Moonlight over Manhattan (From Manhattan with Love 6)

Harriet stood up too, but stayed back a little, not wanting to intrude. She overheard some of it—lower grade rupture of the spleen, hematologic parameters, splenic preservation, arterial intervention—none of it made sense to her, and all of it sounded horrendous but Ethan seemed relieved, so perhaps it wasn’t as bad as it sounded.

He ran his hand over his face. “Can I see her?”

“Sure. But keep it brief.”

Harriet was about to sit back down on the chair to wait when he grabbed her hand.

“You should come too. She’d like that. You can promise her a bowl of your chicken soup.”

Susan was in recovery and although she seemed groggy, her eyes were open. She saw Ethan and managed something close to a smile.

“Jeez, you still here? What time is it?”

“Middle of the night. I thought I’d hang around.”

Susan’s gaze slid to Harriet. “But you got yourself some company.” Her eyes closed. “Did you tell her, Black?”

“Did I tell her what?”

“About your promise.”

“I don’t remember a promise. The anesthetic must have affected your memory.”

“You break your promise, I’m going to come back and haunt you.”

“You have to die first, and there is no way you’re dying. I need you back here.”

“I’m not sure that’s an incentive to recover. A bowl of Harriet’s soup might.”

Harriet stepped forward. “As soon as you’re on the ward and eating, I’ll bring you some.”

“You’re an angel.” Her eyes opened. “Do you hear that, Black? She’s an angel.”

“You need to rest.”

“And you need to go

home.” She stretched her hand out to him and he took it. “Thanks, Ethan.”

“That’s the first time you’ve ever called me by name.”

“It’s the first time you’ve ever saved my life.”

“Given that you’re lying there, I didn’t do such a great job.”

“We both know that without you, I’d be dead.” Her eyes closed again. “Go home. Get some sleep. But come back tomorrow. With Harriet. And soup. And don’t forget your promise.”

“What is this promise she keeps talking about?” Harriet asked as they walked out of the hospital into the freezing night.

“She wants to be godmother to my children.”

“But you don’t have—ah.” Understanding dawned. “She wants you to have children. Is she in league with your sister?”

“They’ve never met, but they seem to be on the same wavelength. Susan seems to want me to have it all. No idea why. Ironic, coming from a loner like her.”

“Not married then?”

He hesitated. “She was married. Eight years ago her husband was killed by a drunk driver while he was walking their son home from kindergarten. The car mounted the sidewalk. Their little boy was killed too.”