Chapter 13

The Wren Hart Center opened on a Tuesday in October, on the day she'd been due, which is the only sentimental decision I made in the entire build. A storm shelter for six hundred. Two build bays for rapid frames. A clinic wing the parish fought us on for seven months. Ninety-one miles from the nearest hospital, which means we're statistically the difference between a bad night and a funeral for about forty thousand people. There was a ribbon because Ruth insisted. There were photographers,...