How you feeling, sweetie? Grace said.
I feel sick, Mommy, Florence said.
Grace looked up at Harrison and said, she’s not right.
Harrison bent down and looked at her eyes again.
What are you doing, Daddy? she said.
Just looking at your eyes, Duck, he said.
It was hard to look at them, rather than into them, but after a minute he stood and said, we should probably get back.
At the hotel, Florence slept on their bed as they packed around her.
We should call Annie, Grace said, tell her we’re leaving. Soon as we get back, we’ll take her to see the pediatrician in Lancaster.
Yeah, he said. We should call ahead, fix an appointment.
I’ll do it, she said.
Thanks, he said. I’ll go settle up downstairs.
It was a three-hour drive home. Florence slept, her head on Grace’s lap in the back. They got back late afternoon. Harrison carried his daughter upstairs and Grace started dinner.
The Antelope Valley Hospital in Lancaster was a dirty white shoebox. Doctor Rivers, Florence’s pediatrician, was thin and tall with a single black eyebrow that reminded Florence of a giant hairy caterpillar.
Look up at me and don’t move, he said.
She stared at the caterpillar as he peered into her eyes with a small flashlight.
Thirty minutes later, he referred them to an ophthalmologist on the third floor. They sat on hard seats in the waiting room for an hour. Florence snuggled into the crook of her mother’s arm. Harrison got up and walked around and looked at the art on the walls.
The ophthalmologist, Peter Sturm, was Minnesota-born and recently hired; facts he presented as they entered. He sat and looked into Florence’s eyes; her head on a chin rest, a metal frame surrounding her head.
Okay, so, seems we do have a problem here, he said, pushing his chair backward and whizzing over to his desk. He collected a file, kicked out a foot and shot back again.
What kind of problem? Harrison said.
To be honest with you, Sturm said, I’m not sure. Yet.
Why can no one give us a straight answer? Grace said.
Honey, Harrison said.
It’s okay, Sturm said. I said yet. I’d like to see Florence again in a few days, if I may? Perhaps Monday?
You’ll know then? Grace said.
Let’s see how she does over the weekend, Sturm said.
What can you see? Harrison said. Is there a problem with her eyes?
Sturm scratched the black hair on his arms.
Yes, he said. Florence’s eyes; they’re slightly misaligned. Although the problem might be something else entirely and this merely a side effect. The misalignment is nothing to be too worried about, but I see from her notes that she had a small fall recently—is that correct?
Yes, Grace said, we were on vacation, at Long Beach. She tripped and fell in the park on Wednesday.
Sturm unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them down.
Any dizziness? he said.
A little, Grace said. And she had a slight nosebleed. We told all this to Doctor Rivers.
I understand. Is this where she bumped her head?
He pointed to the bruise on Florence’s forehead as he did up his cuffs.
Yes, Grace said.
Florence, head still sat on the black plastic chin rest, was silent.
Okay, Sturm said, pushing back again. Let’s give it the weekend, and I’ll see her again Monday.
He signed a form and passed it to Harrison.
If anything changes, bring her straight in.
Thank you, Grace said.
Thank you, Florence said.
You’re welcome, Sturm said. See you Monday.
The weekend was busy. Harrison went to work, caught up with Ridley. Grace drove to Rosamond with Florence to fetch groceries. In the afternoon, they did chores. On Sunday, to distract Florence, they took her to Patty Keller’s birthday party. Her father, Emmett, was an engineer at the base; Dorothy, her mother, a nurse. Colorful streamers hung from trees in the Kellers’ backyard. The smell of cooked meat floated around the men and women holding bottles watching their children run and scream. The wind was flat and low.
Jeez, Harrison said. Emmett’s got half a damn cattle on there.
He found a tin bucket beneath a dressed-up table and pulled a beer from the cold water.
You want one? he said to Grace, who shook her head. He sighed and pulled the cap from the neck with a nearby opener.
Jim, Emmett said, walking over, bottle in hand.
Emmett, he said. Helluva party.
At least I got to choose the food, Emmett said.
Smells good.
Ten minutes. You hungry?
Sure.
Grace here?
Over there.
Come on, he said. I want to say hi.
They stayed for a few hours, the children wilting in the stifling heat. Everybody knew everybody; the Mojave was big but small like that. The air cooled and the wind picked up. Harrison sat in a chaise lounge and looked at his watch. He was about to get up and find Grace when she came over and said, have you seen Duck?
She’s inside, I think, he said. With that tall kid—Ray?—and Don.
As Grace walked back toward the house, Dorothy rushed out, carrying Florence.
Grace, she said.