Once a Widow by Lee Roberts

Maybe she should consult Miss James. But why should she, really? She, Coral Thatcher, was the cashier and she had a little authority around the hospital. And what harm would it do? She made up her mind and smiled at the man graciously, bestowing upon him her official favor. “Very well.” She nodded down the corridor, remembering the room to which the woman had been assigned in the afternoon. “Room 102, on the right.” She stood up and closed the ledger. “I’ll go with you.”
    “That won’t be necessary,” the man said quickly. “Thank you.” He moved away swiftly.
    Coral watched him through the glass office partition. Once he gazed backward at her over his shoulder, and kept going. Coral stood uncertainly. The man reached room 102, stopped by the door and looked back at her once more. When Coral made no move, he stepped quickly into the room and closed the door behind him. Coral glanced nervously up and down the long silent corridor, and her fingers twisted together. Why had he closed the door, which had been ajar? Suddenly she realized her mistake. If the woman proved to be the man’s sister, she, Coral, would be compelled to admit to Miss James that she’d exceeded her authority in permitting the man to go to the room. Mr. Grange would hear of it, and he was very strict about regulations. Why had she done such a thing?
    Far down the empty corridor she saw the man come out of room 102 and hurry toward her. Coral waited expectantly, but by the time the man was abreast of her office it became obvious that he did not intend to stop and tell her if the woman was his sister, or to even thank her for letting him see her. He passed the office, his face averted, and turned toward the entrance to the street. Coral was about to call to him when the glass doors closed. He was gone. Well! Coral thought indignantly. The very idea! Nevertheless, she was relieved. Apparently the woman was not his sister, and no one would know of his visit.
    Coral put away her books, locked the desk and left. The night was soft and there were stars in the blue-black sky. She walked slowly between the hedges bordering the walk leading out to the street. She was in no hurry to get home. Her mother would be sitting before the blaring television, no doubt eating a fried egg sandwich, and the house would be smelling of burned grease. Coral strolled in the night, unaware of a dark figure crouched behind the hedge ahead of her.
     
    At twenty minutes past five in the morning the ringing of the phone beside Dr. Shannon’s bed awakened him from deep sleep. He yawned, switched on a light, waited a moment until his brain cleared, and then picked up the instrument: “Dr. Shannon,” he said quietly.
    “It’s time, Doc,” a calm voice said.
    “All right, Ed. Take her to the hospital. I’ll call and tell them she’s on her way.”
    “Okay, thanks.”
    Shannon replaced the phone, yawned again and turned to face Celia, who had also wakened and was watching him. “Ed Malone?” she asked.
    He nodded.
    “I’m sorry,” she said.
    He grinned at her. “Kids aren’t born by appointment.”
    “I wish they were.”
    “Amen.” Shannon went down the hall to the bathroom, where he washed his face in cold water, ran a comb through his short reddish hair, decided not to take time to shave. When he returned to the bedroom he saw that Celia had already gone back to sleep. He dressed quickly, crossed the hall to look at his sleeping son, and then went down to the kitchen. He would have liked some coffee, but he knew from past experience that when Ed Malone said his wife was ready he knew what he was talking about. He poured a glass of cold orange juice from a bottle in the refrigerator, lit a cigarette, picked up the phone on the breakfast bar and called the hospital. Miss James answered and he told her that Mrs. Malone was on her way.
    “Right. Labor or delivery?”
    “Delivery, I’d guess, but you check her.” He hung up, finished the orange juice,