toward the room.
“Seriously, though, why’d you have to bring her here?” he asks.
“She deserved to know what was going on.”
“Deserved? I can think of a million things she deserves, and none of them involve being told that her long-ago husband is dying.”
“We don’t all get what we deserve, Cohen.”
He lets that sink in. “You got me there. That was below the belt.”
They walk up to the room and stand outside.
“I’m going down to the cafeteria,” he says. “Would you like something?”
“You’re going to have to talk to her at some point, Co. You can’t pretend she doesn’t exist.”
“Coffee? A cookie? A candy bar for the twins?”
Kaye shakes her head and walks into the room as if the whole world is about to be born from her. He turns to go.
His mother’s voice shouts from the hospital room, abrasive and terse. “I’ll have a coffee. Black.”