Claire rides the elevator to the sixth floor of the hospital. The doors open, and she steps off. She looks around. She moves over to the reception desk, with flowers in her arm.
"Can I help you?" a perky blonde asks her.
"This is the sixth floor isn't it?"
"Yes ma'am. Where are you going?"
"Sorry. I'm supposed to be on the fifth floor. Can you tell me where the stairs are?"
"Right over there," the woman points.
Claire steps away and starts for the stairwell. The doors of the elevator open, and she hears the unmistakable sound of a familiar pair of stiletto heels. Her head turns before she can stop it. She watches as Wilhelmina walks past the reception area, and down the hall. Once Wilhelmina disappears from sight, and Claire can no longer hear her clicking heels she returns to the reception desk. She turns to the blonde sitting before her.
"What's on this floor?" she asks out of curiosity.
"Different things. Mostly oncology, and intensive care."
Claire hands the receptionist the flowers, "Can you make sure that these get to Ted Wilson in room 518?"
"Of course," the receptionist nods.
"Thank you," Claire smiles, and heads down the same hall Wilhelmina had disappeared down moments earlier. As she walks her heart skips a beep. She wonders if Wilhelmina had been lying about being sick. She moves slowly down the hall. She passes rooms, and hears beeping monitors, and tiny voices. She reaches the end of the hall, preparing to turn around. She turns to her right. She looks through heavy glass windows. On the other side of the windows she sees dozens of isolets, and at least twice as many monitors.
What are you doing? She's not down here. This is the pediatric intensive care unit. Maybe it wasn't her. She turns to go, but something stops her. She takes one more look at the solemn room before her. Doctors, nurses, and parents hover around some of the isolets. In the lefthand corner of the room sits a rocking chair. The back of the chair faces the window. She watches as it rocks back and forth. She finds herself frozen, for a reason she can't define. She notices the metallic silver hair barrette in the woman's brown hair.
The glass door opens, and a nurse steps out. "Can I help you?" the woman in green scrubs asks.
"I was looking for someone but..."
"Who are you looking for?"
"Wilhelmina Slater."
The nurse nods in acknowledgment. She turns and points to the back of the room, "She's back there. You can go in if you'd like," the nurse pauses, and hands her some scrubs, "Just put these on, and make sure you wash your hands."
"Ok," Claire nods as the nurse leaves. She slips the smock, and booties on. She quickly washes her hands. She stands over the sink for several moments. Finally she begins moving. She very slowly makes her way to the back of the room. Finally she reaches her destination. She stops less than a foot from the back of the rocking chair. She watches silently.
Wilhelmina rocks back and forth, back and forth, with a tiny baby against her heart. She silently gives him a tender kiss on his head.
Claire watches in utter confusion, without a single word. She surveys her surroundings. On the end of the isolet a blue name card reads Chance. She takes a step closer to the rocking chair, but fights the urge to turn and run, at the very same time.
Without blinking Wilhelmina begins to speak, "How long are you going to stand there?" she questions.
Claire stands frozen, unable to move, or speak.
"Claire," she says softly, yet accusingly, "What are you doing here?"
She takes a deep breath, and tries to find the right words, "I came to visit a friend, but I got off on the wrong floor."
"I saw you at the receptionist's desk. I guessed that your curiosity would get the better of you," she admits.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be here. I don't know what I was doing."
"You're doing your job. I know that you've been wondering where I keep disappearing to."
"I should have just asked you."
"You tried. I would never have told you."
"You could have just lied."
"I wouldn't have been able to, so I just didn't. I just withheld the truth."
"So what are you doing here, if you don't mind me asking?"
"I do mind you asking."
"I'm sorry."
"But, I'll tell you, because I know you won't let it go, until I do."
"Are you volunteering, for publicity, or something?"
"Do you see any cameras?"
"Are you volunteering to repay your debt to society, or clear a guilty conscience?"
"No."
"So what are you doing here?" Claire questions.
"Not volunteering. This is the last place I'd ever volunteer," she admits.
"It's so quiet in here."
"It's the sound of death, most of these babies will never make it out of here."
"What about him?"
"If he's lucky. He was born at thirty one weeks and two days gestation, despite all attempts to keep him in longer, including five weeks of strict bed-rest. His impatience, and other contributing factors are to blame for his early arrival into the world."
"Other contributing factors?"
"Pre-eclampsia."
"Is he ok?"
"He will be, hopefully. He just needs some time. He's been off oxygen for a while, but his feeding tube just came out yesterday, and he's having a hard time keeping anything down."
"He's tiny," Claire comments.
"He's now four pounds one ounce, when he was born he weighed three pounds five ounces."
"How do you know all of this? Why are you here? Does he belong to someone you know?"
"I was here when he was born."
Before Claire can ask for further explanation the baby's eye's flutter open. Claire stares into the baby's big blue eyes. Wilhelmina smiles at the little boy, "Nice to see you," she coos. The little boy yawns, and then places his tiny hand over Wilhelmina's heart.
"What's his name?" Claire questions, already knowing the answer.
"Chance," she replies.
"How much longer will he be here?"
"Three to four weeks, maybe less, it all depends on how well he does."
"So how long will he have been in here, total?"
"Eight or nine weeks."
"When was he born?"
"The tenth of September."