MACEY TOOK A SIP OF HER COFFEE—COLD AGAIN, PER USUAL—AND REVIEWED the information she’d entered on her laptop. Their newest patient, one-week-old Emmett James Ellison, weighing in at eight pounds, five ounces and measuring twenty-two inches, had just left with his parents. Little Emmett had arrived promptly on his due date, October twenty-third, and everything about him was perfect—from his wispy blond hair, dark blue eyes, and rosy cheeks to his chubby legs and ten tiny toes. The stub of his umbilical cord had already fallen off. His stool had normalized after passing the meconium, and was now breast-milk-fed yellow. His mom, Cassie, had wearily, but happily, reported that he woke up every two hours, like clockwork, with a feisty cry and nursed hungrily. And his dad, Edward, had cradled his new little son in his arms with the confident ease of someone who had a lot of experience holding babies and reported that all was well in the Ellison household: Emmett, their fourth son, had been joyfully received by his brothers, two-year-old Evan, three-year-old Ethan, and five-year-old Ed junior. “We’re truly blessed!” he’d gushed, smiling proudly.
“You are indeed,” Macey had agreed, mustering a smile. “I’ve always loved the name Emmett,” she’d added. “It was my grandfather’s name.”
“It’s a great name,” Edward had said, nodding. “Old names are making a comeback. When we were trying to decide, Cassie liked Emmett, and I liked Elijah, and even though Emmett won out this time . . . next time,” he said, smiling at his wife, “it’s going to be Elijah.”
Macey had reached for the doorknob. “Well, he looks great,” she’d said, maintaining her smile. “Congratulations, again. Dr. Hack will be right in.” She’d closed the door behind her and leaned against it.
“Why?” she’d muttered, clenching her jaw. “Why are some couples blessed with whole tribes and I can’t have even one?”
She took another sip of her coffee, closed Emmett’s computer file, and watched the screensaver playing on her laptop—it was the same one all the computers in the office had: a slideshow of their cute, young patients. Most of the photos had come from Christmas cards, so whenever Macey looked at them, it made her heart ache—would she ever get to create a card with her own child on it? As if on cue, a photo of the three Ellison brothers, sitting on a beach blanket with their yellow Lab, appeared, and Macey pressed her lips together in a sad smile—Cassie was probably already planning this year’s card, an image of little Emmett surrounded by his beautiful, beaming, towheaded brothers.
“Life’s not fair,” she muttered. The Ellisons had talked so casually about the name they’d picked for their next son, as if it was a given—which it probably was. Cassie got pregnant at the drop of a hat, had easy pregnancies, and popped out healthy, bouncing baby boys, one after another, with no complications whatsoever, while Macey tiptoed through her first month, barely breathing lest she jeopardize the fragile pregnancy . . . and even that didn’t work!
She tried to picture Ben holding a baby with the same confident ease Edward Ellison had, but she could only see him looking awkward and unsure, as if he was worried he might drop it, and then she chided herself for not being able to conjure up a more positive image. She’d been telling herself for months she needed to think more positively. She’d read several books on the topic, and they all said that the thoughts a person sends out into the universe—negative or positive—played a role in how things turned out.
“Oh, Grandy,” she whispered, looking up at the ceiling. “What am I doing wrong? Why can’t I get out of this rut?” She pictured her grandmother’s gentle smile.
Oh, honey, she could almost hear her grandmother say, you are thinking too much! You just need to get out there and do! Do what your heart is telling you! Your head certainly has some say in the matter, but when you feel your heart being nudged, you can be sure you need to perk up and pay attention.
“Hey, Mace,” Heather said, interrupting her thoughts as she looked around the doorway. “I’m making a coffee run . . . want anything?”
“I’d love a fresh cup,” Macey said, looking up. “I’ve nuked this one at least ten times.”
Heather smiled. “Black, right?”
Macey nodded, and Heather turned to go but then stopped. “I keep meaning to ask you if you’re still planning to dress up tomorrow?”
“Oh my gosh! Is tomorrow Halloween?” Macey asked as she glanced at the calendar next to her desk.
“It is, and remember, we’re all dressing like Peanuts characters.”
“That’s right. Do you happen to remember who I said I’d be?”
“You picked Charlie Brown because, and I quote, I know just how he feels.”
“Yep, that’s me! I’ll figure something out by tomorrow. Who are you going to be?”
Heather held her palm to the bottom of her hair and pushed it up stylishly. “I’m going to be Lucy,” she said with an air of drama.
“Perfect,” Macey teased. “Don’t forget your football!”
Just then, Marilyn came into the room to get a file. “Hey, did you guys hear there’s an amber alert out for that little girl with the heart condition—the one Cora brought in for a follow-up?”
Macey looked up in alarm. “Harper?”
“Yes,” Marilyn confirmed, nodding.
“Oh no!”
“Yeah, and they’re not only worried because she’s missing, but they also don’t know if she ran away or if someone took her.”
“Do we have Cora’s number?” said Macey, flipping open her laptop.
“Yes,” Heather said. “Just look under Harper’s name.” Macey typed in Wheaton, and immediately, Harper’s file popped up. She reached for the phone.
“Find it?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“Okay, I’ll be right back.”
Macey nodded as she listened to the phone on the other end go right to Cora’s voice mail.