Chapter 4

The drive home was quiet. The heater hummed. June slept in her car seat in the back, her little face peaceful in the streetlight that passed over it, the pink mark on her arm already faded to nothing.

I sat in the passenger seat and watched Eli drive, his hands steady on the wheel, his eyes on the road ahead. He hadn't spoken since we left the house.

"Eli," I said finally.

He didn't answer. He just drove.

"Eli, when did you—" I stopped, tried again. "You never told me about the form."

"I told you I'd handle it."

"You told me you'd talk to her. You didn't tell me you'd get the hospital to REFUSE her." I turned to look at him. "That's not a small thing."

"It's not a small thing that she hit our daughter."

The car went silent. The heater hummed. A stoplight turned red, and Eli stopped, his hands still steady on the wheel.

"I got the message in November," he said finally, his voice low. "The one where she said she was going to lose it. I was on a classified rotation, fifteen-hour days, and I got your sister's message in the middle of the night, and I sat there in the dark and I thought, 'This is the woman my wife grew up with.'" He paused. "So I called the hospital. I talked to the charge nurse on the maternity floor. I told her I had concerns, and I asked what my options were."

"And they REFUSED her."

"They sent me the form. They asked me to fill out the caregiver line, and to list anyone I did not want on the approved roster." He looked at me. "I typed her name in the refused column. They processed it at four in the morning. I signed it."

"You signed it overseas."

"I signed it over satellite uplink. They printed it, stamped it, filed it." He pulled the car into our driveway and cut the engine. "It's legal. It's got a notary stamp."