“Yes.”

“She was crying when you found her, no?”

He enunciated his words in the clipped cadence of those from Africa.

I told him yes, she was crying.

“So she had plenty of oxygen in her little lungs.” Out came a blue-capped needle. “She was fresh from the womb, you know.”

“I know. The cord was still attached.”

“The EMTs tell me that someone didn’t bother to wipe off the amniotic fluid, just pushed her out and dumped her.”

“Now that’s not entirely true,” I balked. “I wiped her face with a sterile napkin.”

“Perhaps they were referring to her body.” He unwrapped a small glass tube. “It is good you found her so soon. Always babies lose weight after birth.”

“Miracles happen.”

He let out a soft laugh. “Sometimes they happen to you.” He stood close to me, peeling back her little pink blanket and exposing a tiny foot. “Has someone found her mother?”

“Not yet, but we will … hopefully.”

The nurse furrowed his brow. “We?”

“Yes, we … I’m a police officer.”

A slight raise of his eyebrow, though he said nothing.

“I see they didn’t tell you the complete story.”

“No, that is true.”

“I was riding solo last night. A busboy flagged down my cruiser when he heard the crying,” I said. “I was thinking about doing a door-to-door search for her mother tomorrow morning before I go back on duty.”

“A dedicated cop.”

I said, “It’s the way I was made.”

“Dedication is good.” He examined the heel, swiped it down with some yellow cleansing liquid, then gave it a quick stick, squeezing it with gloved hands to extract droplets of blood. The infant wrinkled her nose and pouted, but after some gentle rocking, she decided that her best option was to stay asleep.

Silence as the man worked, gathering the blood into a pipette and smearing it onto the slides. When he was done, he placed a bandage on the infant’s heel, then gently tickled the sole of her tiny foot with a gloved hand. She retracted her leg in her sleep, then let it fall loose.

He chuckled. “Good reflexes.”

I smiled. “Well, she didn’t wake up.” I finally screwed up the nerve to make eye contact. “You must indeed have a light touch.”

“I should have been a surgeon.”

“Why didn’t you?”

I winced as soon as the words came out. His topaz eyes went from the infant to me. There was motion behind the mask. I could tell he was smiling.

He said, “I speak in metaphors.”

“Oh …” I felt my face go hot. “That was nosy as well as tactless. Sorry.” I should have kept my mouth shut. Should have known better by now.

He laughed as I got hotter and hotter. “Are you disappointed in me?”

“Disapp— I …” Stupid, stupid, stupid. I kept my voice even. “Just making random conversation.”

His eyes crinkled upward at the corners. “I must take these slides to the lab. You have to put her back now.”