He shook his head in
disappointment and went to his daughter's side.
"I'm so sorry," Peter said to Mrs. Green.
"To say the least," she said, joining her husband and daughter.
Peter exited the room carrying the knapsack. From the hallway he
took one last look at Ivy and her parents before the door closed,
shutting out the image huddled behind it. He was dazed by the
events of the last forty-eight hours. He slowly made his way down
the corridor, turning once to look back at the closed door to her
room. The first thought to surface through his haze of emotions
was of the baby. He had promised these people that he would care
for her.
He paused before the nurses' station and asked how to reach the
neonatal care unit. He tramped down the corridor, rounded the
corner, and pushed through a set of swinging double doors. To the
nurse sitting at a small desk, he said, "Pardon me, which baby is
the Jones-Green baby? I'm her father."
The nurse led him into a clean room and instructed him to put on
a sterile gown and a face mask. He followed her orders in
silence. Dressed in the sanitary outfit, he followed the nurse
into a room containing a row of clear plastic bubble-like
incubators, one of which held his baby's fragile baby. It was a
strange setting, surreal, like something out of a science fiction
film.
Pages:
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350