Breathing Lessons (1989 Pulitzer Prize) - Anne Tyler [105]
They rode the rest of the way in silence, and Maggie left them at the hospital entrance and went off to park.
When she located them in Admissions, Fiona was just settling into a wheelchair. "I want my mother-in-law to come with me," she told the nurse.
"Only Daddy can come with you," the nurse said. "Grandma has to stay in the waiting room." Grandma?
"I don't want Daddy, I want Grandma!" Fiona cried, sounding about six years old.
"Here we go now," the nurse said. She wheeled her away. Jesse followed, wearing that hurt, undefended expression Maggie had seen so often lately.
Maggie went to the waiting room, which was the size of a football field. A vast expanse of beige carpeting was broken up by clustered arrangements of beige vinyl couches and chairs. She settled on an empty couch and chose a ruffle-edged magazine from the beige wooden end table. "How to Keep the Zing! in Your Marriage," the first article was called. It instructed her to be unpredictable; greet her husband after work wearing nothing but a black lace apron. Ira would think she had lost her mind. Not to mention Jesse and Fiona and the five enchanted little girls. She wished she had thought to bring her knitting. She wasn't that much of a knitter-her stitches had a way of galloping along for a few inches and then squinching up in tight little puckers, reminding her of a car that bucks and stalls-but lately she had thrown herself into a purple football jersey for the baby. (It was going to be a boy; everybody assumed so, and only boys' names had been considered.) She set the magazine aside and went over to the flank of pay phones that lined one wall. First she dialed the number at home. When no one answered-not even Daisy, who was usually back from school by three-she checked her watch and discovered it was barely two o'clock. She had thought it was much later. She dialed Ira's work number. "Sam's Frame Shop," he answered.
"Ira?" she said. "Guess what-I'm at the hospital." "You are? What's wrong?" "Nothing's wrong. Fiona's having her baby." "Oh," he said. "I thought you'd crashed the car or something." "You want to come wait with me? It's going to be a while yet." "Well, maybe I should go home to watch Daisy," Ira said.
Maggie sighed. "Daisy's at school," she told him. "And anyhow, she hasn't needed watching in years." "You'll want someone to put supper on, though." She gave up on him. (Lord forbid her deathbed should be in a hospital; he would probably not attend it.) She said, "Well, suit yourself, Ira, but I would think you'd want to see your own grandchild." "I'll see him soon enough, won't I?" Ira asked.
Maggie glimpsed Jesse across the waiting room. "I have to go now," she said, and she hung up. "Jesse?" she said, hurrying toward him. "What's the news?" "Everything's fine. Or so they claim." "How's Fiona?" "She's scared," he said, "and I try to calm her down, but those hospital people keep shooing me out. Anytime someone official comes they ask me to leave." So much for modern developments, Maggie thought. Men were still being shielded from everything truly important.
Jesse went back to Fiona but kept Maggie posted, reappearing every half hour or so to speak knowingly of stages and centimeters. "It's going pretty fast now," he said once, and another time, "Many people believe that an eight-months baby is more at risk than a seven-months baby, but that's