“I didn’t really get to see that.”

“They cleaned him off pretty quick, got the worst of it.”

“They took him away so fast.”

Because he was sick, I thought, but didn’t say it. Corabelle turned in to me again, her head on my chest, rising and falling with my every breath.

I knew the doctors were tense about it. They were supposed to let Corabelle hold the baby, but instead they got him cleaned up and into a plastic bed right away. We only got a few minutes with him before they rolled him down to the NICU.

I stayed with her a little while, so she wouldn’t feel deserted, but when her parents came in, I took off down the hall to see when we would get him back. I didn’t know how anything worked. We hadn’t even finished birthing classes when she went into labor. The doctor on call wasn’t ours and said we should probably go to a bigger hospital, but then the baby just started coming.

At first the nurse at the window didn’t want to let me into the NICU. They didn’t know who I was and Finn had Corabelle’s last name taped to his bed. Apparently I was supposed to have some wristband.

Finally one of the nurses recognized me and let me through. I wanted to go over to him right away, but she made me stand at a sink and scrub my hands and arms and even use a little pick under my fingernails before I could go into the area where the beds were.

I couldn’t even see him. He was surrounded by doctors and nurses. When I finally got a glimpse, I could only see his little hat, a stretchy thing with white and blue stripes. He hadn’t cried, I realized. Babies were supposed to cry when they were born.

The nurse who let me in made a space for me in the circle around the plastic crib and tried to explain what they were doing as they attached disks and put something down his throat. But I couldn’t follow her, and I couldn’t stay calm. Finn looked terrible, things stuck to his head and a giant tube taped to his mouth. The sounds of the machine were awful, like a helicopter flying.

The nurse gave me a card with his weight and measurements to take back to Corabelle. Despite my horror at everything, I didn’t want to leave. The NICU was strewn with rocking chairs between the plastic incubators. This row was completely empty, so I sat in one to wait.

I heard a lot of words I didn’t know. I could tell they were worried about oxygen levels and his heart. When several of the doctors moved away and I could see Finn again, terror washed over me. He wasn’t pink like before. He was gray. Was he dying right there?

I jumped up and grabbed one of the nurses in pink scrubs. “This is my son. What is happening to him?”

Another woman, this one with a doctor badge, took my shoulder and pulled me out of the way. Another team arrived and began working frenetically, packing up the machines like they were going to move him. “We’ll have a meeting with you and the baby’s mother shortly.”

“But I’m standing here now!”

She barely even looked at me, checking things off some damn piece of paper. “We are taking him to do some more tests, mainly pictures of his heart and lungs. I can’t give you a conclusive answer to what the baby is facing right now, but I promise you, we will come down and talk to you as soon as we can.”

I wanted to snatch the folder from her. “Finn! His name is Finn! Why are you putting tubes on him?”

“His first Apgar scores were low, at four, and now Finn has dropped to a three.”

“What the hell is that?”

“It’s a measure of the health of a newborn baby. Ten is the highest.” She glanced over at the team, who were now moving the bed out of the room. “Was anything wrong at any of the sonograms?”

I ran my hands through my hair, panic rising fast. “No, he was always healthy, always fine. Until he came early.”

She nodded and flipped through the chart again. “Go see to the mother. We’ll be there soon.” She gave me a smile, like that would be reassuring, and said, “Try not to worry.” Then she tugged her phone out of her pocket, clicked on something, and walked away.

“Her name is Corabelle,” I tried to say, but the doctor was already gone.

I stood rooted to the floor, unable to move. On the other aisle, a few women sat by more plastic beds. One of them looked at me sympathetically, and I couldn’t stand it.

The pink-scrubs nurse came back in. “Mr. Mays? Let’s go back to your room. There isn’t anything you can do for Finn here.”

“How long will he be gone?”

“Probably a while.”

“Is he going to die?”

She led me back to the sliding doors. “We’re going to do everything we can.”

I was kicked out. The hallway morphed into a horrifying wall of mirrors, every room decorated with pink or blue ribbons announcing the birth of happy, healthy babies. Mine could be fighting for his life right now, dying, or dead, and I wouldn’t even know.

I gripped the front of my shirt, so overwhelmed with fear that I thought I was having a heart attack. My chest was tight and I could barely breathe. I leaned against the wall. Corabelle was probably all snug in her bed, happy and waiting for them to bring Finn back. What would I tell her?

My lungs sucked in air and I forced myself to be calm. She was going to need me, and I couldn’t let her down.

Corabelle had known the minute I walked back into her room that something was wrong. “Where’s Finn?”

I sat on the edge of the bed. “They’ve taken him for some tests.”

“What kind of tests?” Corabelle’s dad asked.

“Pictures of his heart and lungs. He’s having some trouble with his oxygen levels, I think.”

“I’m going to go see what is going on,” he said.

“You need some sort of wristband to get into the NICU.” I held up my empty arm.

“I’ll get that taken care of.” He strode from the room.

Maybe they would take him more seriously than a teenage boy. Corabelle was sobbing in a way I’d never seen her do, great heaving gulps.

“Oh, baby,” her mom said, “it’s the hormones. After I had you I cried for hours a day. It’ll get better.”

I wasn’t so sure. The sides of the bed kept me from crawling in next to her like I wanted, so I just perched on the end, my hand on her ankle. “They asked about the sonogram. There wasn’t anything wrong, was there? I don’t remember it.”

“We just had two,” Corabelle said, clutching the tissue her mom handed her. “They didn’t say anything about a problem. They said he was fine.”

The wait was excruciating. Corabelle cried herself to sleep. I moved to a chair in the corner. Her mother sat on the foam sofa that converted to a bed. Her father returned after a while, shaking his head. “I couldn’t get anything out of anybody, other than I can’t see him right now.” He glanced over at me. “I had to tell them you two were married. Otherwise Gavin doesn’t have any part in this. I didn’t know that.”

I swallowed and glanced at Corabelle. She hadn’t been wearing her ring when we left for the hospital, so she didn’t have it now.

Her father sat on the sofa. “We just have to wait.”

Corabelle’s mother buried her face against his shoulder. “I should have been in here when he was born,” she said. “We should have gotten here faster.”

“That wouldn’t have made a difference,” her father said.

“But I would have gotten to see him!” She brought a handkerchief to her nose. “What if something happens?”

“You’ll get to see him.” He put his arm around her, and I envied his ability to pull her close. Corabelle seemed so far away.

A nurse came in and Corabelle’s dad and I both stood up.

“I’m here to check on Mom,” she said.

“What about the baby?” I asked.

She frowned. “He’s in the NICU.”

“They took him out.”

“I’ll see what I can find out.” She wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Corabelle’s arm. As it inflated, Corabelle stirred.

“Where’s Finn?” she asked.

The woman waited for the machine to beep. “I’m going to find out just as soon as we check this.” She placed a gadget in Corabelle’s ear. “You’re looking good. Any pain?”