The Baby Bonanza

“Surely you have some questions,” the doctor said after listening to the babies’ heartbeats and reviewing Zora’s weight gain and test results. They were fine considering her stage of pregnancy. “You never mention any problems.”

“Am I supposed to?” Zora had been raised to consider complaining a sign of weakness.

“Frankly, yes.” The tall woman draped her frame over a stool. “At thirty-two weeks with a multiple pregnancy, you must be having trouble sleeping, and your ankles are swollen. As I’ve suggested before, you should be on bed rest.”

“I can’t afford it,” Zora said. “I don’t have a husband to wait on me.”

“What about the rest of your family?” the doctor asked.

“My mom and stepfather live in Oregon.” She’d rather not have either of them around. And there was no sense bringing up her twin, perfect Zady with her ideal husband and kids, whom their mother never failed to mention when she talked with Zora.

The doctor’s forehead creased. “Is your mom flying down for the birth?”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.” Her mother would expect to be catered to, regardless of the circumstances. She’d be no help with a baby. At home, Mom waited on Zora’s surly, demanding stepfather, but her attitude toward her daughters—toward Zora, at least—was just the opposite.

Dr. Brennan regarded her with concern. “Have you chosen a labor partner?” At every visit, she’d recommended Zora sign up for a birthing class.

“I won’t need one for a C-section.” Although twins didn’t always have to be delivered surgically, Zora preferred to play it safe.

“If that’s what you want, okay.” The physician nodded. “But remember that what we call bed rest doesn’t necessarily require staying in bed. You can relax at home and perform routine tasks as you feel capable.”

“I feel capable of working.” To forestall further objections, Zora added, “And providing ultrasounds doesn’t harm the babies. It’s not like X-rays or mammograms.”

“But it does require standing on your feet all day. And for safety’s sake, you should stop driving.” Paige raised her eyebrows commandingly.

Zora was having trouble reaching the pedals in her car. “I could ride to work with my housemates.” Rod, whose car frequently broke down, cadged rides from others, so why shouldn’t she?

Keely chose that moment to step in from the hall. “I can drive her.”

“Excuse me?” Paige blinked at the unexpected comment.

“If I rent a room in their house, Zora can ride with me.” The nurse mustered a faint smile.

“I thought you had a roommate,” Zora said.

“So did I. Can we talk at lunch?”

“Sure.”

The obstetrician cleared her throat. “Keely, would you provide Zora with an after-visit summary and schedule an appointment for her in two weeks?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

The doctor typed a note into the computer. “Zora, call me if you have any problems, such as spotting or contractions, even if they don’t hurt. Okay?”

“Will do.” Zora accepted the nurse’s assistance in rising from the table.

Once she was dressed, she tucked the printed summary into her purse and walked to the elevator with Keely. With her neck thrust forward, the woman’s aggressive stance reinforced the impression of her as a difficult personality. Zora hoped she hadn’t erred by suggesting Keely move in with them.

“What’s the situation with your roommate?” she asked as they descended. The office was only one flight up, but in Zora’s condition, that might as well be ten stories.

“She’s in Iowa taking care of her mother,” Keely said. “She only planned to stay a week but that’s changed. Last night she emailed and asked me to ship all her stuff to her.”

“That was short notice. Your rent must be due next week.” It was the first of the month.

“That’s right. I’m glad you mentioned the vacancy.”

“Everything’s subject to Karen’s approval,” Zora warned.

“I’ll stop by her office later.”

It sounded like a done deal. At least Keely would be an improvement on Laird.

In the cafeteria, the blend of voices and aromas filled Zora with eagerness to share this new development with Lucky. Where was he? Her gaze swept past the food serving bays and across the crowded room.

She spotted him sharing a table with a thin and most unwelcome companion: Laird. The psychologist was talking a mile a minute, oblivious to Lucky’s irritated expression.

Zora would rather not discuss Keely in front of the competition. “Hold on,” she said, turning.

Too late. Keely was stomping right over to the table. Judging by the set of her shoulders, she didn’t plan to be subtle, either.

Chapter Five (#ub2072629-c39b-52c4-9a7c-13fa558b95bb)

Lucky had often heard the flow of gossip referred to as a grapevine, but in a hospital, a more appropriate comparison would be the circulatory system, with its arteries and veins. And its heart, the pump through which all rumors flowed, was the cafeteria.

As a rule, he enjoyed the hum of conversations, among which his ears caught intriguing snatches of news—about hirings and firings, love affairs and broken hearts. Once in a while the drama expanded to include the doctors.

Until today, however, Lucky hadn’t understood the embarrassment of landing in the middle of a scene that drew all eyes. It started when Keely announced, without preamble, “I lost my roommate. I’ve decided to move into your house!”

People peered toward them. The story of Karen’s home, its assorted occupants and the resulting pregnancies and marriages had already set many a tongue wagging.

Laird choked, although Lucky couldn’t figure out on what. The psychologist hadn’t stopped yammering long enough to eat anything. Instead, he’d plopped his butt into a chair at Lucky’s table and begun citing his plans for throwing parties.

He’d also proclaimed that his huge TV screen would transform their outdated living room into game central. Not that Lucky would mind, but the guy apparently didn’t consider it necessary to solicit Karen’s opinion.

“Like hell you’re moving in!” Laird finally blurted in a voice that rose to a squeal. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“I cleared it with Zora.” Keely indicated that red-haired person, who gazed warily from the hot food line before ducking out of sight.

Lucky nearly bellowed, “Get over here!” but more heads were swiveling. Not his doctor, mercifully. Through the glass doors, he spotted Dr. Rattigan out of earshot on the patio.

“It’s a party house!” Laird, his usually pale face reddening with anger, didn’t appear to care who heard him roar. “You’re the last person in Safe Harbor anyone would invite to a party.”

Silence fell save for the clink of tableware and glasses. The chatter of a man talking on a cell phone sounded abnormally loud, and then that too ceased.

“Let’s skip the insults, shall we?” Lucky deliberately employed a soft tone in the hope the others would follow suit.

The effort fell flat. “Oh, really?” Keely boomed. “I was invited to the baby shower, in case you forgot. As for you, Laird, you can take your grabby hands and go live in a brothel.”