“She’s contracting,” Evie said, after a few—five?—silent minutes had passed. “How is the bleeding?”

“I can’t see any bleeding,” I said. “But my hand is in there, it’s hard to tell.”

“Take your hand out, Floss. I’ll keep massaging from the outside. We need to know what is happening.”

I hesitated. “Are you sure?”

She nodded.

“Okay.” Slowly, I released the neck of the uterus, and a gush of blood followed my hand.

“So?”

“It’s heavy.”

Evie pushed me out of the way, reaching inside Elizabeth now with an ungloved hand. I massaged Elizabeth’s abdomen. Her uterus felt spongy. Panic hit; a fist to the gut. Contract, Elizabeth! Contract. I kneaded the fundus aggressively. Elizabeth was drenched in sweat and pale. Too pale. She was in shock. “Evie—should I try to get the baby to suckle, do you think?” I asked. “To help the uterus contract?”

Evie was barely visible at the end of the bed, but I saw her shake her head. I could hear her panting with effort. It would be okay. It had to be okay.

A minute passed, then another.

We continued massaging, inside and out, in silence.

Ten minutes passed.

Evie’s panting slowed, then stopped.

Fifteen minutes passed.

My breathing also quieted.

Elizabeth was still, like she was asleep.

The silence was eerie. I watched what I could see of Evie’s face, waiting for direction. Her frown, etched so deeply into her forehead before, had disappeared, replaced by a … a different expression.

“Evie?” I asked. There was a wobble in my voice that, for some reason, I wanted to conceal. As if its presence were admitting something I wasn’t ready to admit. “What … what do you want me to do?”

Evie met my eye over Elizabeth’s belly. Her expression was frighteningly blank.

“Nothing, Floss. I don’t want you to do anything.” Her eyes closed. “She’s gone.”

19

Neva

I was awake most of the night. After Patrick drifted off to sleep, I wondered about what he’d said. Was it possible that the father could swoop in and demand fatherly rights? I’d said no definitively when Patrick asked, but … if he were to find out … perhaps that was exactly what he’d do? Perhaps that was the reason I was keeping this secret? If so, my secret, like a rolling snowball, now had the power to hurt Patrick too.

When I arrived at the birthing center the next morning, Anne took one look at me and ordered me into one of the birthing suites for a nap. No one was in labor and she wanted to make sure I was rested enough to do a delivery if someone did come in. Usually I would have protested, but not today. The appeal of catching a few winks was too hard to resist.

When I woke, the sun was high in the sky. A chorus of highpitched giggles rang in the hallway and then the door opened and Patrick appeared beside the bed. He kissed my mouth. “Good morning, princess.”

“Don’t let the princesses in the hallway hear you call me that.”

“Ah, but you’re the crown princess.” He kissed my nose. “Can I get in?”

I ignored the stirring in my loins that screamed yes, Yes, YES, and instead arranged my features in what I hoped was a skeptical expression. “Are you a mother in labor?”

“You guys get into bed with the clients? How unprofessional. Not to mention unhygienic.”

I chuckled. “Oh, I have a joke.”

“Hit me.”

“What’s the difference between a pregnant woman and a model? Nothing, if the pregnant woman’s boyfriend knows what’s good for him.”

Patrick smiled softly. “But you’re more beautiful than a model, pregnant or not.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. Hopeless charmer.

“So … is this where we’re going to have this baby, then?” Patrick swaggered over to the chair and picked up a pillow, inspecting it playfully.

“Not necessarily this room, but yes. I like it here.”

“Me too.” Patrick nodded. “Oh, I almost forgot! I had a phone call from the Board of Nursing this morning. About your mother.”

“You did?” With everything else going on I’d forgotten about the investigation. “What did you say?”

“I told her what happened. That the baby and the mother were never in any danger and that Gillian was in as good hands with your mother as she would have been with any ob-gyn.”

“You said that?”

“It’s true. Hopefully that will be the end of it. What a waste of taxpayers’ money, investigating someone like your mother when there are all sorts of cowboys around claiming to be medical professionals.”

His face was completely earnest. It occurred to me that he was exactly the kind of person I wanted to spend my life with. “You are a good guy, you know that?”

“Don’t tell anyone. Speaking of your mom, is she going to deliver the baby?”

I snorted. “What do you think?”

“Then who is?” He sprawled onto the bed on his stomach and rested his chin in his hands. “I guess I should know this.”

“Susan,” I said.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Do you want me to be there?”

I hesitated. I’d assumed it was a given that Patrick would be there. It hadn’t occurred to me to even ask. “Oh, um … well it’d be good to have a pediatrician in the room. And people will expect it. You being the father and all.” I watched for a reaction, but Patrick remained infuriatingly blank. “Do you want to be there?”

He crossed his arms, making a great show of thinking it over. “I think I would, yes. I can hand you ice chips and mop your forehead, that sort of thing.”

I suppressed a smile. “Good, then.”

Patrick rolled onto his side, his hand skimming the length of my belly, back and forth. He frowned, then pressed down sharply just above my pubic bone.

“Um, ow!” I half laughed, half gasped. “What are you doing?”

Patrick ignored me, feeling along the curve of my stomach, pressing down now on the highest part of the mound. “Did you know the baby was breech?”

“It’s not.” I smacked his hand playfully and replaced it with my own, feeling what he had felt. I located the head and pressed down. “See. The head.”

“Hey—I’m not an ob-gyn, but from the lie, I’d say it was back here, legs here, head here”—he pointed to the pelvis—“breech here.”

“Um, I think I would have noticed if my baby was breech.” I lay flat and felt my stomach properly. Back, legs, head … bottom … I paused, felt again.

Patrick winced. “Told you.”

I felt again. He was right. Right down at the bottom of my pelvis were the soft edges of the buttocks.

“It could still turn,” he said.

“Maybe, but…” I felt it a third time. “It’s unlikely at this stage. Guess I won’t be delivering at the birthing center after all.”

I tried to roll into a sitting position, but got only halfway up before I started to fall back onto the bed. Patrick gave me a push. “Hey. You okay?”

“Not much I can do about it, is there? I guess I’ll need a C-section.” I shimmied to my feet.

“We don’t know that for sure.” Patrick also stood. “Why don’t we go see Sean, see what he says?”

“No. It’s fine. A C-section is fine.”

“Seriously? You’re so dedicated to natural birthing—”

“Are you trying to upset me?” I smiled.

Patrick continued to frown. “Why don’t I take you home? You must be tired.”

“Thanks, but I’m on until five P.M. And since I’ve slept most of the morning, I’d better get busy.”

“There’s no one in labor.”

“We do other things besides deliver babies, Patrick.” Again, I smiled to show I was being lighthearted. I didn’t want Patrick worrying about me. He was doing enough. “I’ve got postnatal rounds. You go. It’s your day off.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure. I’ll see you later.”

Patrick leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Later.” He ducked and planted a kiss on my stomach. “See you later too.”

I smiled until he was out of the room, and for a good minute after he left. But once I was sure he was definitely gone, I sank back onto the bed.