He looked at his watch once more, then went back to the window, his fingers tapping against his pocket.
“The wind is picking up,” he said. “It will make the concrete dry too fast if they don’t cover it.”
“The crew knows what to do,” I said.
He did not answer, his gaze fixed on the darkness outside.
By six o’clock, the sky through the glass had turned the color of wet slate, the first light of dawn showing the gray outlines of the maples in the hospital courtyard. Nurse Rachel came in carrying a fresh bag of fluids, her silver pen clicking against her metal clipboard as she checked the digital monitor beside my head.
“Contractions are six minutes apart, Elena,” Rachel said, using her formal medical terminology. “We are making steady progress here, but your blood pressure is slightly elevated from yesterday.”
“I am fine,” I said. “Just tired.”
“We will monitor the fetal heart rate closely,” Rachel said, writing a note on her board. “Your husband should try to get some coffee from the lounge.”
The door swung open, and Aaron walked back in from the hallway before Rachel could finish her sentence. He was carrying a small, unpainted wooden toy train, its wheels squeaking slightly as he turned it over in his hands.
“I found this in the glove box,” he said, setting it on the bedside table beside my plastic water pitcher. “My father carved it for me when I was six. I want it in the room.”
“It is covered in dust, Aaron,” I said, brushing a stray lock of hair behind my right ear as he stood looking at the simple wooden toy.
“It is sturdy,” Aaron said. “He used ash wood. It doesn’t split when you drop it.”
Nurse Rachel adjusted the blue plastic tubing on my arm, her face neutral as she worked.
