“Pacing in this hallway is not going to change when the doctor calls her name.”

“Our daughter has a 104-degree fever,” I added softly.

“I know how sick she is,” he said, turning his shoulder away from me.

“I am going back to the waiting room.”

He turned and walked back toward the main row of chairs, his rubber soles squeaking loudly against the clean floor.

I walked back to our section of vinyl seats.

June was sucking frantically on her own knuckles, her dark red cheeks wet with spit.