35
Becoming familiar with the new illness. 1973.
The nurse steered Emilee to Connor’s private room, a small space to the side on the medical ward. Connor sat on the only chair, facing the window. Emilee remained standing next to the bed, the bag over her shoulder, with Caitlynn on the arm in the carry-bag. The nurse formed the rearguard.
“Hello, Connor.” She had to force gaiety into her voice.
He continued staring outside. “Hello, Emilee.”
She would only later learn what blunt affect meant. Dismissing the nurse with a brave smile, she pulled a little bench closer to his chair, not letting go of the carry-bag. She had prayed the child would remain sleeping—now she wasn’t certain. “You want to hold Caitlynn?” she asked anyway.
“If I must.” He held out his arms, like a robot. “Thank you
