ELIOT

Just as you walk in the hospital, there is a waiting room. That was the worst. I hadn’t been back to the hospital since Griff died, and what I remembered the most was that empty, boring waiting room. The blue and red striped sofa was still there. That was where I sat, not sleeping or eating or speaking or anything while Griff slipped away from us. The red blankets, the smell of burned coffee, the complaints of relatives who just wanted a smoke but had to go outside–it all felt familiar. And awful.

I was glad we rushed past to the elevators and pushed the button for the Labor and Delivery floor. Getting on, a man got off; I turned and watched him until the elevator doors closed. Then, I tugged at Marj’s arm. “I think that man was Ted Payne. I’ve seen his picture on the baby blog.”

She whirled around and stared at the closed elevator doors. “We’ll just ask what room the Paynes are in and see if we can talk to Mrs. Payne.”

But on the Labor and Delivery floor, we both stopped, awed at the sight of all the babies you could see through the nursery windows.