Marie’s already awake when we enter her
room—Conlan rests against her chest and she brushes the hair back
from his brow, runs her fingers through the long, dark waves. She
smiles at us and in a low whisper tells Shanley, “The baby’s
quieted down a lot since you left.”
“That’s to be expected,” Shanley
assures her. He sets up the ultrasound again but when he goes to
pull up her shirt, Conlan is in the way. “Can you move him over a
bit?”
“I’m up,” Conlan replies, groggy.
Sitting up, he stretches until I’m sure his arms will reach the
wall behind him, his shirt pulling up to expose smooth, pale flesh
and hip bones that poke against his pants at odd angles. That kid’s
nothing but bones. A night with him and Marie probably comes away
bruised and sore.
Now when Shanley points out M
