Bellson put her hands on her hips and shook her head again. Cindy jogged down the corridor and gave her father a bear hug.

“Rina’s okay?”

Decker linked arms with his daughter. “She’s out of surgery. Sammy gave her a pint of blood, God bless him.”

“But everything’s okay?”

“Not out of the woods yet, but I feel a lot better than I did an hour ago.”

“You look beat, Dad. You need rest.”

Decker knew she was right, but that was immaterial. He wasn’t going anywhere until he saw Rina. “Are you our personal escort?”

“Absolutely, if Bellson doesn’t kick us out. She just told me to leave.” Cindy frowned. “Here comes the Wicked Witch of the West now.”

A thin woman in white approached them. She had surface wrinkles trailing down the corners of her eyes and mouth and a set of wavy lines across her forehead—the kind of wrinkles that usually come from overtanning, except this woman held a proper Victorian pallor. Her hair was clean, but the color was dingy—pipewater from old plumbing. Her eyes were her saving grace—Kelly green sprinkled with coffee brown. They were clear and perceptive. She wasn’t pretty, but she managed to strike an attractive pose. Decker put her age at around forty. She held out her hand, and Decker took it.

“How is your wife, Mr. Decker?” Bellson asked.

“She’s still in Recovery.”

The RN nodded. “We’ve got the best post-op care in the country. So try not to worry. I’ll let you folks take a quick peek at the baby before I boot you out. Not my idea, but the babies are being transferred from the nurseries to their mothers for the ten o’clock feeding. We don’t like outside people in the wings while we’re wheeling them down the foyers. Who knows what kind of bugs they’re harboring.”

Magda said, “We be quick.”

“Come.” Bellson’s walk was brisk. “You’re the grandma? You look too young.” She stopped at the glass window. “She’s all the way in back. I’ll put her in front for you.”