Rose is in the hospital. This is not unusual; she seems to require a brief stay there every few months in order to keep her diabetes under control. So I’ve changed my usual schedule and have come to see Grace first. She’s distracted—avoiding eye contact, fidgeting, not really answering the routine questions I ask about her and her baby. At first, I think the change in schedule has thrown her off. But it’s more than that. After I put her chart in my bag, I sit on her bed and say quietly, “What’s up, Grace?”

She lays Kurt in his daybed, gently pulls his tiny T-shirt down to cover his belly. Then she sits on the bed beside me. “I been talking to my mom about giving him up.”

I try not to let my surprise show. “Oh?”

“Yeah. I bet he could get adopted by somebody who’d take real good care of him.”

“I supppose that’s true.”

“It’s the best thing for him. I don’t have much prospects.”

“Well, Grace, you’re only fifteen. A lot can happen.”

“Do you think I should keep him?”

I look at Kurt, his clear eyes, his pink cheeks, his reddish whorls of hair. Grace has been wonderful with him. But it’s difficult to suggest that raising a child is the best thing for a fifteen-year-old to do.

Finally, I say, “I guess I’m a little surprised that this has come up. I thought you’d decided definitely to keep him.”

“I had. But me and my mom were talking the other day, and she …” Grace pushes her face into her hands and starts to cry. “You don’t know. I’m trying so hard.”

“Oh, Grace, I do know, I do know how hard you’re trying. And you’re doing a great job.”

“I just love him so much. And I don’t want to wreck him.” She reaches around me for the Kleenex box on her night table, wipes at her nose. “I know that somebody else could give him so many more things, too.”

“More material things, perhaps.”

“What do you mean?”

“More clothes, more toys …”

“Yeah. Schools.” She reaches toward him, starts to stroke the top of his head, then stops. “And … Well, this is it. I mean, it’s at the now-or-never stage. At this point, he’s still young enough …” She looks at me. Swallows.

“It’s your decision, Grace.”