“No, I’m not. But thanks for caring,” I say, and I start to stand. I’m up. I’m good. I’m better. I feel the bulky bandage that encircles my head. Then I hear a voice.

“I had to do it, Lucy. I had to call Blumenthal and Cilia,” Troy says. We hug like two siblings who haven’t seen each other for years.

“Well, of course you had to call. That’s exactly what I told you to do,” I say.

“No. You specifically said not…” And then he smiles. “You are a lying bitch. Always have been. Always will be.”

“No, buddy. It’s just my compulsion to always be right,” I say. And we hug again.

The medic makes one more attempt with me. “You really should be checked by a doctor, miss.”

“Doctor?” I say. “I’ve seen all the doctors I wanna see today. I’ve got doctors on the ceilings and the floors.”

I look around the crazy, noisy nursery. Pediatric nurses and doctors, probably from the nearest hospitals, are spreading out among the cribs. Infants are being disengaged from tubes and monitors and wires. Infants are being handed from one medical person to another. Some are being rushed out of the room, presumably to emergency stations. Other babies are simply held and patted and soothed and fed and changed.

It’s a mess, but as my mother used to say every Christmas and Thanksgiving, surrounded by her noisy, sloppy relatives, “Yes, it’s a mess. But it’s a joyful mess.”

Then I see Blumenthal approaching me. He’s barking into his cell phone. He’s shooting orders at police officers. He looks stern as he comes near me. But in only a moment I can tell that his anger is all pretend. He tries hard not to melt into someone gentle. But he manages to keep the angry face.

“You did everything wrong. You did exactly what I told you not to do.”

“Yes, that’s true. I guess I’m sorry, but I’m not really sorry,” I say. Then, full of arrogance and sarcasm and peace, I add, “Listen, Detective. You had the right town. Unfortunately, you had the wrong state. But you came close. I just had to step in.”

Then he says, “And everything turned out all right. Thank you. Thank you, Lucy.”

With that, we throw our arms around each other and hug. And it is then that I begin sobbing. Loud. Relentless. Uncontrollable.

“Goddamnit,” I say. “I’m the biggest baby in the room.”

“No, you’re not. You’re the smartest grown-up in this room. And you’re the best person I’ve ever met.”