It had been my grandmother’s name, though my grandmother spelled it Norah and corrected people with the kind of crispness that made children sit straighter. When Roz asked if I was sure, I nodded and kissed my daughter’s damp hair.
“She gets something solid,” I said.
Roz looked down at the baby in my arms, and for once the sarcasm dropped completely out of her face.
“Yeah,” she said softly. “She does.”
I slept maybe ninety minutes in broken pieces after delivery. When I woke, the room had gone that strange pre-dawn blue and Roz was in the chair by the window, holding Nora like she had been born knowing exactly how.
“She has your nose,” she whispered.
“Poor kid.”
“Your nose is fine. Your taste in men was the problem.”
That time I smiled without effort.
Nathan was notified through Gerald’s office the next morning. Healthy baby. Healthy mother. Limited hospital visit available during a set window.
He showed up at 1:58 p.m. carrying a stuffed rabbit in a gift bag so expensive it looked embarrassed to be in a hospital room.
He knocked before coming in.