They ambled down the hall. "Ivy's not doing well," the doctor added, "but she insisted on seeing you now. She's very weak, so you'll only have a few minutes."
Peter nodded. "Then can I see…?" he said and left the question unfinished, wondering what was the baby's name.
"Yes. But that must be brief too," the doctor said, bringing him up to a closed door. "Wait, Mr. Jones," Dr. Chen said, gripping Peter's wrist as he reached for the door latch. "Her condition is not very good, physically or mentally. Don't upset her. Try to encourage her. I don't know what your plans are with her, but try to reinforce her with some positive thoughts. Do you understand?"
Peter nodded, then gingerly opened the door and went into the room. The shades were drawn, and strange electronic sounds emanated from machines stationed beside the bed. He went to her.
A dim lamp spread yellow light over the bed, and through the blankets covering her Peter could see that Ivy was very thin. Her head was tilted toward the window and her closed eyelids seemed dark and bluish. She looked so different from when he had thrown her out of his home. He remembered her pure adoration, her desire to please him with her project. He braced himself against the bed rail and leaned his face closer to hers. She smelled medicinal, sterile. Her delicate bone structure, her pert nose, were masked by thin, nearly transparent skin. He felt responsible. Guilty. He must take care of her.
And Kate…? No. He couldn't let himself think about that right now. He had to let Ivy know everything would be all right, that he would take care of her.
He whispered her name and she stirred, eyelids fluttering. A thin smile touched her lips, then she blinked a few times and her eyes filled with tears. She let out a long breath through pressed lips, closed her eyes, and made an anguished face. "I told myself I wouldn't get like this when I saw you." She looked away.
"Hey," he said, touching her cheek. She pulled her hand from beneath the blankets and wrapped her thin fingers around his. His body stiffened at her chilly, tenuous touch. At once he felt pity and fear. He was afraid for her life. She looked as if she were a breath away from dying. She had all but destroyed herself. And the baby? What had she done to the baby? He wanted to hold her, tell her she was forgiven, yet he was the one who should be asking for forgiveness. It was all so twisted.
"Don't," she said, pulling her hand away. "Just don't. I don't know what I'm more disgusted about. Me, or you? I wanted you, and you took me and then you threw me away." Her words were thick and slurred. She was bombed on painkillers and tranquilizers and whatever else they were feeding her through the intravenous tube. "I threw myself away, too, after you made me go. I think I wanted to make the baby go away. I think I did what I did, the drugs and all, to hurt it. I'm sick Peter. I'm very sick now, and I have to get all this poison out of me. Including you."
"Ivy, don't talk this way. I'm sorry. You're sorry. We're both sorry for the mistake we made. But we've got to deal with it. It's my responsibility."