The ambulance pulled up to the hospital. Tully was pushed aside in their haste to get Kate out of the van and into the bright lights of the hospital. She stood there in the open doorway, watching them take her best friend away. Suddenly she felt the full impact of what was happening.

Women having miscarriages could bleed to death.

“Please, God,” she said, wishing for the first time in her life that she really knew how to pray, “don’t let me lose her.”

She knew it was the wrong prayer, not the one Kate would have wanted. “And take care of her baby.”

It felt like throwing diamonds into a river, praying to this God that had never listened to her. “Katie goes to church every Sunday,” she reminded Him, just in case.

In the small green hospital room that overlooked the parking lot, Kate lay sleeping. Beside her Mrs. M. sat in a molded plastic chair reading a paperback novel. As always, she moved her lips as she read.

Tully came up beside her, touched her shoulder. “I brought you some coffee.” She let her hand rest on Mrs. M.’s shoulder. It had been almost two hours since Kate lost the baby and although Johnny had been called, he was on assignment in Spokane, on the other side of the state.

“I guess it’s a blessing it happened early,” Tully said.

“Four months isn’t early, Tully,” Mrs. Mularkey said quietly. “And people who haven’t had a miscarriage always say that. It was what Bud said to me. Twice.” She looked up. “It never felt like much of a blessing to me. It felt like losing someone I loved. You know about that, don’t you?”

“Thanks,” she said, squeezing Mrs. Mularkey’s shoulder, and then moving closer to the bed. “Now I know what not to say. I just wish I knew what would help.”

Kate opened her eyes and saw them.

Mrs. Mularkey stood up, moved next to the bed, standing shoulder to shoulder with Tully.

“Hey,” Kate whispered. “How long until Johnny—” At her husband’s name, her voice cracked like an egg and she started to shake.

“Did someone say my name?”

Tully spun around.

He stood in the open doorway, carrying a bouquet of flowers that wilted slightly to the left. Everything about him looked disheveled—his unshaven face was a contrasting palette of pale skin and stubbly black beard, his hair was a long, tangled black mess, and his eyes bespoke a bone-deep exhaustion. His Levi’s were torn and dirty, his khaki shirt had more wrinkles than an unmade bed. “I hired a private plane. It’s going to be a hell of a Visa bill.”

He tossed the flowers on a chair and went to his wife. “Hey, baby,” he whispered. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

“It was a boy,” Katie said, bursting into tears, clinging to him.