Clay hardly spoke to her during their flight. Andie tried to console herself with the thought that she’d done the right thing. If he really did need her during this awful time, she would be there.

She found the airline seats very uncomfortable. Her back seemed to be aching pretty badly, a low, deep kind of ache that was almost like cramps. She almost told Clay about it, but decided not to. He was so distant and closed off that he was sure to see any physical complaints as more “grand-standing” on her part.

When the steward came by, Andie asked him for a pillow, which she braced behind her back. It seemed to help. By the time they touched down at L.A., she felt better.

Luckily for her poor overburdened body, they had carried their luggage to their seats with them so they didn’t have to wait at the baggage carousels. And then the rental car she’d ordered was ready right outside the terminal.

Clay drove them to their hotel. Andie adjusted her seat so that it pushed against the small of her back and then stretched the seat belt over her middle. She looked out the window at the palm trees and the low, red-roofed stucco houses and the towers of glass and steel in the distance.

In spite of the smog that colored the summer air gray, Andie found Los Angeles a beautiful city. It seemed to be exotic, sophisticated and sad all at once.

There were too many people wrapped in rags, pushing shopping carts piled with dirty bags. And yet the variety of humanity was fascinating to see. Barefoot men with shaved heads wearing pink robes strolled down the street beside tattooed homeboys with their billed hats on backward. And everywhere there were expensive cars, showroom perfect, driven by men who wore black-lensed sunglasses and talked very intently on their car phones as they drove.

Their hotel, the Casa de la Reina, was a Spanish-style structure with little courtyards and fountains everywhere. Bougainvillea and fragrant jasmine tumbled down the walls. Their room was on the second floor overlooking the pool.

As soon as the bellman had been tipped and was gone, Clay asked her if she was hungry.

“No. What I’d really like to do right now is put my feet up.”

“That makes sense.” He actually sounded noncombative, for a change. “I promised Madeline I’d call her when I got in.”

Andie slipped off her shoes and sighed. “Go ahead.” She climbed up on one of the two king-size beds and began arranging herself against the headboard in a sort of half-reclining posture, with pillows at her back.

“Here. Let me help.” Clay grabbed more pillows off the other bed and propped up her knees, a thoughtful little gesture that she would have taken for granted just two days before.

Gratitude and love for him washed over her. She nearly drowned in it. And then the baby punched her in the stomach.

“Oh, you little scoundrel,” she groaned, and touched the place where she’d been kicked.

Clay put his hand over hers. “You stop kicking your mom,” he said to her stomach.

He was so close that his warmth and that subtle scent that was only him swam around her. She slipped her fingers from beneath his and reached out to cup the back of his neck, a fond gesture and an intimate one. She felt the slight toughness of the skin there, where the sun tanned him, and the blunt hairs at his nape, where his barber tapered them short. She touched the very place where his skull began.

It felt wonderful, just to have her hand on him, just to know, for that moment, that he was right there.

He looked at her. They shared a smile.

And then his glance slid away. “I should call Madeline.”

“Of course.”

Clay ducked out from under her touch and went to get his address book. Then he sat on the other bed and punched out the number.

Tuning out Clay’s side of the conversation, Andie closed her eyes and let her mind float. But then Clay spoke to her.

“Andie?”

“Hmm?” She rolled her head and looked at him. He had his hand over the receiver.

“Madeline wants to get out. To talk. She’s at her parents’ house. I was thinking we could take her out to dinner.”

We. He was including her, a fact that moved Andie deeply. He had made it so painfully clear that he hadn’t wanted her here, yet now that she was here, he wasn’t going to try to cut her out.

Andie considered for a moment and came to a decision. Were things different, were this baby she carried Clay’s baby in every single way, she would have come for the funeral—but she would not go to dinner with them tonight. To Madeline, she was a stranger. And right now, Madeline didn’t need an evening with a stranger. Madeline needed a friend. Like Clay.

Andie shook her head. “I think I’ll take it easy tonight and order room service. But you go.”

He frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

He looked at her closely. And then he nodded. “All right, then. I’ll go alone.” He tried to hide his relief, but she saw it nonetheless. He turned his attention to Madeline again.

Andie closed her eyes once more, feeling marginally better. It eased her troubled heart a little to think that, in this at least, she could do things the way Clay wanted them done.

 

“Hey, there.”

“Huh?” She opened her eyes.

Clay was bending over her. “You went to sleep.”

Andie struggled to sit up a bit higher. Her back was bothering her again and she wanted to find a position that would ease it.

“No.” Clay gently guided her down. “Stay there. I just wanted you to know I’m leaving.”

Her mind felt fuzzy. “I want to turn to my side.”

“Okay, then.” He helped her to sit. And then he moved the pillows around. “Try that.”

Andie slid down and lay in her favorite sleeping position, on her side.

“Better?”

“Much.” She smiled. “Now what are you doing? Leaving for dinner?”

“Right.”

“Okay. Give my apologies to Madeline. Say I hope to meet her in person tomorrow.”

“I will. Shall I order you something before I go? I can tell them to send it up later.”

“No. I can do it when I feel like eating. You go on.”

He smoothed back a few stray curls, which had clung to her cheek as she slept. “I won’t be late.”

His touch felt good. And her back seemed to have eased. She yawned. “Take your time.” She drifted off again, hardly hearing the door close behind him.

 

The house where Madeline’s parents lived was hidden in a small park behind a locked gate.

“Yes?” asked a disembodied voice when Clay pulled up to the gate.

He saw the speaker then, built into the stone fence at the side of the driveway. “Clay Barrett. I’m here to see Madeline.”

“Come right in.”

The gate made a clicking sound and swung open. He drove through.

When he saw the house, Clay thought it looked a lot like the Casa de la Reina, where he and Andie were staying. The place was huge and Mediterranean, more of a villa than anything else. Everywhere he looked he saw tropical foliage, wrought ironwork and Mexican tile.

A maid let him in. “Right this way.”

He followed obediently, down a hall into a vast, airy room decorated with woven rugs, several groupings of Mission-style furniture and lots of potted palms. Clay thought of the Casa de la Reina again. The room really was like the lobby of a big hotel. An older man and a woman, seated in one of the sets of furniture, turned to look when he entered.

The woman, who had the same blond, fine-boned good looks that Madeline possessed, smiled graciously. “You must be Clay Barrett. I’m Madeline’s mother, Cybil Shaeffer. And this is my husband, Madeline’s father, Jim.”

Jim, who looked like an aging movie star right down to the blue blazer and the ascot tie, stood and extended his arm. “Hello, Clay.” He was holding a drink in his free hand. The ice cubes in it rattled. “We’ve heard a lot about you. It’s good to meet you, even under these circumstances.”

Clay shook the proffered hand. “Yes. Good to meet you, too, Mr. Shaeffer.”

“Jim will do.”

“Jim, then.”

Jim gestured at a wrought-iron cart laden with crystal decanters. “How about a drink?”

Before Clay could answer, Madeline spoke. “Thanks, Dad. But we’re leaving.”

Clay turned to see her, in the arch to a hallway that began on the other side of the massive room. She wore toreador-length white pants and some kind of gauzy shirt. The straps of her wedge-heeled sandals crisscrossed over her bare ankles. She was pale, and her eyes were tired. The joyful glow that had radiated from her the last time Clay had seen her was gone.

She came toward him. “Hey, bud.”

“Hey to you.”

Dutifully, she kissed her parents.

“What time will you be home?” her mother asked.

“I don’t know for sure, Mom. But don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” She turned to Clay. “Shall we?”

“You bet.”

They walked out of the giant room and down the long hall to the front door. Madeline’s parents followed them, their shoes echoing on the tiles. They stood waving as Madeline and Clay got in the car.

“Take it easy, now,” Cybil warned. “Be careful.”

“We will,” Madeline called to them. Then she rolled the window up and smiled a wan smile at Clay. “They hover a lot. Since it happened.”

“That’s normal.”

“Yes. But I feel stifled already. And it’s only been two days.” She snapped her seat belt in place. “Now.” Her voice was determinedly bright. “It’s hot and it’ll be light for hours yet. Can we go somewhere outside and maybe sit under a tree in the shade?”

“You bet.”

Clay drove to a wild park he knew of, which was only a few miles to the west along Sunset Boulevard. The park was covered with expanses of dry grass and crisscrossed with hiking trails. Clay stopped by the side of the road and discovered a blanket in the trunk, stowed there courtesy of the rental company. They walked up a hillside and found a shady oak.

Clay spread the blanket and they sat. For a while, neither of them spoke. A hot, languid wind blew across the grass and from somewhere, quail cooed timidly to each other.

“Is this really happening?” Madeline asked at last in a wispy little voice.

Clay looked at her. Then he held out his hand. She took it.

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” he said.

Madeline gave his hand a squeeze and then pulled free, as if she needed the contact, yet couldn’t bear it for too long.

At the edge of the blanket, near where Madeline sat, a purple thistle grew. She touched it, touched the cruel little spikes around the blue flower.

“Will I keep living?” she asked.

He told her the truth. “Yes.”

“Did anyone ever die on you, Clay?”

“Just my mother, my biological mother. When I was a kid.”

“Were you there when it happened?”

“No. I was in a foster home at the time. There was some mix-up in communication. I didn’t find out until she was in the ground.”

“What did you feel like?”

“Angry. And lonely. I felt deserted.”

Madeline’s lips were pursed. “Yes. Exactly.” She took in a breath that seemed painful to draw, then let it out slowly. “I’m so mad at him, Clay. So many times he left me. But this time. This way. This is forever. He’s gone from the world. I think, in a way, I hate him for this. For this…ultimate recklessness. I just can’t forgive it.”

He understood that. Not being able to forgive Jeff.

He’d told Andie, “What he did, I’ll never be able to forgive.”

And Andie had said, “Oh, Clay, if you can’t forgive him, how will you ever forgive me?”

“Is that awful to say, Clay?”

Clay forced himself to think of the woman beside him and not his wife. “What? That you can’t forgive him?”

“Yes.”

“No. It’s not awful. It’s just…how you feel right now.”

Madeline gave him a pitiful little smile. “Thanks, Clay.”

“For what?”

“For everything. For being here. For telling me that what I feel is okay.”

“Hey. What are friends for?” Strange, he thought, it wasn’t that difficult to sit here like this with Madeline, to listen, to say the things she needed to hear. Maybe it was because Madeline wanted nothing from him beyond acceptance and a listening ear. And he wanted nothing from her.

“Clay?”

“Yeah?”

“Clay, did something happen? Did something go wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

“Between you and Jeff?”

It took her words a few seconds to register. When they did, everything changed.

The world became ominous. The drone of insects, harmless until now, suddenly buzzed heavy with threat. The heat of the afternoon, bearable just seconds ago, was now stifling.

“Why do you ask that?” His voice seemed to tread on eggshells, it was so careful.

“Because we never saw you again, after that strange day you and Jeff went out for lunch and Jeff came back alone looking like he’d had a run-in with a meat grinder. And then, you got married. And you never even told us.”

Clay looked away, across the grasses. He was stalling for time. He hadn’t expected these questions from her, for the truth to rear its ugly head and demand a hearing. If he didn’t tell her now, he would have to lie outright.

And yet what possible good could Madeline’s knowing the truth do anyone at this point? Jeff was dead. Madeline was in a world of pain. The truth would only make the pain worse.

“Clay? What is it?”

Clay made himself look at her. “It’s a long story. My wife…” He sought the right words.

She prompted, “Andie, right?”

“Yes. Andie. I mentioned on the phone today that she was pregnant, remember?”

“Yes. You said she was a little tired and wanted to rest. So she wouldn’t be coming with us tonight.”

“Right.”

“I assumed she was being thoughtful,” Madeline said. “You know, letting me have you alone, so I could cry on your shoulder.”

Clay thought about that, about Andie’s motives. Who could tell about Andie’s motives sometimes? She’d insisted on following him here when he’d practically begged her to stay home. And yet then she’d surprised him, by backing right out of the picture when it came to this visit with Madeline. He still didn’t understand what she was up to in this situation and he continued to resent the fact that she’d come.

Deep inside, maybe he was a little afraid she’d come here to say her own private goodbyes to Jeff. It made a hollow, sick place inside him, to think that she might still carry on some senseless fantasy about Jeff.

Though who could tell what went through Andie’s mind? Clay certainly couldn’t. Just two nights ago, she’d said she was in love with him. And though he didn’t believe in such foolishness, it had still been satisfying to hear. He’d thought how good they had it, and even told her as much. And then Madeline called the next day.

And the world had fallen apart.

“Clay?”

He blinked. “I’m sorry.”

Madeline’s gray eyes were full of understanding. “Don’t apologize. It’s a tough time for you, too.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“You were saying about your wife, Andie, and about her pregnancy?”

“Right. Well, see, she was pregnant when we got married.”

Madeline gave a tremulous little smile. “Oh. I get it.” She actually chuckled. “Clay Barrett, you devil. You led your cousin astray.”

“Er, right.”

“So you’re saying it all happened sort of quickly, the wedding, I mean?”

“Right. She didn’t want to marry me at first.”

“Ah. A woman with a mind of her own.”

“Is she ever. And then, when we finally worked things out, we just wanted to have it taken care of. We went to Tahoe and did it the quick way, over a weekend.”

“I see.” Madeline looked knowing, but then she frowned. “But there were all those months. You never called.”

“I know. It was inexcusable.”

“It’s not like you.”

“My life, it just changed completely.” In his mind, he saw Andie, laughing, holding her big stomach, rolling on the bed the other night, after she told him she loved him. Yearning welled in him, a slow, deep ache. How had it happened that she’d become so important, that she’d filled up his life? “I hope you can understand. Lately, it’s just seemed like there’s me and Andie and the baby. And nothing else matters. That’s selfish, I know.”

“Yes.” Madeline’s voice was soft. “Selfish. And completely understandable.” She patted his hand. “It’s okay. And I’m looking forward to meeting this special woman of yours tomorrow.”

“I’m glad.” And he was.

He was also massively relieved. Looking into Madeline’s eyes, he saw that his half-truths had been believed. She wouldn’t have to know about Jeff’s worst betrayal, after all.

Madeline wore a dreamy, faraway look now. “You know, what I really want to do is reminisce.”

“About Jeff?”

“Yes. Is that shameless and self-indulgent?”

“Absolutely. Do it.”

She closed her eyes. “I will. Do you remember the time when…?”

Madeline launched into a long story from the past, during their college days, when Clay and Jeff had first been friends. Clay let her tell the whole story, only stopping her when she left something out. And then he told a few old stories of his own.

Eventually, they got up and shook out the blanket and went back to the car. Madeline gave him directions to a little restaurant she knew of out at the beach. They ate dinner and watched the surf. Madeline cried and had to ask the waiter for tissues. It was near nine o’clock when they got in the rental car again.

After Clay drove through the gates and pulled up in front of her parents’ house, Madeline asked him to come in.

“No, I think I’ll go on back to the hotel.”

Madeline leaned across the console and kissed him on the cheek. “Say hello to Andie.”

“I will.”

“There’ll be food and, you know, people getting together, here tomorrow. After the interment.”

“We’ll come. Our return flight isn’t until Sunday, anyway.”

“Good.” She leaned back against the seat. “Thanks, Clay. This helped.”

“Any time.”

She straightened and opened the door. He watched her run up the tile steps. Before she went inside, she turned and waved. He waved back. And then she was gone.

 

Twenty minutes later, Clay sat in a chair in the room at the Casa de la Reina, watching Andie sleep. The empty bed stretched between them. But his eyes had adjusted to the night. He could see her just fine. Her hair was a tousled cloud all around the side of her face and her skin looked like cream, except for the dark smudges beneath her eyes.

She’d probably tired herself out, he realized, with all the tension over the past couple of days. She was eight months’ pregnant and looked like nine to him, her belly big and round, so heavy under the sheet. He sometimes thought, lately, that it must hurt her skin, to stretch that much. She rubbed creams there, he knew, to try to keep the marks to a minimum. Still, she would have a few when this was over, after the baby was out in the world.

Her arm, still slim and shapely, lay above the sheet. She wore the gold bracelet of linked hearts that she wore all the time since he’d returned from living in L.A. That bracelet seemed a part of her, a part of all that was Andie. And now that he thought of it, he didn’t even know where she’d gotten it.

An old boyfriend, maybe.

It was petty of him, but he didn’t like that. Didn’t like to think of Andie and anyone else. Not even some long-ago high school crush.

And not Jeff. Jeff, least of all.

Jeff, who hadn’t mattered, who’d been a ghost to both of them two days ago. Jeff who now, with his death, seemed to hover nearby every moment of the day and night.

Clay couldn’t get his mind clear—that was the problem. He thought of Madeline, and there was hurt and sympathy. Jeff, and there was pure pain. And Andie, and there was agony.

It was all roiling around inside him. He didn’t know how to get it to straighten itself out.

“Clay?” Andie’s voice was sleepy, full of dreams.

He wanted to cherish her, keep her close, keep her safe. And to be inside her. He always wanted that, even now, when she was so big, when they probably shouldn’t, when it might hurt the baby.

Although the doctor said it was okay and so did the books, as long as everything was all right with her.

“What are you doing, sitting there in the dark?”

“Watching you.” When he made love with her, he knew he was the only one. There were no ghosts between them then. No doubts. Nothing but the two of them and a universe of pleasure.

“Is everything all right?”

“It’s fine.” He was hard. Aching. Wanting. And yet angry, too. He feared her, feared her power to empty out his life to nothing, if she should ever choose to leave him. And he still didn’t understand why she was here, in L.A., for the funeral of the man who had used and discarded her and the baby. Not that he wanted to understand. He didn’t. He was too afraid that understanding would end up hurting worse than not knowing at all.

With a little groan at the effort, she levered up on an elbow and turned on the lamp between the beds. “How did it go?”

“Fine. Where did you get that bracelet?”

“This?” She held up her right arm.

“Yeah.”

A musing smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “Ruth Ann.”

“What?”

She chuckled. “Well, half Ruth Ann. I saw it in the window at that jeweler’s at Main and Mill streets. Ruth Ann was with me. I had half the money for it. She paid the other half. For my eighteenth-birthday present.”

He grunted. “Ruth Ann.” No long-lost boyfriend, after all. He wondered what was wrong with him, since Jeff had died. Always suspecting the worst. It wasn’t good. “Did you eat?”

“Yep. Hours ago.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. I’m fine. Why?”

He stood, the wanting intensifying, his hardness straining the placket of his trousers. He watched her eyes change, watched the softness and the knowing come over her.

“Oh, Clay.”

“Is it a bad idea?”

He could see by her expression that she knew exactly what he meant: to make love. “No. It’s just…”

“What?”

“Clay, we need to talk.”

He was halfway around the end of the empty bed. He stopped there. “About what?”

She lifted her hands, a helpless gesture. “About everything. About how badly you’re hurting. And how you’re pushing me away.”

Talking about all that was the last thing he wanted to do. He felt his desire fade to nothing, just at the thought. “It will be fine, Andie. Just let it be.”

“But Clay…”

“I just need time, that’s all. It will pass. In time.”

“I don’t know, Clay. I don’t think it will. I think we have to get it out, all of it. We have to talk about Jeff, really talk about him. You have to let yourself admit that you didn’t actually manage to cut him out of your heart and your life the way you thought you had. You have to forgive him. And then you have to forgive me.”

He said nothing for a moment. His anger was a cold thing now. Then he muttered, “That’s a hell of a lot that I have to do.”

A tear spilled over her lower lid and slid down her cheek. “Clay. Please, Clay…”

“Don’t.” He pointed a rigid finger at her. “Just don’t. I can’t take it now, Andie.” He started walking again, but this time he kept on going, right past her bed, into the bathroom.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m tired, Andie.”

“You’re running away.”

He closed the bathroom door on her voice and twisted the privacy lock. He half expected her to follow him, to pound on the door, make an Andie McCreary type of scene. But all was quiet in the other room.

He took a quick shower and brushed his teeth. When he went out to the main room again, she’d turned off the light and lay on her side, facing the wall.

He didn’t disturb her. Instead, he climbed into the empty bed, turned on his side away from her and closed his eyes.

As it had been the night before, his sleep was troubled. He heard Andie every time she shifted her weight in the other bed. He wanted to be there with her, beside her, to feel her leg brush his now and then and her body’s warmth radiating toward him beneath the sheet whenever either of them moved.

But it was a thousand miles to that other bed. He certainly couldn’t make it there in the space of a single night.

Three times, she got up and went to the bathroom. He wanted to ask if everything was okay. But he didn’t. He stayed quiet. He wondered if morning would ever come. Eventually, he drifted into a shallow sleep.

 

Andie was already in the shower when Clay awoke. He opened his eyes and dreaded the moment when she would emerge from the bathroom.

The moment came. She appeared in a cloud of warm steamy air, wrapped in her robe that now barely covered her stomach, drying her hair with a towel.

She looked so terribly vulnerable, her body ungainly, her hair hanging in wet ropes, her skin soft from her shower. He thought again about how he wanted to protect her, to keep her and the baby safe from any harm.

And how he hadn’t been doing a very good job of that the past few days.

He made himself speak. “Andie, I…”

“Please.” She held up her towel for silence and she granted him a rueful smile. “Don’t worry. I promise I absolutely will not bug you until we’ve made it through the church and the cemetery and all that stuff. I know that you’ve got enough to deal with right now.”

His throat closed off for a moment, in gratitude and tenderness. Gruffly, he answered, “Thanks.”

She lifted her shoulders in a resigned little shrug. “’S all right. What’s for breakfast?”

“Room service?”

“Sounds fine.”

“What do you want?”

She thought for a moment, tipping her head sideways and rubbing the ends of her hair with the towel. “Two poached and an English muffin. Tea and tomato juice. In about an hour. I want to do my hair and put on my tent.” She indicated the maternity dress that was hanging in the closet area. It was navy blue, with a wide sailor collar.

Clay called the number on the room menu and ordered the food. Then he went to the bathroom to clean up himself.

Andie dried her hair and put on her makeup while Clay shaved. Then they dressed in their funeral finery. The breakfast came right on time.

After they ate, they drove together to the church. Clay wanted to be there early, to find out where he was supposed to sit or stand, what he was to do as pallbearer.

The church was a huge gothic-looking structure made of gray stone. When they’d parked the car, they went in through the massive front door. The church was quiet, hollow sounding inside. Andie sat in one of the pews while Clay went to find someone to tell him what to do.

After a while, when the baby started shifting around, Andie grew uncomfortable. So she stood and walked around a little, exploring the small sanctuaries in nooks along the side walls and studying the stained-glass windows. Up in front, the closed coffin, pristine white, was already in place. There were flowers everywhere.

Clay came and found her eventually, to explain that he would be expected to ride in one of the limousines of the cortege to the cemetery. They could make a place for her, too. But Andie told him she would prefer to take the car and follow along.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

By then, it was about ten. Clay said he had a few minutes, so they sat down together. Andie looked at the coffin and all the flowers and tried to do what people did in churches, feel peaceful and serene, lifted above the everyday trials of the world. She didn’t really succeed. There was too much on her mind.

Also, that uncomfortable, cramping feeling was back again. It seemed to be very low down, very deep inside. More and more she was feeling as if it wasn’t her back at all. She was even starting to wonder if it could be contractions. Perhaps those contractions Clay had read to her about, the ones that took place in the last month before delivery. Braxton Hicks contractions, Andie thought they were called.

But whatever they were, they weren’t that difficult to handle. She just had to relax, not let things get to her. And Monday morning, bright and early, she would give her obstetrician a call.

“Andie?” Clay’s voice was very low, yet still it echoed a little in the big empty church.

“Um?”

He took her hand, squeezed it, but said nothing more. She looked at him, wondering what he hadn’t said. A few days ago, she would have asked him what was on his mind. But not today. Not after last night and the way he had locked himself in the bathroom to get away from the truth.

Things were so tenuous between them. And this wasn’t the time or the place to speak of their problems, anyway.

Andie closed her eyes, tipped her head up, let the rainbow of light that came through the stained-glass window above the altar bathe her face. They sat that way for a while, holding hands, saying nothing and Andie felt a little better.

Then Clay whispered to her that he’d meet her at the cemetery after the burial. From there they would drive to Madeline’s parents’ house for the reception.

Andie whispered back, “Okay.” Clay rose and disappeared down the aisle.

Slowly, the pews filled up around her. Andie got up once before the service started to look for a bathroom. She managed to relieve herself and find another seat just in time.

The service was short. The minister read from the psalms and talked about Jeff. Around her, Andie heard people sniffling and those tight little sounds that happen when someone is trying not to cry out loud.

When it was over, Clay and five other young men surrounded the coffin. They lifted it between them and carried it down the aisle. The ushers led the family members out and then the rest of the mourners followed.

To Andie, the ride to the cemetery took forever, much longer than the service had taken. Driving was becoming more difficult all the time now, with her huge stomach nearly pressing against the steering wheel. And the line of cars was long and slow.

But at last, she arrived at the place where Jeff would be buried. She found a parking space with reasonable ease and joined the others, who had regrouped around the grave site. There were some folding chairs set up, in two groups beneath a pair of canopies. By then, all the chairs were taken.

Being as big as a house had advantages, though. An older gentlemen who spoke with a charming Irish brogue gave Andie his seat. She thanked him and sank gratefully into it.

Andie watched Clay, who was standing right by the grave where the coffin was already set. He was looking around, his expression tense and concerned. She didn’t realize he was looking for her until their eyes met. His face smoothed out. She gave him a smile and a tiny wave.

The minister spoke again, reciting more verses from the Bible. And then a slim blond woman stepped forward. Madeline. She put a single rose on top of the huge bouquet that was already covering the coffin. They lowered the coffin into the ground. Madeline threw a handful of dirt on it. The minister said words of benediction.

Slowly, the mourners began to move away, singly and in groups. Andie sat in her chair, waiting for Clay. Finally he came. She led him to the car and they drove to the reception.

“Are you all right?” Clay asked her when they’d driven through a wrought-iron gate and parked in the driveway that was lined with cars.

Andie looked at him, thinking, That’s all we do lately—ask each other if we’re all right.

Down inside that tightness came. Like a hand in there, turning to a fist. Not that hard to bear, but definitely worrisome. She breathed deeply. The tightness eased.

“Andie?”

She gave him the answer he wanted to hear. “I’m fine. Let’s go in.”

 

The big house was full of flowers and people. Andie left Clay soon after they were shown in the door. She found a bathroom and felt better after she’d used the toilet and rinsed her face.

Then she waddled her way down several hallways to the big living room, where most of the people were. The nice older man who’d given her his chair at the cemetery introduced himself. His name was Bob and he was a great-uncle of Madeline’s, on her father’s side. He asked Andie if she’d like something to drink.

Andie smiled gratefully and requested some mineral water. The man disappeared down a hallway. Andie found a vacant chair of dark rich wood with studded leather cushions. It seemed suitable to be the throne of a Spanish grandee. She lowered her bulk into it.

As she waited for her mineral water, Andie watched the people. Most of them seemed older and, judging by their jewelry and clothing, quite well-to-do. There were a few children, dressed in somber colors but irrepressible nonetheless, as children usually are. They played tag in the long hall that Andie could see to her left, and giggled and chased each other around the heavy, dark furniture. Every once in a while, an adult would grab a little arm and tell the pint-size culprit to settle down. For a few moments, there would be sedate good behavior. And then the fun would start again.

“Hello.”

Andie turned from watching a little girl playing peekaboo behind an areca palm to see the woman she knew to be Madeline standing by her chair.

“You’re Andie, aren’t you?”

Andie started to stand. “Yes, I—”

“No. Don’t get up.” Madeline was looking at Andie’s stomach. “Please.”

Andie chuckled. “Great idea.” She sank back into the chair. “Madeline?”

“Yes.”

Andie stuck out a hand. “Glad to meet you.”

“Me, too.”

Their hands clasped briefly, then both let go. At the same time, they both began, “I’ve heard so much about—” And then they laughed, in unison.

Madeline said, “Thanks for lending me your husband’s shoulder last night.”

“I hope it helped.”

“It did.”

They looked at each other, strangers yet connected. They didn’t know what to say to each other, but both felt the link. Andie decided she liked Madeline’s eyes. There was great kindness in them. Goodness seemed to radiate from her.

Andie thought of Jeff. A fool, to have chanced losing this woman, she thought. The ultimate fool to have thrown it all away in the end for a fast ride in a new car.

Graceful and slim, Madeline pulled up a nearby hassock and perched on it. Andie watched the lithe movement longingly. Would she ever be thin again?

Madeline leaned close. “I have to tell you. When Clay said you two had gotten married, I wasn’t surprised.”

“You weren’t?”

“No. Sometimes he used to talk about you, his willful and troublemaking cousin Andie. I thought then that his feelings about you were more than cousinly. But I also knew if I pointed it out, he’d glare at me and tell me to mind my own business, that I was way off.”

“So you didn’t point it out?”

“Right. I’m no fool.”

Bob reappeared carrying the promised mineral water. Andie thanked him and took the glass.

“Anything,” Bob declared, “for a sweet Irish colleen.”

“Uncle Bob,” Madeline groaned. “Honestly. He thinks everybody’s an Irish colleen.”

Andie took a sip of her water. “Well, he’s half-right. My mom’s Italian, but my dad’s Irish.”

“Sure, and what did I tell you?” Uncle Bob laid it on thick.

“I’ll just bet,” Madeline said.

“It’s true,” Andie assured her. “McCreary. That was my last name, before I married Clay. About as Irish as they come.”

Uncle Bob remarked that he believed McCreary was a Scots name. Before Andie could argue with him, Clay appeared.

“There you are,” Clay said from behind her chair. “I was looking all over.”

Andie tipped her head back and smiled up at him. “I was just listening to a little blarney from Uncle Bob here, and Madeline and I—”

Andie cast a swift, conspiratorial glance toward Madeline. What she saw made her look again.

Madeline was on her feet. “McCreary?” she said softly. “Andie for Andrea?” Her face was dead white.

“Yes,” Andie said. “Andie for Andrea.”

“I see,” Madeline said. “And just when is your baby due?”

Andie blinked. Madeline looked so strange. “I, um…”

Madeline waved a limp hand in the air. “Never mind. Now I think about it, I don’t believe I really want to know.” Then her eyes rolled back and her knees buckled.

Somehow Uncle Bob managed to catch her before she hit the tiled floor.