Читать книгу Bad Moon Rising - Джонатан Мэйберри - Страница 28

Very early Tuesday morning Crow was seated in Val’s guest chair sorting through e-mails on Terry’s laptop, putting out fires for the Festival. Val was reading estate papers her lawyer had brought by, when there was a quick knock on her door and then a very tall woman breezed in. The woman was in her midsixties, with a straight back, a long face set with intelligent gray eyes, and lots of wavy red hair caught up in a sloppy bun. Her hair was threaded with silver, but her face and energy were youthful. She wore a lab coat with a name-plate that read: G. SOMERFIELD, MD—CHIEF OF OBSTETRIC MEDICINE.

“Hello, cupcake!” she said brightly, plucking Val’s chart from the foot of her bed.

“I think she means you,” Weinstock said, touching Val’s shoulder.

“Well, Saul, I certainly don’t refer to you as cupcake,” Somerfield murmured as she scanned the chart. “Not to your face anyway.” She peered over her granny glasses at Crow. “Let me guess…you’re the father?”

“Malcolm Crow,” he said, reaching over the laptop to offer his hand. Somerfield gave him a firm shake with a hand that was bigger than his.

“Gail Somerfield. Call me Gail.”

“So?” Val asked, and the decisive edge that had been in her voice just moments before had softened. She looked scared and Crow took her hand and kissed it.

“Well, if I was our esteemed chief of medicine here”—and she shot Weinstock a look—“I’d lead off with one of his famous ‘I’ve got good news and bad news’ openers, but since I’m not an overpaid bureaucrat who only thinks he’s a doctor…”

“She really loves and respects me,” Weinstock said. “Ask anyone.”

“Ask someone whose paycheck you don’t sign. Hush now, women are talking.” She leaned a hip against the bottom of the bed frame, laid the chart against her chest, and folded her arms over that. “The bottom line is this, Val…your baby is fine.”

Val closed her eye and let out a breath that had been cooking in her lungs since Somerfield walked in; Crow bent over and hugged her and whispered, “Thank God!” in her ear. Weinstock grinned at Somerfield, who gave him a quick wink.

“At some point,” Somerfield said, “I’ll bore with all of the technical details of the tests we’ve run and the results we’ve gotten, but in my judgment the recent trauma you’ve suffered has not adversely affected the developing fetus. You’re a strong woman, Val. Many women would not have come through this as well as you have, especially in light of the other issues. Of course I have to caution you to take it easy for the next few weeks. You have sustained other injuries and your body is dealing with those. You’re not going to have much of a reserve of strength for a while. You need lots of rest and lots of TLC.”

“She’ll get both,” Crow promised.

“See to it, or you’ll answer to me, little fellow.” Ignoring Crow’s crestfallen expression, she added, “I would advise you, however, that you do whatever you can do to avoid physical or emotional stress as much as possible. And, yes, I do know what’s going on and you certainly have my deepest sympathies, but at the risk of sounding harsh, your concerns are now with the living, with new life. By all means do what you have to do for your brother and sister-in-law, but then you need to focus only on getting healthy, staying healthy, and allowing your baby to develop with no further trauma. I can’t stress enough how important this is.” She paused. “Saul tells me that you and Mr. Crow here are recently engaged?”

“Just two weeks ago.”

“Then make that part of your focus. Baby, marriage, health, home. All the stuff you see in Ladies’ Home Journal.”

“I will,” Val said, but Crow thought he heard doubt in her voice.

Taking a risk, Crow said, “Doc…were you being serious earlier about the good news bad news thing? If so…what’s the bad news?”

In perfect deadpan, Somerfield said, “You’re short…your kid might be a runt as well. A sad truth, but there it is.”

“Ouch,” Crow winced.

Val burst out laughing.

Somerfield gave Val a quick hug, winked at Crow, and smiled at Weinstock as she left.

When the door closed, Weinstock beamed at Val. “Did I tell you she was the best?”

“I love her,” Val said.

“Everyone does,” Weinstock agreed. “She’s top of the line, too. She’s from Long Island originally, but did a long stint overseas with Doctors Without Borders and then came here to teach. She’s everything the rest of us quacks aspire to.”

Val wasn’t listening. “My baby is okay,” she said softly, laying her palms flat on her stomach. “That’s one thing those bastards didn’t take from me. Thank God.”

Crow kissed her on the forehead.

A few minutes later he said, “‘Little fellow’? I’m almost five-eight, damn it.”

Val and Weinstock cracked up.

“It’s not that funny,” Crow protested, but he might as well have been talking to himself.