Holidays are Hell(95)

"The infant's very early," Nancy went on, motioning for Zoe to follow her. "Just caught the twenty-four week mark, but she's intubated, and stable enough now that we've got her on the oscillator. Awfully small, though."

"Well, babies tend to come in their own time," Zoe said, following Nancy back to the front desk.

"Sure," Nancy said, but scoffed as she glanced at Zoe. "But an early delivery's more common when the mother has endured such trauma—raped, you know—" she said in an exaggerated whisper, before continuing in a normal voice. "So the child's obviously unwanted, another mitigating factor. Add in a flawed support system—the girl's mother ran off after the pregnancy was disclosed, the father wouldn't even come down for the birth—and you have a recipe for fetal trauma."

Nancy tsk-tsked as she rounded the counter, shaking her head in a way that made Zoe want to rip it off. Instead she pulled out her notepad, and with shaking hands pretended to scribble some thoughts. "What time was the child born?"

"Midnight sharp, actually," Nancy shook her head, flipping through paperwork. "What a novelty, huh?"

Not really Zoe wanted to say. The Zodiac's lineage was matriarchal. Everyone who was superhuman was born on their mother's birthday, exactly midnight, just as their mother before them. That's how Zoe knew her daughter would be here tonight, even if it was three months too early.

"And the girl… the mother? How is she?"

Nancy glanced up, brows furrowed. "You don't need to see her, do you?"

"Why? Is she all right?" Please, God, please…

"Sedated. The labor was complicated and a shock to a still-healing system, but she's resting easily enough now."

A sigh spiraled out of Zoe before she could stop it, causing Nancy to glance at her sharply. Zoe immediately checked herself—case workers didn't get involved with their clients—and shot the nurse a distracted smile. "No, of course I don't need to see her. She's already signed the release papers, and she should rest."

Nancy was still looking at her speculatively when a crisp bell chimed behind Zoe. The nurse's eyes slid over Zoe's shoulder and her face cleared.

"There are the McCormicks now." She waved them over, and Zoe turned warily, inspecting for the first time the people who would take possession of—no, take care of—her granddaughter.

The woman was diminutive; a fussy, fluttery thing who kept clutching at her own hands and holding so close to her husband she very nearly tripped him up. He seemed not to notice, though, chest puffed out peacock proud, a wide smile blanketing his ruddy face as he steered his wife with one large hand, and mauled a stuffed bunny with the other.

"Mr. and Mrs. McCormick, this is Traci…"

"Malone," Zoe provided, when Nancy faltered. "I'm with social services. I have your paperwork right here."

"Cutting right to the chase, are we?" Mr. McCormick's voice boomed unnaturally throughout the still hallways. "But I imagine this is old hat for you, huh? You're probably anxious to get home and to bed."

Mrs. McCormick clutched his arm. "Oh, yes, it's late… and so close to Thanksgiving. Everyone's so busy and…" She faltered, her eyes going wide at a fresh thought. "Oh, honey! Our first holiday with our baby girl! I just can't believe it! We've been waiting, dreaming for so long…"

Her husband shot Zoe a helpless smile as his wife collapsed into his arms.

"Technically, you won't be with her for Thanksgiving." Zoe's voice came out louder, sharper than she would've liked. She checked it, along with her emotions, and plastered a bland expression on her face. "She must remain in the hospital until she's strong enough to be self-supporting. Another sixteen weeks or so."

"But maybe by Christmas," Nancy reassured, smiling as she pushed away from the counter. "I'll just go make sure the baby's ready."

"Ready?" Zoe turned back to the couple who were trying—unsuccessfully—to temper their giddiness.

"Oh, yes. Didn't you know?" More fluttering by Mrs. McCormick as her wide eyes searched Zoe's face. "We're having the child moved to the Sheep Mountain Medical Facility. They have the best neo-natal unit in town and… well, we don't want to risk the birth mother seeing her and, you know…"

"Changing her mind," her husband said flatly. "We know she's young. Probably fickle… or confused. Obviously not of the best moral character."

"Dave!" his wife slapped ineffectively at his shoulder. "The girl is giving us our darling baby!"

"I'm sorry, sweetie. You're right."