Free Stay Awake by Dan Chaon Page A

expected,” she said at last.
    Rosalie’s condition was described as
serious but stable
.
    After the surgery, she had been given barbiturates, which put her into a beneficial pharmacologically induced coma. Over the course of several days, she would be slowly weaned from the drugs, and this, it was hoped, would help to reestablish normal blood flow. Her heart was accustomed to beating faster to pump out more blood for the second head, and now it had to learn to pump more slowly. Otherwise, she was likely to have heart failure. In her bassinet in intensive care, you could see the scar that ran along the top of her head, the seam over which skin had been folded over and closed. Zach had not actually seen Rosalie since the operation, but Amber had brought photos for him to look at. One of the pictures had been taken by a photographer for the Associated Press, and had gone out over the wire service to news outlets across the world. It was probably the most flattering of the photographs. In it, Rosalie appeared to be sleeping blissfully, her eyelashes like little feathers.
    The doctors were said to be
cautiously optimistic
. At the same time, they reported to the media, “Rosalie’s survival of the operation was a big achievement in itself.”
    “I’ll just have to take everything one step at a time,” Amber told him as she sat there by his bedside. “Get through one thing and then worry about the next thing. Right? Isn’t that the way life goes?”
    “Yes,” he said. He was elevated into a sitting position, and Amber was spooning small cubes of gelatin into his mouth. Occasionally she would wipe his lip with a napkin. “That’s right,” he said, though he didn’t like it that she said “I” instead of “we.”
    “We’ll get through it,” he said. His voice croaky, tiny. “We’ll …”
    Behind Amber, the nurse poked her head into the room from the doorway and peered in. Checking, he guessed, to see if Amber was still there. He watched as the nurse paused and observed them for a moment, then withdrew.
    “I know that it’s going to be touch-and-go for the next few months,” Amber was saying. “For the next few years, probably. It might be premature to say anything, but I just feel like …”
    “I know,” Zach said. “I know what you mean. I haven’t even had time to think much about my own situation. I imagine I’ll have to start rehab soon, and then I’ll eventually be able to help more, instead of just—”
    “Mmm,” Amber said. Her eyes rested distractedly upon his hand, and he made an effort to flex his fingers. “Mmm,” she said. “Yes, well …”
    “—instead of just lying here.”
    “Everything will be fine,” she said, and gave him a firm, noncommittal stare. “Why can’t it all be fine? I mean, it’s a miracle she lived through the surgery and we should just be grateful for that, and then whatever else happens … we don’t have any control over that.…”
    “Right,” Zach said. “Of course.” He watched as she put the spoon down on the tray, next to the empty gelatin container.
    They were silent. They were both looking forward—momentarily,looking forward very cautiously—thinking about the possibility of life together with a living child. Zach was aware that they were probably considering some of the same images in their minds.
    For example, Rosalie walking for the first time. Rosalie’s uncertain feet, her arms held out, Rosalie wearing one of those bell-shaped dresses that little girls wear. Or, for example, Rosalie starting kindergarten. Her hair would be long enough to cover the scar on her scalp—it wouldn’t even be noticeable—and she would carry a lunch box and backpack and there would be certain cartoon characters that she liked, certain favorite books and songs. She would have her own personality at that point.
    They were still silent. Of course it was bad luck to say any of these things, probably bad luck even to think about them.
    Amber tapped