“I don’t know,” I said. “They won’t say much. I don’t think they know what’s going on.”

“Oh Christ,” Jamie moaned.

“Calm down,” I said. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. It’s under control.”

“But the baby,” Jamie said.

I couldn’t summon a response.

“Come here, man,” he said, and again I was in his arms, and I felt grateful for Jamie, who, for all of his flaws, had no facades.

“How’s Arch?” he asked.

“Not great. And your dad’s a mess.”

“Dad’s here?”

“Do you want to talk to him?”

“Fuck, no.”

“All right,” I said. “Why don’t we go downstairs and get a cup of coffee? God knows, I could use one.”

This was how Arch had first made use of me all those years ago, after all: serving as a distraction for Jamie.

We sat at a small table near a window facing out onto a parking lot a few floors below. I watched the small bodies passing in and out of the light from the lampposts as people came and went, some coming to work, going home, some carrying flowers or balloons. Beyond the reflection: darkness. Inside it: tepid coffee, dirty windows, the loneliness of scattered cars, the shadows of distant trees.

We went back upstairs. Vanessa was still in surgery. Jim stood by the window, perhaps looking out at the same view I’d had in the cafeteria—the same darkness from a different angle. Jamie went to Arch and wrapped his arms around him. Jim left his post, gently pried Jamie away, and led him down the hallway. Arch leaned against the wall, his eyes fixed on the floor, hands stuffed into his pockets.

“What happened?” I said.

“Endometriosis.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s complicated,” he said. “They’re taking her uterus out. She doesn’t know yet. They had to cut her open before they could see what was wrong. What they found—it’s bad. I can’t even describe it.”

His face was a mixture of grief and horror. “I had to give consent,” he said. “She would have died otherwise.”

“I know,” I said. “I know.”

A nurse with a stubble beard, a stringy ponytail, and a pair of round wire-rimmed glasses came through the door.

“Are you ready, Mr. Creigh?” he asked.

Arch nodded.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“To see the baby,” he said.

“Let me come with you.”

“All right.”

We followed the nurse down the hallway to a dimly lit room. There she was, in a basinet, wrapped in a blanket so that only her tiny wrinkled head was visible. Arch peeled the blanket away so that he could see the whole body. He stroked the child’s head gently and bent and kissed it. As he stepped back, his shoulders began to shake. I grasped him and held him there and waited and listened to his choked sobs, and I felt it too.