“Would the baby survive if it was born now?” Quinn asked.
“Yes, many are born far more prematurely than this. Nevertheless, I don’t believe in hurrying labor unless we have no choice. Preemies are more likely to have problems, and you could run up some serious bills if he or she had to stay in the neonatal unit for any length of time.”
“I can pay the bills if that’s the safest course for the baby.” Those vivid eyes briefly rested on her face. “And for Mindy.”
“That’s good to know,” Dr. Gibbs said. “But I’m still of the wait-and-see mindset.” She fixed a stern gaze on Mindy. “You’re following my instructions?”
Mindy nodded. “I get up only to go to the bathroom and to eat. And I did go to my Lamaze class Monday night.”
The doctor pursed her lips. “That should be fine as long as you’ve been resting in bed all day. Well.” She flipped the chart closed. “Any questions?”
“Do you think my due date is still accurate?”
“Yep. I give you two more weeks tops. And that’s assuming your blood pressure stays down.” She rose from her stool, nodded, said, “Glad to meet you, Mr. Quinn. Mindy, be sure to make an appointment for next week,” and left the room.
The examining room seemed very small in her wake. Mindy stood, eager to escape its confines. “Well, that was exciting, wasn’t it?”
“It was interesting.” Quinn let her precede him out the door and down the hall, then waited patiently while she scheduled the next week’s appointment.
Outside, he held the car door while she got in, then went around to his side. With the key in the ignition, he paused. “Hearing the heartbeat...” His shoulders moved. “I guess the baby didn’t seem real until now.”
“Well, it does a little more to me since I’m the jungle gym.” Mindy patted her belly. “But I know what you mean. Hearing the heartbeat makes you realize there’s really a whole separate being inside me.”
“Yeah.” He seemed to tear his gaze from her stomach. “Yeah, that’s it.” Giving himself a little shake, he started the car and then turned to look over his shoulders. “It won’t be just the two of us pretty soon.”
She liked living with him. Liked it a whole lot. But pride made her say, “You know, once the baby is born, I won’t need the help. No more bed rest. You won’t want a baby keeping you awake at night. I can leave you in peace.”
Quinn braked hard enough at the street to jolt them both. “You gave notice on that apartment, didn’t you?”
“I had to. But I’ll have to find a different place. Eventually, I mean. And it’s not as if I can afford anything better! Maybe the Sanchezes won’t have rented it out again yet...”
“Mindy, that’s no place for a baby!”
“He won’t be crawling for months! What difference does it make where the playpen and crib are?”
“He’d develop asthma from the mold.” Quinn glowered at her. “Why are you determined to move out of my place?”
“Um...” Very carefully, Mindy said, “I wouldn’t say I’m determined to move out.”
“Then what are we talking about?”
“Quinn, you offered me your spare bedroom because I was desperate! I won’t be desperate anymore once the baby is born. Your offer didn’t include postnatal care.”
“Well, now it does.” He cast an irritated glance at the rearview mirror and she realized that another car had been waiting behind them. “Yeah, yeah,” Quinn muttered, and turned onto the street. “I’d feel better,” he said, his tone oddly formal, “if you’d plan to stay for a while.”
She hadn’t cried in at least a week. A recent record. But she immediately felt teary. “Thank you, Quinn.”
“Good, it’s settled.” His shoulders seemed to relax.
It occurred to Mindy that he had just insisted, once again, that she do what he thought best, and she had once again submitted docilely. Where was her pride? Her sense of independence? She should resent his high-handedness! Why was he so convinced she needed to be taken care of?
She tried to fan a spark of resentment to life. She might even have succeeded, if just then Quinn’s fingers hadn’t flexed on the steering wheel and he hadn’t said, “I don’t usually put a Christmas tree up. But this’ll be his first Christmas. We ought to do it right.”
Her heart melted, dousing the spark. This big, tough, lonely man was worried about her newborn baby having the kind of Christmas Quinn himself hadn’t had when he was a child. Never mind that the tree would be no more than a blur of color to an uncomprehending baby, that Mindy would have to unwrap any presents. Doing Christmas right meant something to Quinn. And that made her heart ache.
“Just think.” She gently rubbed her belly and smiled at him. “A baby by Christmas.”
H
E
’
D
SPENT
THE
PREVIOUS
Thanksgiving with Dean, Mindy and half a dozen other friends of theirs. Quinn would have escaped as soon as he’d eaten except for the football game. The women had hung out in the kitchen, the men in the living room.
Most years he volunteered to work on holidays. Let the guys with families have ’em off, he figured.
This year, he was up at eight groping inside the turkey, pulling out semi-frozen gizzards. Mindy, sleepy-eyed and bundled in her fuzzy robe, sat at the breakfast bar to supervise. Once he’d stuffed the turkey, wrapped it in aluminum foil and put it in the oven, she yawned, said, “I’m going back to bed,” and disappeared.
Grateful for two ovens, Quinn mixed up pie crust and got out the rolling pin. Wasn’t he domestic?
The Howies arrived at noon, shivering as they stepped in. The rain, they reported, was mixed with sleet, and the news said the snow level was down to a thousand feet.
Quinn helped them out of their coats. “Mindy is in the living room. Why don’t you go on in? I need to check on the turkey.”
“Don’t stand up!” Nancy ordered as Mindy started to struggle up. “Is Quinn taking good care of you?”
Without hesitation, without a glance his way, she said, “The best. He’ll deserve sainthood by the time he gets rid of me.”
“Oh, my.” Nancy sat next to her. “Dean’s child. What a shame he isn’t here. You must think about him every day.”
From the kitchen, Quinn missed Mindy’s answer. The comment was a punch to his stomach. When was the last time he’d really missed Dean? Having Mindy here, expecting Dean’s baby, maybe he
should
be caught at every turn by a memory, but the truth was he’d almost quit thinking of her as Dean’s wife. She was just...herself. A mop-headed, pretty woman with more than her share of pride, a quick mind, and a softness when she talked about the baby. Even the baby...Quinn knew it was Dean’s, but in Quinn’s mind the kid had become his own person, too. Or maybe her own person. Someone distinct. Someone who mattered aside from her parents.
He guessed he didn’t much like the idea that Mindy was still moping all day for Dean. Wishing she didn’t need him because she had Dean.
Okay, he thought with dismay; that was pretty pathetic. She wasn’t supposed to miss her husband because now she had him. That wasn’t even the kind of relationship they had! Or that either of them wanted.
He frowned. Okay. Maybe, if Dean’s ghost wasn’t between them, and they were just meeting now... But she was his best friend’s widow... Well, that wasn’t the kind of thing you forgot.
So what right had he to be bothered if she was still deep in mourning for Dean? He should be
glad
she’d really loved his buddy!
Not... Oh, face it. Not jealous.
He was a lousy excuse for a human being.
“Can I help?” Nancy asked brightly, from right behind him.
He jumped a foot. “Sorry. I was...” Brooding. What he’d been doing was best left undescribed. “No, I think I’ve got everything set. All I have to do is turn the potatoes on—” he suited action to words “—and then heat the rolls and broccoli.”
“Oh, it smells so good!” Her face glowed. “It was so nice of you to ask us, Quinn.”
“I’m just sorry we haven’t made it a tradition.” He realized he meant it. Maybe he’d never let himself love them, but they were still the closest thing to family he had. “I figured you’d want to get an early glimpse of your first grandchild.”
“Oh!” She sneaked a peek toward the living room, where George was laughing at something Mindy had said. “Do you think she’d mind if we thought of ourselves that way? Since you boys were our only children...”
He’d wondered sometimes how they felt about him. He guessed that was his answer.
Throat thick, Quinn said, “I think Mindy will be thrilled. She’s not very close to her mother, you know.”
“What a shame!” Nancy shook her head. “We couldn’t have children, you know.”
He hadn’t.
“It wasn’t that we didn’t want any,” she continued. “But those were the days before people rushed off to fertility clinics and then spent a year’s income on some treatment. We just hoped, and let time go by.”
Why was she telling him this?
“By the time we accepted that it wasn’t going to happen, we were too old to start with a baby.” She gave a small laugh. “We didn’t even want one anymore! We planned to adopt an older child when we called the agency. They gave us Dean and then you.”
“Probably not quite what you were imagining,” Quinn said dryly.
“But you see, you were exactly what we’d imagined. Two boys who needed us.” She reached out a hand and gripped his with startling strength, even as he felt the tremor. “You brought us such joy even as you broke our hearts by showing us how much you’d missed. We always thought...” She stopped.
He laid his other hand over hers, feeling its fragility. “You thought?”
“Oh, that we could make up for the childhood you hadn’t had.” Her smile was sad. “But I guess it was too late.”
“Maybe not,” he heard himself saying. This felt awkward, but necessary. “I didn’t want to believe in all the little things you did, but lately I’ve been realizing how much they meant to me anyway.”
“Really?” She searched his face.
“I guess it’s losing Dean that made me think.”
Her fingers bit into his hand.
“Most of my memories of him are mixed up with you and George. And home. Trusting you never felt safe.” He frowned. “That doesn’t sound right.”
“I know what you mean.”
He’d tended to retreat from physical closeness, but somehow this was easier to say when he looked down at their clasped hands. This woman had bandaged his wounds, nursed him when he’d been sick, smiled when he’d brought home good report cards and wept with pride at his high-school graduation. She’d been his mom, however carefully he’d always told people, “I live with the Howies.”
“The thing is,” he continued, “looking back, I realize that I
did
trust you. Maybe not the first couple of years, but at some point I quit thinking you’d ditch me if I did something wrong. It just...never crossed my mind that you and George wouldn’t be there for the long haul.”
He seemed to have a gift for making women cry lately. Her eyes welled with tears. “Oh, Brendan. We hoped. We always hoped.”
“And Dean’s baby...” He hunched his shoulders. “I want for him what you gave us. Not what we had before.”
If possible, she squeezed his hand even harder. “Even if Mindy never remarries, I think that baby will have everything he needs and all the love in the world. You two will make sure of it.”
He was pierced with the words,
if Mindy remarries...
If she remarried, she sure wouldn’t need him. Neither would her child. He’d have no place in their lives. Quinn didn’t understand why, but he hated that idea.
“Oh, dear!” Nancy said, letting go of his hand. “The potatoes are boiling over! I guess we’d better pay attention to business.”
He swung around and lifted the lid from the pot, then turned the heat down. Shaking his head, he said, “Looks like I could use some help, after all. Would you turn on the broccoli and put the rolls in a bag to heat while I take the turkey out?”
“Of course. I’d be delighted to help!” She beamed at him even though her eyes still looked misty.
It didn’t come naturally, but he kissed her cheek anyway. “Yeah. You always have been. I’ve just been too dumb to realize what a lucky guy I was.”
Nancy patted his shoulder. “Dear Brendan, dumb is one thing you’ve never been. Scared, maybe. Of course you were scared!” she added, as if chiding herself. “But what a fine man you’ve turned into.” She nodded, turned to the stove and laughed softly. “All that worrying for nothing! How foolish of me.”
“Worrying?”
But she didn’t hear him, or had no intention of answering. She smiled beatifically. “Brendan, dear, I do believe these potatoes are done.”
“If you’d mash them...”
“Of course I will. Now, you concentrate on the turkey. My, it all smells good! What a perfect Thanksgiving this will be!”
Yeah, Quinn thought in some surprise. She was right. As holidays went, this one wasn’t going to be half-bad.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
T
HE
NEXT
WEEK
, Quinn went to the Lamaze class with Mindy as if it were a given. He was pleased when she didn’t argue. Afterward, as they walked out, he said, “We’re a pretty good team in there.”
Looking ponderous and very, very tired, she said, “Uh-huh.”
He’d been hoping for more. Something like an invitation to continue the partnership through labor. But the idea apparently hadn’t occurred to her.
After a minute, he said, “You’re not going to make it to another class, you know.”
Pausing at the head of the stairs, Mindy nodded. She reached for the railing and carefully stepped down.
Quinn hovered at her side, ready to catch her if she fell. She took one step at a time, clinging to the railing. He was glad her doctor’s appointment was upcoming so soon; just the last couple of days, she’d become quiet and broody and
bigger
.
He’d noticed that the woman who looked like a house last week wasn’t at the class tonight. Someone else asked, and the instructor beamed.
“Tammi had a nine-pound-eight-ounce boy last night.”
The kid was almost ten pounds? He’d stolen a look at Mindy’s swollen belly and tried to imagine a baby that big in there.
Now she sank into the car with a sigh of relief.
Once in on his side, Quinn asked, “Are you okay?”
“Hmm?” She gave him a distracted glance. “I’m fine.”
She didn’t sound fine. She sounded as if her response was automatic, her mind a million miles away.
Or turned inward.
“That’s it,” he growled, “that doctor had better decide to induce labor when she sees you.”
Mindy turned a surprised face to him. “Why?”
“You can’t go on like this!”
“Of course I can.” Her attention drifted away. “Women do.”
“Not all women have preeclampsia.”
“Quinn, I’m pregnant. No one ever said the last few weeks were easy.”
She was silent then, gazing out the side window, her thoughts who knew where. And wherever they were, they were inaccessible to him. He wanted to say,
I’m worried!
but kept reminding himself that he was no more than a buddy, someone helping her out when she needed it. Did he have a right to be scared?
In the house, she said good-night right away and disappeared into her bedroom, firmly closing her door behind her. He didn’t sleep well, with an ear listening for her bathroom trips. The next day, he called twice. The first time she didn’t answer, and he worried until she did an hour later.
“I’m fine, Quinn.”
He was getting tired of hearing that. “No labor pains yet?”
“I’ve been having a few,” she admitted.
“What?”
Half the diners in the sub shop turned to stare at him.
“I called the doctor’s office and they said it’s normal to have...well, warm-ups. The pains are too far apart to be real labor. I shouldn’t have told you!”
He wished she hadn’t. No, that was a lie; he hadn’t liked not knowing what she was thinking or feeling. But now he wanted to check up on her every half an hour. Knowing she’d get ticked, he didn’t. He just pulled his cell phone out every fifteen minutes or so to be sure he hadn’t missed a call.
He broke a few speed limits getting home. Once there, he was intensely frustrated to find her bedroom door closed.
“I’m home,” he announced, not quite loud enough to wake her if she was asleep, just letting her know.
No response.
She hadn’t been eating much these past few days, but he put on dinner anyway, then paced. Should he wake her when dinner was ready? She’d said she was having trouble sleeping nights. Getting comfortable was hard. If she really was sound asleep...
He heard her door open as he took the casserole out of the oven. She went to the bathroom first, then into the living room without bothering with a robe. The T-shirt stretched over her belly. Her hair, he noticed, was imprinted by the pillow but dandelion fluffy, as if she’d showered that morning. He wished she wouldn’t when he wasn’t home. What if she slipped?
“Did you get some sleep?” he asked.
“Not so much I didn’t hear your footsteps going back and forth in front of my door,” she said, a little tartly.
“I was worried about you.”
“Quinn, there’s nothing to worry about yet!”
She was making him crazy. “You’re having labor pains, but I shouldn’t worry?”
“It’s normal!”
“Well, I’ve never done this before!” How had they come to be yelling?
“I haven’t, either! And you’re not the one doing it!”
That was a low blow. He turned away so she couldn’t see his reaction.
After a minute, he said, “Okay. I’m sorry. I’m just not used to...” What? “I don’t know. Really caring about somebody.”
“Oh, Quinn.” Her voice melted, buttery soft. “The baby is okay. Really. And...he’s going to be glad you care.”
“I’m more worried about you than I am the baby.” He didn’t know what possessed him to tell her that. They were probably both better off with the pretense that he was in this because she carried Dean’s kid. But it irritated him, this assumption she refused to discard that he didn’t care about her.
She met his gaze, hers startled and shy. He thought she blushed.
“That’s nice of you to say, Quinn. But we’re
both
fine.”
If he heard that one more time... But he said only, “Are you hungry?”
Mindy made an apologetic face. “Not very, but I’ll try.”
She ate only a few mouthfuls, although he noticed she moved food around on her plate with her fork as if to keep him from noticing. He didn’t comment when he cleared the table and scraped most of her dinner into the trash.
On a sudden inspiration, he asked, “You want to play cards? I have a cribbage board around somewhere.”
Her face brightened. “That sounds like fun. I’m awfully tired of watching TV.”
Since he hadn’t been much of a television watcher to start with, he had no trouble understanding that. He remembered seeing the cribbage board in a drawer when he’d been looking for something else, so he was able to retrieve it quickly.
He set the board on the coffee table and put the pegs in the first holes, then glanced up to see her lying stiff on the couch, her eyes wide and staring.
Fear punched him. “Mindy?”
She didn’t answer for a minute, then exhaled slowly and relaxed. “I was just having a twinge.”
“A
twinge?
”
“Well, okay. Stronger than that, but it’s the first one I’ve had in at least an hour, so we don’t need to panic.”
Who was panicking?
“You want me to deal?” she asked.
She was taking all this calmly. If she could be laid back about it, so could he.
“I’ll do this hand.”
She won the first game and crowed about it.
“Two out of three,” he insisted.
They talked idly as they played. Once she giggled at a story he told her about a stupid crook, and he realized he hadn’t heard her do that in a long time. It was an infectious sound that made him smile. The kid was going to pop out expecting to hear his mommy giggle.
He let her win the third game, so she went to bed satisfied. Then he finished cleaning the kitchen and read for a while before he went to bed.
Quinn usually slept in his boxer shorts, but he’d taken to wearing pajamas since Mindy came to stay with him. As he pulled them on, he patted his stomach, thinking it was getting a little soft. When was the last time he’d been to the gym? Or even run? Dumb question—he knew the answer. He’d been so eager to get home every day since Mindy had come to stay with him that he hadn’t hit the gym in a month.
He heard her get up to go to the bathroom a time or two. The distant sound of doors opening and closing and the toilet flushing was part of the rhythm of the night now. But some time later, he came awake abruptly with the knowledge someone was standing beside his bed.
“Quinn?”
He jackknifed up. “Mindy?”
Her voice was very small. “I think it’s time.”
“You’re sure?” Stupid question.
“The contractions are five minutes apart.”
“Wow.” He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. “Okay.”
“Oh!” She gave a strangled gasp.
He switched on the lamp and gripped her hand. “Breathe! Come on. Pant. One, two, three, four, blow. Okay, that’s it. Three, four, blow.” He kept counting until he saw in her face that the contraction was subsiding. “That was closer together than five minutes, wasn’t it?”
She nodded. “I’d better get dressed.”
He threw on clothes and followed her, to find her sitting on the edge of her bed panting. She’d managed to get into a T-shirt and denim jumper before the next contraction hit.
Quinn found her flip-flops and the suitcase she’d packed in advance. “Do you need your toothbrush and toothpaste? Anything else from the bathroom?”
They waited for one more contraction to come and go, then he hustled her to the car. She was panting again when he got behind the wheel. He waited until this one passed, then rocketed out of the garage and into the street. For the first time, he noticed the time: 4:08 a.m. Thankfully the roads were empty at this time of night.
Her next contraction came at 4:12. Three and a half, four minutes apart. He wished she’d woken him sooner.
He reached for her hand and held it during the short drive. “You’re doing great,” he kept saying, meaninglessly. At the hospital, he slammed to a stop in the emergency entrance. Mindy rode out another contraction before E.R. personnel eased her out of the car and into a wheelchair.
“I’ll be right back,” he promised, and drove off to park the car. He ran back to the entrance, then followed signs to the Obstetrics ward.
At the nurses’ station he said, “Mindy Fenton?”
The middle-aged nurse smiled kindly at him. “We’re just getting her settled in a delivery room.”
“Her doctor?”
“Is on her way in.”
By the time they let him in to see Mindy, she was in bed wearing a hospital gown and a monitor. He could see the baby’s heartbeat pattering in electric green across the screen.
“Is that normal?” he demanded.
The nurse who had been taking Mindy’s pulse smiled. “Yes, it looks just fine.” She patted Mindy’s hand. “I’ll be right back.”
“How close are the contractions together now?”
“Less than three minutes. It’s happening really fast.” She gave him a brave smile. “I’m so glad you were home and I didn’t have to wait for a cab.”
A cab.
“Yeah.” He saw the change on her face. “Okay, here we go. One, two, three, four, exhale.” He kept counting, barely aware of a nurse appearing, giving an approving smile and withdrawing from the room. “Good girl,” he murmured, when Mindy sagged. He smoothed her hair from her clammy forehead. “Hey, you’re handling these really well.”
“My cheerleader.” Her voice came out as a small, dry croak.
He handed her a glass of ice chips and steadied it as she took a few into her mouth.
When she’d swallowed, she said, “Will you wait, Quinn? I mean, if you want to go home...”
He’d have been mad if he hadn’t seen the anxiety in her eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Oh.” The hand still clasped in his relaxed. “You’ll have to ask the nurse where to wait...”
“No.” He met her eyes. “I mean, I’m staying right here. You’re not doing this alone.”
Mindy stared at him. “You mean that?” she whispered.
“You thought I was just going to lounge out there somewhere reading a good book while you went through labor alone?”
“I...”
He didn’t let her finish. “You need a labor coach. I’m it.”
Her eyes filled with fat tears that immediately spilled over. “Oh, Quinn.”
“Hey.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a change on the monitor. “Here comes another one.”
He helped her breathe through it, then said, “Roll onto your side.”
“What?” She started to roll toward him, but he shook his head and pushed her the other way. He untied the neck of her hospital gown and began to gently knead her shoulders. Mindy gave a throaty moan.
Her muscles were taut under his hands, and he guessed fear was part of it. Showtime had arrived with a bang.
She’d
probably been worrying about whether she had a ten-pound baby in there, too, and how she was going to get it out.
He was probing tense muscles beneath her shoulder blades when she stiffened. He kept rubbing gently as the contraction crested and then ebbed. Without a word, he deepened the massage, moved down to the small of her back.
The world seemed to narrow to the two of them, to the monitor and the nurse who checked on Mindy every little while, to the shrinking minutes between contractions and their murmured conversation.
“You’ll call the Howies? And my mom?”
“The minute we know whether you have a boy or girl.”
“I should have chosen a name, and I haven’t. Except...if it’s a boy, I thought maybe Dean.”
Normally he wasn’t a fan of juniors. But in this case... “Yeah. That’d be nice.”
“But if it’s a girl... Oh!”
“Breathe,” he reminded her, when a small sob escaped her. “That’s it, that’s it.”
He was exhausted. He’d had no idea how unrelenting this process was once it began. Nature could be ruthless. And Mindy’s labor was progressing fast, from what he’d learned in the Lamaze class. What if she had a contraction every five minutes for forty hours?
The doctor arrived somewhere in there and kicked him out while she did an exam. “Six centimeters dilated,” she announced, when he returned. “We’re well on our way.”
“You don’t think you should do a C-section?”
She was kind enough to do no more than give him a pat on the arm. “Mindy is doing just fine. Don’t worry.”
“Ohhh!” Mindy wailed and he rushed to her side.
Framing her face with his hands, he made her look at him and talked her through this one, the most intense yet.
The contractions came faster and faster, until they were right on top of each other, one barely easing before the next roared in its wake. Her eyes never left his; she gripped his hand so hard he lost all feeling in it. The doctor coaxed Mindy to put her feet into the stirrups and draped a white cover over her knees.