Bently smiled, the expression floating onto her face like a leaf on still water. She didn't think of Summer until they brought the IV tray over, its wheels whispering across the floor. Then she wanted to know what they were going to eat for dinner. She hoped the doctors would let them go to the beach for a picnic. She could picture it so clearly-the checkered blanket, the wicker basket, the way
Summer would squint against the sun and laugh that laugh that sounded like bells.
"Vera," the nurse said, touching her own chest with a warm, maternal gesture. "That's me. And you can have whatever you want for that picnic, my love. Strawberry shortcake. Little sandwiches with the crusts cut off. Soon as we start this medicine for the baby, just to make sure the little one can handle the withdraw
