“Breech, huh?” she said, after a quick look at her notes. “Shame. You could always try a vaginal birth next time, though.”

“Maybe,” I said. I didn’t want to get upset about it. Not in front of Dr. Hargreaves. “We’ll see.”

“Would you like to find out the gender today?”

“No,” Patrick said immediately, although we hadn’t discussed it. He turned to me as an afterthought. “I mean … we don’t, do we?”

I grinned. “I guess we don’t.”

“Good,” Dr. Hargreaves said. “I like surprises. Now, let’s take a look. Up on the table, Neva.”

I felt a smidge of excitement; Patrick was rubbing off on me. With his help I climbed onto the table and sat still as Dr. Hargreaves took my blood pressure. Then I lay on my back and pulled my T-shirt up to my bra-line. Patrick held my hand, his gaze already focused on the monitor.

“I’ll measure you first.” Dr. Hargreaves reached into her pocket for a tape measure and stretched it across my belly from pelvis to ribs. She clicked her tongue. “Good size for thirty-six weeks,” she said mostly to herself. “Got your height, Patrick.”

Patrick’s smile froze.

“Now, just a little bit cold, Neva.” She squirted some clear, sticky liquid onto my stomach. “Let’s take a look.”

She lowered the device onto my belly and the beating heart immediately came into focus. Patrick clutched my hand.

“There it is.” Dr. Hargreaves continued to swirl the device around. “Head, bottom—the wrong way around—and there’s the heart, the brain.” Patrick, I noticed, was smiling at the monitor. “Right arm, left arm, right leg, left leg. I’ll avoid this area since you don’t want to know the sex.”

I found myself smiling too. When I found out I was pregnant, I hadn’t expected to have this. A loving man, a father-to-be, by my side. And although I’d never allowed myself to go there, the idea of doing this alone was suddenly unimaginably sad.

“Good-looking little thing, I think,” Dr. Hargreaves said. “Right then, you can hop down.”

She wiped my stomach with a sheet of paper towel. When we were all back at her desk, she opened a new document on her computer.

“Okay, I have a few questions for each of you. Any hereditary conditions I should know about? Heart defects, spina bifida, blood disorders, Downs?”

“Nope,” I said.

“And in your family, Patrick?”

“Uh, no. Not that I know of.”

Patrick shook his head a little too fast, almost like a twitch. Dr. Hargreaves didn’t seem to notice, but I did.

“And you’ve been taking your prenatal vitamins since the beginning, Neva?”

I nodded.

“Good. Then this is going to be pretty straightforward. Now, we can do the C-section this side of Christmas, if you like. That’s only a week early. Give you a nice little Christmas present.”

Scheduling a date and time wasn’t something I’d expected to do for my labor. But before I could feel too sorry for myself, Patrick broke into the most adorable grin. “The best Christmas present ever.”

“Fine. You can book in the date with Amelia on the way out. Is there anything else? Any concerns?”

We bumbled through the rest of the pleasantries, and then Patrick walked me to the birthing center for my shift.

Halfway there, he stopped. “Nev, I’ve been thinking.”

I resisted making a joke about it hurting his head, as his expression was somber. “Go on.”

“All those hereditary conditions Lorraine asked about today—that’s important information. I deal with kids all the time who are born with genetic disorders. It’s horrible, especially if it comes as a surprise. Having that information in advance is invaluable—for early treatment, for readiness, for planning.”

“This baby won’t have any genetic conditions.”

“Are you sure?” Patrick was tight in the jaw. “Do you know the father well?”

“Yes. I know him very well.”

He paled. I took his hand.

“You’re the father, Patrick. In every way that counts.”

It wasn’t the answer he was looking for. Or maybe it was. I got the feeling that, over the past few weeks, Patrick had gotten as attached to my secret as I had. The idea that there was no father would be much easier to accept than the idea of an unknown man lurking out there, liable to burst in at any minute and turn our lives upside down.

Resignedly, he kissed the side of my head and we continued along the corridor. Perhaps it was a victory, but it didn’t feel like one. It wouldn’t be long before the subject came up again. And eventually, we were both going to have to admit the truth.

23

Grace

Neva and Mom sat on kitchen stools as I tossed flounder fillets in bread crumbs. I’d been looking forward to hosting our monthly dinner. Robert had been verging on mute for days—so consumed by his work—and I’d hoped I’d get a chance for some real conversation tonight. No such luck. Mom and Neva stared at the wall beyond the peas they shelled, barely answering the questions they were asked. They must have eaten a slice of the same silent-pie Robert was eating.

I thought about divulging my secret to them, that I was actually delivering babies while the investigation was going on, but I decided against it. I was actually quite enjoying my double life. Somehow, it felt like my way of giving the finger to that smug doctor who’d issued the complaint. The only difficult part was the technicalities. Two nights earlier I’d received a text from a mother in labor. At two in the morning. Robert roused as I started to get dressed, and I’d had to pretend I was sleepwalking. A few minutes later, once he’d fallen back into a deep sleep, I’d seized the keys and left the house in my pajamas.

Only occasionally, when I really allowed myself to think about it, did I worry about the consequences that would come about if I were caught. By the Board of Nursing. By Robert. But whenever those thoughts popped into my head, I chased them out again. Positive thinking, Grace. Positive thinking.

“Having any food aversions, darling?” I asked Neva, trying to get some conversation out of my unusually quiet daughter. “When I was pregnant with you, the mere sight of a mushroom was enough to send me running to the bathroom.”

Neva shrugged. “I’ve gone off tuna, I guess.”

“Oh.” I paused, my hands still buried in fish and bread crumbs. “Are you okay with flounder?”

“Should be. Though I won’t know for sure until you put it in front of me.”

I chuckled, trying to catch Mom’s eye. Any woman who’d been pregnant could sympathize with that. “Did you get any food aversions when you were pregnant, Mom?”

Mom focused steadily on her sleeve, picking off some lint. “I suppose I did.”

“What about cravings?” I asked. “When I was pregnant with Neva, I could have eaten fried rice all day long.”

“Oh, I don’t know … It was a long time ago, dear.”

It was odd, how hazy she was sometimes. Even though she was eighty-three, I’d have thought these kinds of things would be burned into her mind.

The doorbell chimed as we were about to sit down. “Neva,” I said, “your father’s eating in front of the hockey game. Can you take him his dinner in the den? Be nice—he’s in a mood.”

I dried my hands on a tea towel as I made my way to the door. Behind it stood a small woman with a cap of short, blond-gray hair. She held the neck of her navy anorak with one hand against the wind.

“Can I help you?”

“Hello. I’m Marie Ableman. From the Board of Nursing.” Marie clutched the coat as a gush of wind ripped past. She shuddered.

“Oh. Uh … Come in.” I held the door open and she came into the foyer. “I wasn’t expecting you, was I?”

“No. I was going to call you tomorrow, but I thought it might be a good idea to speak in person. I hope you don’t mind me stopping by.”

“No, I guess not.”

But I did mind. Good news was given via the fastest possible means, be it a phone call or an e-mail. Bad news was given in person. At least, that was how I figured it.