Bernadette rolled over in bed. According to the glow-in-the-dark hands on her alarm clock it was quarter after four in the morning. She could hear her dad shuffling around the kitchen; smell his cigarette. She traced her finger across the wooden slats of the top bunk. The clock ticked loudly, but Frankie’s breathing was deep. It made Bernie want to be little again and free of worry, like her sister.
Bernadette placed her hand on her tummy, above her uterus, above the fruit of her womb.
“Hello,” she whispered.
Yesterday afternoon she’d gone to Dr. Cooper. It wasn’t as if she didn’t already know; she just needed him to tell her how long she had. After he examined her, Dr. Cooper told her she could expect to deliver a baby early in February.
He asked her what she planned to do. Bernade
