asked, mimicking his clandestine, curious voice. It was a handicap for me that this guy was so observant.
“Did you lie to me about having a brother?”
I looked at him, shocked. “No!”
“Take it easy,” he murmured. “It wasn’t an unreasonable question given everything that’s happened.”
And he was right. He had no reason to trust me, based on what he knew of me: that I had deliberately hurt myself, that I’d broken the curfew law, that I’d eavesdropped on his conversation about the minister’s baby, that I was forcing him to protect himself and his mother by compromising his own apprenticeship.
I was something of a shit myself, it turned out.
I said grudgingly, “Ciel and I don’t get along anymore. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see his baby.” This last part was a lie, of course. It was Poppu who needed to know the baby; I didn’t really care one way or the other about her. “What’s going on between us sucks, and I don’t want to talk about it.” That was the truth.
He was quiet. No chafing, no lectures.
“Will your brother have used your last name?” he finally said, searching the name tags on the bassinets.
“I think so.”
“Let’s see.” He pretended to ponder. “Was that Lecore, or Le Coeur?” He pronounced it the correct, French way the second time.
“There she is,” I said, pointing to a bassinet. “Baby Girl Le Coeur.” My voice cracked as I said it. My throat was hot, and I felt a sting of tears. It must have been because I wouldn’t have to deal with Ciel after all. I hadn’t realized how anxious I’d been until that moment.
Day Boy assumed it was the emotion of seeing the baby. “You’re determined to hold her.”
I nodded with that vulnerability I had mastered in the cell.
The female nurse began to wheel one of the bassinets to the door. Day Boy took advantage of the opportunity and moved to greet her.
“Hi,” he said as she opened the door. He held up his ID and smiled, I had to admit it, disarmingly. “Could we step in for just a second? This young woman would like to catch a glimpse of her niece before curfew.”
It was the first time I had ever been described as a young woman rather than a hooligan, and the first time anyone had passed me off as Day. In fact, I felt more Night than ever—strung out and hollow.
“I’m sorry, visiting hours are over.”
“I know, but she only missed the cutoff by a few minutes, and she has a bit of a drive ahead of her before dusk; she’s cutting it too close as it is.”
It was the most humane lie I’d ever heard. I spoke up, fortified by his generosity. “Oh, please? Tomorrow I leave for college. The next time I see her she’ll be walking.”
The woman pursed her lips, debating with herself. Then she smiled at me. “Just a quick peek.” And to Day Boy she said, “You’ll both wash your hands and put on your masks, right?” She pushed the bassinet out the door and let us walk in.
One nurse down, one to go. I had to admit that having Day Boy with me—an official employee of the hospital—was a boon. I’d lose a lot of cred when I managed to ditch him.
We washed our hands side by side at the sink. Or rather, Day Boy washed his hands, and I did the best I could on my left hand and the four good fingers of my right.
“College?” Day Boy said softly, a gleam in his eye. “Almost no one goes to college anymore.”
“ I’m going to college,” I said, low enough that the male nurse wouldn’t hear me. “Dwight Correctional University.”
He laughed; a real laugh, not a cynical huff, not a snort through the nose. It came from his belly, the way Ciel’s did. God, I missed the old Ciel.
“Now hurry up,” he said, as we dried our hands and lifted our masks on.
I scooped up the baby as gently as I could. I had no idea how to hold an infant, but it was surprisingly easy with her swaddled so tightly in the blanket. Even her neck seemed to be supported by the wrapping. Only her face
“Did you lie to me about having a brother?”
I looked at him, shocked. “No!”
“Take it easy,” he murmured. “It wasn’t an unreasonable question given everything that’s happened.”
And he was right. He had no reason to trust me, based on what he knew of me: that I had deliberately hurt myself, that I’d broken the curfew law, that I’d eavesdropped on his conversation about the minister’s baby, that I was forcing him to protect himself and his mother by compromising his own apprenticeship.
I was something of a shit myself, it turned out.
I said grudgingly, “Ciel and I don’t get along anymore. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see his baby.” This last part was a lie, of course. It was Poppu who needed to know the baby; I didn’t really care one way or the other about her. “What’s going on between us sucks, and I don’t want to talk about it.” That was the truth.
He was quiet. No chafing, no lectures.
“Will your brother have used your last name?” he finally said, searching the name tags on the bassinets.
“I think so.”
“Let’s see.” He pretended to ponder. “Was that Lecore, or Le Coeur?” He pronounced it the correct, French way the second time.
“There she is,” I said, pointing to a bassinet. “Baby Girl Le Coeur.” My voice cracked as I said it. My throat was hot, and I felt a sting of tears. It must have been because I wouldn’t have to deal with Ciel after all. I hadn’t realized how anxious I’d been until that moment.
Day Boy assumed it was the emotion of seeing the baby. “You’re determined to hold her.”
I nodded with that vulnerability I had mastered in the cell.
The female nurse began to wheel one of the bassinets to the door. Day Boy took advantage of the opportunity and moved to greet her.
“Hi,” he said as she opened the door. He held up his ID and smiled, I had to admit it, disarmingly. “Could we step in for just a second? This young woman would like to catch a glimpse of her niece before curfew.”
It was the first time I had ever been described as a young woman rather than a hooligan, and the first time anyone had passed me off as Day. In fact, I felt more Night than ever—strung out and hollow.
“I’m sorry, visiting hours are over.”
“I know, but she only missed the cutoff by a few minutes, and she has a bit of a drive ahead of her before dusk; she’s cutting it too close as it is.”
It was the most humane lie I’d ever heard. I spoke up, fortified by his generosity. “Oh, please? Tomorrow I leave for college. The next time I see her she’ll be walking.”
The woman pursed her lips, debating with herself. Then she smiled at me. “Just a quick peek.” And to Day Boy she said, “You’ll both wash your hands and put on your masks, right?” She pushed the bassinet out the door and let us walk in.
One nurse down, one to go. I had to admit that having Day Boy with me—an official employee of the hospital—was a boon. I’d lose a lot of cred when I managed to ditch him.
We washed our hands side by side at the sink. Or rather, Day Boy washed his hands, and I did the best I could on my left hand and the four good fingers of my right.
“College?” Day Boy said softly, a gleam in his eye. “Almost no one goes to college anymore.”
“ I’m going to college,” I said, low enough that the male nurse wouldn’t hear me. “Dwight Correctional University.”
He laughed; a real laugh, not a cynical huff, not a snort through the nose. It came from his belly, the way Ciel’s did. God, I missed the old Ciel.
“Now hurry up,” he said, as we dried our hands and lifted our masks on.
I scooped up the baby as gently as I could. I had no idea how to hold an infant, but it was surprisingly easy with her swaddled so tightly in the blanket. Even her neck seemed to be supported by the wrapping. Only her face
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