It took Hancock another hour and half to examine the baby, deliver the afterbirth, and clean up. When he finished, they helped Garnet to her bedroom on the second floor where she promptly fell asleep. Mrs. Simms wrapped the baby and kept it in her arms. She stayed to rock in the chair by Garnet's bed.

      Hancock was surprised to find Thurman Reeves on the porch as he walked out. The boy Nevitte, who was quite small for his age, was asleep across his father's chest, and the man leaned back in his chair, lifting the front legs to rock as he sat. The late spring evening was full of fireflies and the downtown traffic seemed like a distant dream somewhere behind them. Hancock was tired and irritated at the man for being nowhere to be found earlier.
      "You've got another son, Mr. Reeves," Hancock said. "What are you going to name him?"
      "I'll leave it to her, Doc. She named this one." His hand rested on the boy's head, and he fingered the fine hair gently as he spoke. Reeves' face was in shadow, though as the chair rocked, the boy came in and out of the full light of the street lamp.
      Hancock had nothing more good to say to him. The man seemed indifferent, almost insolent.
      "Is she and the baby all right?"
      "Yes. She's resting now and your neighbor is up there holding the baby. They'll both be fine."
      "Good," Reeves said, from the darkness. They were silent for a while; Hancock shifted his bag to the other hand. He could remember when he would swing it as he walked. Now the bag seemed to weigh more than it could possibly contain.
      "You want something to eat? I'm gonna go in and fix something for the boy and me." Thurman said.
      "No, I ate down at Bailey's." He would leave now, but he thought the man should understand that his wife had been worried. "She didn't know where you were, you know. It frightened her."
      Reeves did not answer at first, then spoke slowly when he did. "I was out here. I didn't see a reason for coming in. Nothing I could do but get in the way. Nevitte and I played ball and took a walk down to the glass plant."
      This had been the right thing to do, of course, and though Hancock knew this, the man's answer still seemed inadequate. Hancock wanted to know where he had been all that time after work. Why he hadn't come straight home when he knew his wife was overdue. He stood a moment in the soft darkness, his back to the street lamp, and wanted to remind Reeves of his responsibilities, to tell him to walk a straight line, to do exactly what any decent man should do. But instead, trying to sound grave, as though his tone of voice and expression alone would serve as wise counsel, he said "Make sure she rests."
      "I will, Doc. Thanks." Reeves said from the porch as Hancock walked away.

* * *

      At six months, Leonard Benjamin Reeves weighed nearly fourteen pounds. As with many second children, he crawled early and was already into everything. Hancock noticed some stiffness as he manipulated the boy's legs, possibly something with the joints in his hips, but nothing serious enough to worry about now. He kept the information to himself and wrote a note to watch it during the next year. Otherwise, the baby was healthy.
      When he finished the check-up, he gave the boy to Mrs. Tate and ushered her out. He had always made it practice to leave young mothers time to talk some after each of the visits during that first year. They often had questions that would otherwise go unasked, so he made an effort to sit them down alone for a moment. Most often, the women would talk about feeding or rashes, and the session would be brief and generally unfruitful. But it was a good idea that worked often enough to keep.
      Garnet Reeves seemed relaxed today, in good spirits for a woman with such a workload. He imagined she was doing most of the child rearing herself, but felt this was as it should be. She was a healthy young woman married to a man who, regardless of other failings, seemed to work hard enough to support them all. The children's clothes looked well kept.
      She began talking about the older boy and how he was so helpful with the baby, how he loved the baby. Hancock smiled and nodded at all of this, adding an occasional "yes," and a bit of warm laughter to let her know that from his professional opinion these were good signs. He asked about her husband, and her reply that he was doing well seemed sincere. From all appearances, the family was getting along fine. However, when he asked about her father, she was hesitant to answer. "He'll get by, " she said.
      This was not the response he had anticipated. He knew the old man was ailing and was in need of regular care. Hancock had stopped by his house last time he was up country and was surprised to find that the man's health had deteriorated much since he had seen him last. Because Hancock had known the family so long and felt that in such a case his job was as much counselor as physician, he pursued the subject. As the field of medicine expanded and he had difficulty keeping up with the newest breakthroughs, he relied more and more upon his bedside manner, not that he truly believed this replaced scientific knowledge, but because he had no other options. He was growing too old to keep up.
      "Your father is not well, Garnet. He'll need your help before long, if not already."
      With an indignation he was not used to, she said, "Then he'll have to find it somewhere else."
      Her answer surprised him, yet he was determined to go on with this, believing that he had an obligation here.
      "I know he's a hard man to deal with sometimes."
      "Doctor, I'm sorry, but you don't know anything about this at all."
      He was taken back. "I've known your father a good while now, Garnet. Well enough to know that you're his favorite." It was a cheap shot, but one he knew usually worked. If these people did not care for each other, no one else would.
      "I imagine so," she said. "But I've got favorites of my own now."
      As justified as he felt, he was uneasy in all of this. She baffled him, one moment so apprehensive, the next resolved and aggressive. The conversation had turned into something unexpected, and he would end it. There was no use in speaking to her now about this. The old man could go on living out at Russell Creek for the time being, but soon she would have to make a decision about him. Her father had little money, and though his health was failing, he was born of stock that could probably live a long time still. Hancock felt it was her job at least to find a place for him. But this could come later.
      "At some point, he'll need someone to take care of him."
      "It won't be me," she said.
      "Then one of your sisters or brothers will help him, I'm sure."
      "He won't stay with me. He's already asked for that."
      "Then that is something you'll have to live with."
      It was a foolish thing to say, and they were quiet a moment. He had made a mistake in talking about her father at all.
      "You've got a fine baby to worry about now, Garnet. I'm sorry. I didn't know you felt this way about your father."
      He stood and walked around to the other side of his desk to end the discussion. She stayed in her seat, looking at the floor. The room was thick and uncomfortable. Muffled sounds of voices came from the other room.
      "He used to fool with me," she finally said, her head down.
      "What do you mean, fool with you?" He did not understand; the mystery annoyed him.
      "Fool with me. Touch me where he wasn't supposed to touch. Where he had no reason to be touching me."
      He did not know what to say. Many things about her suddenly came into focus, and yet he mistrusted the clarity. He had never meant for her to tell him this much. He realized he did not want to know this much about her.
      "Are you sure this is something you want to tell me?"
      Her expression did not change; neither did she acknowledge the question as she continued with what she seemed determined to tell him.
      "It started when I was thirteen and never quit till I left. Now he'll talk to me like a father should, and act like nothing ever happened. Like it couldn't have happened, though he knows and I know it did. He'll come to the house when I invite him, and eat with us and talk to Thurman on the porch for an hour. But all I'll hear from him is "Fine meal, gal," or "Pour me a little more a that iced tea, gal." And then come time, he'll leave and I'll be glad just to have him out of my house, strange as it is when he's here, as if I'd dreamt what used to happen."
      "I won't leave him alone with Nevitte. I don't trust him. My own father I don't trust with his grandchild, afraid he'll say something or do something to my son."
      "Are you sure?" Hancock said. Right away, he wished he could retrieve the question.
      She was angry. "Am I sure about what? That he did those things to me?"
      "No. I didn't mean that. I meant about the boy."
      "I can't take chances with him. He's my oldest and been my only for a long time and I won't have him through this. Just as I won't have the baby go through it neither."
      She rested her hands on her stomach. Her face puckered as if she were about to cry; but then just as quickly, she drew her shoulders up again.
      "What can I do for you?" he said.
      "There's nothing you can do. Nothing anyone can do except me, unless you can answer why my husband's not home when he's needed or why my own father is a thing I hate. Jesus forgive me, I've gotten to be so full of hate."
      "It's all right. Don't be afraid to hate a little." He tried to deepen his voice to make her sure of his sincerity. "Why, I'd hate the man, too." He reached across to touch her shoulder, but she pulled back and glared at him.
      Her voice became stiff and formal. "You've been helpful, Doctor. You've done what you can do. What has passed has passed. I guess now I just want you to help me keep my husband."
      So this is what this is all about, he thought. He felt as though he were on some wild ride in which the scenery changed so quickly that just as one scene became familiar, it would disappear and a new one would surround him.
      "I don't want him to touch me. I mean I want to want him to touch me, but I just can't. This new baby and the one before was started when he said he couldn't stand it no more. Each time, I thought maybe I'd changed and I let him come to my bed. And you see what become of it." She hesitated and looked down at her stomach where the baby had been and then glanced around as though she suddenly realized the baby was no longer there.
      "I tried to want him, but it seemed that after Nevitte came, I didn't have any need to fool him or even myself anymore. He's been a good man, a patient man with me."
      "Does he know about your father?" "No. I couldn't. I'm not sure how I've told you, and not sure it was a good thing. No, he don't know. It's not something he could understand. But I can't want him neither and so I can't keep him no more. That's why I'm here now."
      "Garnet, I've told you before there's little I can do. This is just something you'all will have to work out yourselves."
      This was only partly true. He had read an article recently on frigidity and impotence, but he could not remember now if any therapy had been explained, or if the article had simply outlined a set of common symptoms. Either way he could not remember and this bothered him. He was too old to learn anything new. He would recommend her to the young gynecologist across town. He would know what to do.
      "I know of another doctor in town; Doctor Greenwood, over on 31st...."
      She cut him off. "There's a house down on the river where Thurman's been going for years," she said.
      Again, Hancock was startled by her bluntness. Every man in town knew of the house, but it was not a place he was used to discussing with a woman.
      "You can't be sure of that," he said.
      "I already am sure."
      "Who'd tell a fool thing like that?"
      "I didn't need any one to tell me. He told me himself. Come in when he first started and told me, wanting me to forgive him for it. I told him he'd have to forgive himself. I wasn't about to do that for him."
      Her husband was a bigger fool than Hancock had imagined. The old doctor considered honesty the worst part of redemption.
      She continued, "I was so young when I met him. And he seemed the one to take me in and watch over me. Not that I couldn't care for myself. I'd been used to that and caring for others, too. I have since my own mother died. And when Poppy remarried and his new wife started having babies, I took care of them, too. And when she passed on, I raised her children along with the rest, fed and clothed them all. I was thirteen when she died.

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