“So, I hear congratulations are in order, Neva?” I lifted my head before I realized what Marion was saying, giving her a ringside seat to my horrified expression. “About the pregnancy, I mean.”

I busied myself checking the baby’s fontanels. “Oh. Thank you.”

“And due quite soon, I hear,” she continued. “You must be excited.”

Casually, I scanned the room, assessing the fallout. Patrick winced. Leila’s mouth hung open. Sean had frozen, his hands still half-buried in Erin’s abdomen. He scanned what he could see of my stomach. “Neva, you’re expecting?”

“Yes.” I didn’t look at him. I held my hands out to Patrick. “Baby, please.”

I must have sounded authoritative because, rather than joke with me over one last check as he usually did, Patrick wrapped the baby and handed him over. I crossed the room, back to Erin.

“I hope I haven’t put my foot in my mouth,” Marion said. Her tone made it clear that she hoped she’d done exactly that. “Eloise mentioned it this morning. It wasn’t meant to be a secret, was it? Because I’d hate to think—”

“I’d hate to think you weren’t paying attention, Marion.” Sean’s voice was quiet but sharp, and it silenced the room. Marion’s cheeks colored. “Because as you can see, I’m still stitching the patient. And I need a lap sponge.”

“Yes, Doctor.” Marion fumbled for the sponge, and I could tell she was not happy. I almost felt sorry for Sean. Ignoring her attempts to ingratiate herself was one thing, but a public reprimand was quite another. She’d make him pay for that.

I tried my best to focus on the task at hand, pressing the baby’s face against his mother’s cheek, letting him see her, smell her breath, feel her touch. With any luck, we could start him breast-feeding as soon as we made it into recovery. I needed to concentrate on that.

“When are you due, Neva?” Sean asked me after a minute or two of silence. His voice had lost its sharp edge; in fact, it was a little quieter than normal.

I met his eye over the curtain. “December thirty-first.”

“A New Year baby,” he said. He frowned, then his gaze returned to Erin’s stomach. “What a miracle.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “It really is.”

*   *   *

I pushed my scrubs into the overfull laundry basket and dragged myself toward the elevator. Now that my urgent tasks were done, the familiar weight of tiredness anchored me to the ground like cement boots. I still had to check in at the birthing center on my way out, to make sure none of my clients had gone into labor. If not, perhaps I’d have a lie down in one of the suites. It took less than ten minutes to walk to my apartment, but somehow that was too far.

As I waited for the elevator, I leaned against the wall. At the far end of the corridor, Patrick held court with three student nurses, who were taking notes and giggling at intervals. Although Patrick was professional enough never to cross the line with a student, it was easy to see he loved the attention. Marion stood at the nurses’ desk, whispering furiously and stealing glances over her shoulder. I’d have assumed she was gossiping about my pregnancy, but thanks to Sean’s reprimand in theater, there was an equal chance she was slandering him. I couldn’t help but be grateful.

I sighed and allowed my eyes what I called an extra-long blink.

“Should I be hurt?”

When I opened my eyes, Sean stood before me in blue scrubs, blue cap, and puffy blue shoe covers. My first instinct was to run. To locate the nearest exit and hurtle toward it as fast as my legs would carry me. But even if I had the energy to do that, it wouldn’t help me for long. “No. You should be relieved.”

“Were you planning to tell me?”

“Actually, I was waiting for you to guess. For someone who is usually quite perceptive, and an ob-gyn, I’d have thought—”

“Neva.”

His tone made me pause. “Yes?”

“Are you sure you have your dates right?”

“Yes.”

“Is that all you’re going to say? Yes?”

I was about to say that if the answer to his questions continued to be yes, then yes, that’s all I was going to say, but before I could respond, he towed me into a corner. “Are you sure? Because if you’re just a few weeks out—”

I stopped him before he could say the words. “It’s okay. I’m sure.”

I rested a hand on his chest, partly to calm him, partly to regain some personal space. Finally he sagged like a day-old balloon. “God, Neva. I don’t know what I’d do if … well, I’m just glad it’s not.”

I let Sean bask in the relief. I only wished I could have shared his joy. “Me, too.”

“So?” he said. “Whose is it?”

“It’s mine.”

“I realize that.” A look of bafflement appeared on his face, followed by a short laugh. “And who else’s?”

I was already so sick of saying it, and it hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since I’d made the announcement. I longed for a stack of flyers of FAQs that I could hand out. This should answer most of your questions, I’d tell people as I pressed a flyer into their hand. And there is an e-mail address at the bottom if any of your questions remain unanswered. It is [email protected]. Alas, I had no printed flyers.

“No one’s. Just mine.”

He cocked an eyebrow. I sighed.

“The father’s not going to be involved, okay?”

Sean took a minute to digest that. “I see. Well, I’m sorry to hear that.”

He did look sorry. He started that awkward, mumbly thing guys did when they were uncomfortable. Which, of course, made me more uncomfortable.

“If there’s anything I can do—”

I pointed to the wedding ring, which he wore on a band around his neck during surgery. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, do you?”

One of us had to bring Laura up. True to his word, Sean had wound up marrying that Texan cashier from his grocery store. With frizzy, peroxide-blond hair and hips to match her enormous breasts, she was far from classically beautiful, but she had a pretty, friendly face and a sweet disposition. The kind of woman who, after three years of being married to an ob-gyn, still got choked up when he told her about delivering a baby. Not the kind of woman you felt good about betraying.

“Probably not.”

“How is Laura?”

“Fine,” he said. “Thanks for asking.”

“Tumor’s still shrinking?”

He nodded. “Now they’re saying it’s the size of a pea.”

Nine months ago, the tumor had been the size of a baseball. Her illness started with a headache. Sean had popped Laura a couple of Tylenol before work one morning, and by the time he got home, it was a migraine. Three days later, she was blind in one eye. Thanks to Sean’s connections at St. Mary’s, Laura was able to get in for a CT scan straightaway. The prognosis hadn’t been good. But according to Sean, Laura liked nothing more than proving people wrong.

“She thinks it’s this green tea diet she’s been on. Loves telling me that doctors know less than nothing when it comes to people’s health.” Sean laughed, shaking his head. “It’s more likely to be the surgery, chemo, and radiation therapy. But I’ll credit the tea, if that makes her happy.”

“Whatever it is, I’m glad it’s working,” I said.

“Yes,” Sean said. “Yes, me too.”

“Anyway,” I started; then my mouth stuck on what I was supposed to say next.

Anyway … give Laura my regards?

Anyway … glad to have brought you the good tidings?

Anyway … you’re off the hook?

No appropriate sign-off existed for this particular conversation. Best that I just end it as soon as possible.

“Anyway…,” I tried again. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

As I waited for the elevator doors to close, I saw Patrick at the end of the corridor. The nurses still stood in front of him, pretty and eager as ever. But his gaze was focused over their heads and down the corridor. Directly at me.