"Your first one?" the man asked.
"It's my sister," Carella said.
"Oh," the man said. "It's my first one."
"It'll be all right, don't worry," Carella said. "This is a good hospital."
"Yeah," the man said.
"My twins were born here," Carella said.
"Yeah," the man said.
All those years ago, Carella thought. Meyer and Hawes pacing the floor with him, Meyer consoling him, telling him he'd been through it three times already, not to worry. Teddy up there in the delivery room for almost an hour. Twins. Nowadays . . .
"We're having a boy," the balding man said.
"That's nice," Carella said.
"She wanted a girl."
"Well, boys are nice, too," Carella said.
"What do you have?"
"One of each," Carella said.
"We're going to call him Stanley," the man said. "After my father."
"That's nice," Carella said.
"She wanted to call him Evan."
"Stanley is a very nice name," Carella said.
"I think so," the man said.
Carella looked up at the clock.
Up there for twenty minutes already. He suddenly remembered Tommy. Tommy should be here. Whatever problems they were having, Tommy should be here. He went to the phone again, took out his notebook, found the number for the room over the garage, and dialed it. He let it ring a dozen times. No answer. He hung up and went to sit with the worried balding man again.
"What's she having? Your sister."
"I don't know."
"Didn't she have all the tests?"
"I guess so. But she didn't tell me what…"
"She should have had the tests. The tests tell you everything."
"I'm sure she must have had them."
"Is she married?"
"Yes."
"Where's her husband?"
"I just tried to reach him," Carella said.
"Oh," the man said, and looked at him suspiciously.
Teddy got there some ten minutes later. The man watched them as they exchanged information in sign language, fingers moving swiftly. Signing always attracted a crowd. You could get a crocodile coming out of a sewer in downtown Isola, it wouldn't attract as big a crowd as signing did. The man watched, fascinated.
She was asking him if he'd called his mother.
He told her he had.
I could have picked her up on the way, she signed.
"Easier this way," he said, signing at the same time.
The man watched goggle-eyed. All those flying fingers had taken his mind off his worries about his imminent son Stanley.
Carella's mother came into the waiting room a few minutes later. She looked concerned. She had come to this same hospital eleven days earlier, to identify her husband in the morgue. Now her daughter was here in the delivery room -and sometimes things went wrong in the delivery room.
"How is she?" she asked. "Hello, sweetie," she said to Teddy, and kissed her on the cheek.
"She went up about forty minutes ago," Carella said, looking at the wall clock.
"Where's Tommy?" his mother said.
"I've been trying to reach him," Carella said.
A look passed between him and Teddy, but his mother missed it.
Teddy signed Forty minutes isn't very long.
"She says forty minutes isn't very long," he repeated for his mother.
"I know," his mother said, and patted Teddy on the arm.
"Did Angela tell you what it would be?" Carella asked.
"No. Did she tell you?"
"No."
"Secrets," his mother said, and rolled her eyes. "With her, everything's always a secret. From when she was a little girl, remember?"
"I remember," he said.
"Secrets," she said, repeating the word for Teddy, turning to face her so she could read her lips. "My daughter. Always secrets."
Teddy nodded.
"Mr Gordon?"
They all turned.
A doctor was standing there in a bloodstained surgical gown.
The worried balding man jumped to his feet.
"Yes?" he said.
"Everything's fine," the doctor said.
"Yes?"
"Your wife's fine . . ."
"Yes?"
"You have a fine, healthy boy."
"Thank you," the man said, beaming.
"You'll be able to see them both in ten minutes or so, I'll send a nurse down for you."
"Thank you," the man said.
Angela's doctor came down half an hour later. He looked very tired.
"Everything's fine," he said.
They always started with those words . . .
"Angela's fine," he said.
Always assured you about the mother first …
"And the twins are fine, too."
"Twins?" Carella said.
"Two fine healthy little girls," the doctor said.
"Secrets," his mother said knowingly. And then, to Carella, "Where's Tommy?"
"I'll try to find him," Carella said.
He drove first to the house Tommy had inherited when his parents died. No lights were showing in the room over the garage. He climbed the steps, anyway, and knocked on the door. It was only a quarter past eleven, but perhaps Tommy was already in bed. There was no answer. Carella went back down to the car, thought for a moment before he started the engine, and then started the long drive downtown.
He hoped Tommy would not be with his girlfriend on the night his twin daughters were born.
