Morgan's Passing - Anne Tyler [7]
“I see,” said the doctor, nodding. He appeared to be enjoying this. The disorderly beard flew up and down, and the pom-pom on his ski cap bobbed.
“We’ve planned out every detail,” Emily said. “We didn’t buy a crib because cribs are extraneous. We’re using a cardboard box for now, with padding on the insides.”
“Oh, wonderful,” said the doctor, looking delighted.
“When she gets too big for the box, we’ll order this aluminum youth-bed rail we happened to see in a catalog. You can fit it onto any mattress. What’s the point in all that equipment—cribs and strollers and Bathinettes? Besides, the youth-bed rail will even work in hotels and other people’s apartments. It travels well.”
“Travels, yes,” the doctor echoed, and he clamped his hands between his knees, leaning with the ambulance as it sped around a curve.
“But we’re not … I mean, it’s only that we travel to give shows sometimes. There’ll be someone wanting ‘Snow White’ or ‘Cinderella’ somewhere outside the city. But we’re almost always home by night. We’re never shiftless. You have the wrong idea.”
“Did I say you were shiftless?” the doctor asked. He looked over at Leon. “Did I?”
Leon shrugged.
“We’ve thought of everything,” Emily said.
“Yes, I see you have,” the doctor said gently.
Leon cleared his throat. “By the way,” he said, “we haven’t discussed your fee.”
“Fee?”
“For your services.”
“Oh, emergency services aren’t charged for,” the doctor said. “Don’t you know that?”
“No,” said Leon.
He and the doctor seemed to be trying to stare each other down. Leon lifted his chin even higher. The light caught his cheekbones. He was one of those people who appear to be continually ready to take offense—jaw fixed, shoulders tight. “I’m not accepting this for free,” he said.
“Who says it’s free?” the doctor asked. “I expect you to name your baby for me.” He laughed—a wheeze that ruffled his beard.
“What’s your name?” Emily asked him.
“Morgan,” said the doctor.
There was a silence.
“Gower Morgan,” he said.
Emily said, “Maybe we could use the initials.”
“I was only joking,” the doctor told her. “Didn’t you know I was joking?” He fumbled for his Camels and shook one out of the pack. “It was meant to be a joke,” he said.
“About the fee,” said Leon.
The doctor took his cigarette from his mouth and peered at the sign on the oxygen tank. “The fact is,” he said, replacing the cigarette in its pack, “I had nothing better to do today. My wife and daughters have gone to a wedding; my wife’s brother is getting married again.” He clutched Leon’s shoulder as they turned a corner. The ambulance was rolling up a driveway now. They passed a sign reading EMERGENCY ONLY.
“My daughters are growing up,” the doctor said, “doing womanly things with their mother, leaving their father out in the cold. Each one when she was born seemed so new; I had such hopes; I was so sure we’d make no mistakes. Enjoy this one while you can,” he told Leon. The baby started and clutched two bits of air.
“I had sort of thought she would be a boy,” Leon said.
“Oh, Leon!” said Emily, drawing the baby closer.
“Boys, well,” the doctor said. “We tried for a boy for years, ourselves. But you can always hope for next time.”
“We can only afford the one,” said Leon.
“One? One child,” the doctor said. He fell into thought. “Yes, well, why not? There’s a certain … compactness to it. Very streamlined. Very basic,” he said.
“It’s a matter of money,” Leon said.
The ambulance bounced to a stop. The attendants flew out their front doors and around to the back, letting in the din of a gigantic, sooty machine just outside the emergency room, and the smell of hot laundry water and auto exhausts and wilted cafeteria food. They grabbed Emily’s stretcher and rushed away with it, wheels shrieking. Leon and