"Nothin', Plum Puddin', nothin," he said, putting the wee, now squalling infant back in the basinet. "Listen to the doctors, Bright Moon of the Night." His voice was soothing to her, but when he turned to the doctor, there was a note of panic. "Can't you give her something to calm her down?" he whispered.
The doctors, looking on him with sympathy, nodded and added something to her IV.
"What is it, Bill? Why will no one talk to me?"
"Relax, Light of the Fairy Circle. Just rest," Bill said, "I'm goin' to head home to the flat and ready it for your arrival, when you wake up, we can go home."
"Okay, Bill," Wilma said, as she floated dreamlessly into the darkness.
That was to be the last time she saw her husband for 16 years.
On the day she and her baby, (whom she loved beyond the moon and the stars, and whom she named after her carnie father,) were to be released, Bill had a taxi waiting for her. The driver had no answers, just that he was to pick up the lady and the babe and take them home.
Where Bill was not.
Until he returned to her 16 years later, hat in hand, saying he had never loved anyone more than he loved her, begging for
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