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  “Oh no, that’s fine. I need the exercise.”

  A few minutes later Elyse returned with a tray with two mugs of hot tea, sugar substitute packets, creamers and a sleeve of crackers.

  Emerald reached for the tray and put it on the coffee table. They both settled themselves on the couch. Emerald took a sip of her tea after she had poured some of the creamer into it and sighed deeply. “Just what I needed. So, what else did Holly tell you?”

  “Oh, that she was in college, loved it, and how she and her boyfriend, Branch, were getting on. Said she had no parents, had been raised by her mother and grandmother, now both dead. Said she never knew her father, but she was cheerful and upbeat despite her sad situation.”

  “She told you a lot, didn’t she?”

  “Maybe because she saw I was pregnant.”

  Then Elyse added thoughtfully, “I hope my daughter will be like that. You know, thoughtful, polite . . . and the girl has pluck and determination. That I do admire.”

  “Still think I’ve seen her before or . . . someone who looks like her,” Emerald said.

  “Em, it’ll probably come to you when you least expect it.”

  Chapter 22

  By the end of March, Emerald had moved into Elyse’s condo.

  “You’ve got to have someone near, in case you go into labor.” Elyse agreed, and Emerald slept on Elyse’s queen-sized pull-out sofa, quite comfortably, she reported.

  One morning shortly afterwards, Elyse came out of the bathroom and announced to her longtime friend, “I’ve gained forty-five pounds, and when I stand up I can hardly see my feet!”

  “It’s mostly water, I think. Your weight gain, that is,” Emerald told her. “But I do think, Leese, that you should be wearing shoes that will give you more support. Those leather sandals just don’t cut it. You need sturdier shoes.”

  “With these swollen ankles, girl, it’s a good thing I can put my feet into anything!”

  But it was Emerald who tripped over a rug and sprained her right ankle so badly that, after the X-rays were taken, she was placed on crutches.

  Dismayed by her sudden disability, she warned Elyse, “Don’t you dare have this baby until I get off these crutches!”

  “Look, honey,” Elyse told her, “if and when this baby ‘starts turning for the world,’ as my West Indian grammy would say, you better be able to hobble to my bedside one way or the other. Remember, you promised to be there.”

  “Oh, I’ll be there, even if I have to be in a wheelchair.”

  “Yeah, right. Like they need someone in a wheelchair coaching an expectant mother.”

  * * *

  Ace picked up Sebastian about a week later and soon reported to Elyse just how well he adjusted to his new home.

  “He has discovered the kiln,” he told her. “He knows not to go near it when it’s hot, but as soon as it cools down he loves to curl up on top and go to sleep.”

  With all of her focus on having her baby, Elyse was glad that she did not have to worry about the cat. She had been having minor contractions, but had still been able to continue her work routine at the store.

  “Both you and Ms. Stokes have been so good to me,” Holly explained to Elyse the next time she went into the bookstore. “I know you’re expecting your baby soon, and if there’s anything I can do, all you have to do is let me know. Sometimes I have free time between classes. At least for now, anyway. In April I’ll be doing a rotation in medical nursing at the Suffolk General Hospital.”

  “Really? That’s where I’m going to have my baby,” Elyse interrupted her.

  “I was born there, you know.”

  “No! What a coincidence. It will be something if you’re there when I deliver.”

  Holly agreed, saying, “Why don’t I give you my address and phone number so we can keep in touch.”

  * * *

  Holly Francis had lied about not knowing the identity of her father. She had known since she was nine years old. In her fourth grade class the teacher had announced a father-daughter outing. Holly had wondered at the time why the woman made such a ridiculous proposal. Didn’t she know that many of her students didn’t have fathers, were being raised by single mothers? That was the day her grandmother, Theodora Francis, sat her down in her bedroom to “explain some things.”

  “Girl,” she said, “let me tell you ’bout the day you was born!”

  Her grandmother was not a large woman, about five feet, five inches tall, and perhaps one hundred twenty pounds, but to Holly she seemed to be made of steel. Her silky white hair, thin in spots, was worn with twin braids crossed over, pinned to her scalp with steel hairpins. Her face was a smooth buttery brown, unlined, and her eyes were a dark brown, almost black, so that if she fixed them on a person they could cause the most stalwart foe to falter. She had a steel-like grip in her hands that came from milking cows twice a day on her father’s farm in Virginia.

  From her bedroom closet she retrieved an old cigar box, removed some papers and began to talk. Wide-eyed, Holly listened.

  “This grandmother of yours was not going to let anybody tell me what was goin’ to happen to my grandbaby! I knew that your momma, at sixteen, was not of legal age, that I was her guardian, and yours, too! When she told me that folks at the hospital had decided that you should be adopted, I pitched a fit! I said, ‘Over my dead body!’ I told those people they didn’t know who they was trifling with. I had done some housework for a lawyer friend and when I mentioned his name, they couldn’t move fast enough to give me the papers I demanded! Your birth certificate and the piece of paper your daddy had signed agreeing to your adoption were handed over to me right quick! I know he was only eighteen, didn’t know any better. Guess he couldn’t face the responsibility of raising a child, being a child himself.

  “So I saved these papers because I figured someday you might need them . . . this.”

  She handed Holly a folded piece of paper. When Holly opened it the first thing she saw was the seal of the City of Boston. It was her birth certificate, the scent of tobacco still on the formal paper.

  “And you need this, too.” She handed her granddaughter another document.

  This one, Holly read, stated that the undersigned had “released all responsibilities and rights of said above mentioned child, Baby Girl Marshall.” It had been signed with the name Barry Edward Marshall.

  All of a sudden, Holly could hardly catch her breath. The bedroom seemed very quiet and still, as if she had been placed in a vacuum chamber. Her heart quickened in her chest. She looked at her grandmother, saw only love and concern.

  “He didn’t want me . . . not much of a father,” she said.

  Her grandmother understood. She rose up from the floor in front of the open closet door and made a “make room” gesture.

  “Scoot over,” she said as she moved to sit beside Holly. She put her arm around her.

  “Listen, child, you came into this world because God wanted you to be here! I know this is hard for you, but you gotta be practical and deal with the hand that was dealt you.”

  “Why should I?” Holly sniffed, eyes filled with tears. “Why should I care ’bout someone who didn’t care . . .”

  Her grandmother took both of Holly’s hands in hers.

  “Don’t cry, baby. Like I said, God intended for you to be here. And I know for a fact that your folks loved each other. They just came up on something they couldn’t handle.” She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, then continued to speak.

  “Maybe I should take the blame for not schoolin’ your mother more about . . . well, nohow should you hate your father. He was only eighteen, your ma, sixteen. Babies themselves,” she added. Then she said something that Holly had not expected to hear.

  “Don’t hate him, child. You look just like him.”

  For a long time it had bothered Holly, the fact that her own father didn’t want her, could not be bothered with her. So she began to deny his existence. It was the only way she could live wi
th her feeling of worthlessness. She determined that if he had not wanted her, not wanted to be the father of a helpless newborn, she did not need to identify him as a father. That bitter seed grew like a hard kernel in her mind and motivated her to validate herself and elevate her self-esteem.

  * * *

  One Friday night after a week of classes, Branch and Holly followed their usual custom of having dinner at one of their favorite seafood restaurants. Branch looked at Holly, who had been quiet since they had ordered their food. He knew that she had something on her mind.

  “So?” he asked.

  She rubbed her forehead for a moment as if trying to sort out her thoughts. With a deep sigh as a preface, she told him.

  “When I was nine years old I found out who my father was. I have lied about not knowing since the day I found out about him.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “My gram told me when I was nine that he had surrendered any rights to me, signed papers that I could be put up for adoption. I always felt that meant he didn’t care about me. So I didn’t need to care, either.”

  “Are you going to try to find him?”

  “No, not now. It’s too late.”

  “What do you mean, too late?”

  “You know the woman who owns The Kwanzaa Book Shop?”

  “I’ve never met her, but I’ve heard you speak of her, how nice she and her partner have been to you.”

  “Her name is Elyse Marshall. Sometime ago, when I was picking up books for Mr. Hawkins, her partner, Emerald, told me she’s about to have his baby.”

  “But, but, you said it’s too late to meet him. Why can’t you meet him?”

  “He was killed in Iraq.”

  “He’s dead? But you said . . .”

  “Before he left to go overseas, he deposited sperm to be frozen. He wanted his wife to have their child by in vitro fertilization.”

  Branch stared, open-mouthed, at Holly, emitted a low whistle, then said, “I’ll be damned.”

  Then he questioned her, concern evident in his voice. “Are you planning to tell her who you are?”

  “No, Branch, I don’t intend to. Both my mother and grandmother are gone. You are the only living person who knows, and I’d like to keep it like that. The man was never real to me.”

  “I’ll respect your wishes, Holly. You know that without asking. Wouldn’t help his widow now, anyway.”

  “I know. She’s got enough to contend with, being a single mother and all.”

  “But, Holly, have you considered the baby? Now you will have a sibling, family . . . a half-sister.”

  Holly’s eyes widened as the possibility entered her mind.

  “Oh, my God, no! And . . . Branch, I’ve already offered to babysit!”

  Chapter 23

  Dr. Kellogg informed Elyse that her baby’s head was descending into the birth canal, and because of that he wanted to see her every week. Her next appointment with him was on April twentieth, at three in the afternoon.

  Emerald was still dependent on her crutches to get about, but her orthopedist had suggested that she might be free of them in another week or so, depending on her X-rays. But Elyse’s baby had other plans.

  One week before her due date, Elyse was having a light lunch before her weekly doctor’s appointment. As she ate, she was leafing through the latest copy of her favorite fashion magazine, Marie Claire.

  Boy, she thought as she rubbed her stomach, I’ll be glad when I can wear regular clothes again. Then it hit! A pain so searing, so excruciating, she thought she was being ripped apart. It took her breath away. She gasped, reached for her cell phone on the table.

  “Em, Em, I . . . I, ooh, I think I’m in labor! Can you come . . . need to go . . . need . . .” Her pain made her breath come in short gasps. “Please hurry,” she moaned as another spasm rose in a painful crescendo across her lower back.

  It was only ten minutes, but seemed an hour, when she heard her front door being opened.

  “Em! I’m in here, the kitchen! Thank God you’re here!”

  “It’s me, Ace. Em got me on my cell phone. Where’s your bag? Let’s get you to the hospital.” He moved towards her bedroom. “The bag?”

  “On the closet floor,” Elyse gasped as another pain struck.

  “Got it.” Ace emerged from her bedroom, the overnight bag held aloft in his hand.

  “We’re on our way.” He grabbed her sweater from the back of her chair and draped it over her shoulders.

  “Come on,” he urged. “Let’s get you to the hospital,” he repeated. “Quick!”

  He helped her into the car, fastened the seatbelt around her lower abdomen, asked. “Are you all right?” She nodded and he hurried to get in, fasten his own seat-belt and start the car.

  “I’m okay, just get there . . . please.”

  “Hang in there, Leese. I’ve already made some trial runs to the hospital. It’s exactly twenty minutes from your condo, and I’ve found out the best way to get there. We’ll be there before you know it. Just hold on!”

  “Thanks, Ace. I’m so glad you’re with me. Em called you, did she?’

  “Yep. We planned it . . .”

  “That you’d take me?”

  He grinned at her. “Ah, yup, we planned it.”

  “God,” she said, shaking her head, “what would I do without you guys?”

  “Not to worry, Leese. We’re with you all the way. Doctor knows you’re coming?”

  “I called him while I was waiting, right after I called Em. Had a three o’clock appointment anyway, but he said to come right to the hospital.”

  It was then that she grimaced and clutched the dashboard with both hands as she tried to ride out the searing pain that seemed to envelope her whole body. Ace swerved to pass a slow-moving car ahead.

  “Hang on, Leese, we’re almost there.” He wanted so desperately to help ease the pain of the woman he loved. He realized that the pain she was experiencing was because she loved another man, a man seemingly able to reach her from the grave. But Ace knew his love for her was real, was alive, palpable and tangible. All he could do was love and support her the best way he knew. Would she, could she, ever love him . . . that way?

  He swung the car into the hospital’s admissions area, came to a halt, jumped out, raced to Elyse’s side and helped her get out of the car. She was doubled over with pain, almost unable to walk. Ace breathed a sigh of relief when he saw a hospital aide approaching them with a wheelchair.

  “Thank you, thank you,” he said as the two of them helped a grateful Elyse sit in the chair.

  “Dr. Kellogg is expecting her. This is Mrs. Elyse Marshall,” he told the attendant.

  “Yes, sir, right this way. We go to the triage area first.” He wheeled Elyse to an area, Ace following with her bag and purse.

  After a brief exchange of information and document signing, Elyse was wheeled to the third floor of the maternity wing, Ace following close behind. When they were about to get into the elevator, another contraction caused Elyse to scream, “Ace, Ace! Where are you?”

  Quickly, Ace moved to her side. “I’m right here,” he said calmly. “Everything is going to be just fine.”

  Before he knew what was happening, the hospital staff, acutely aware that immediate action was necessary, wheeled Elyse behind a pair of swinging doors that closed silently behind her. All Ace saw was the back of her head and the marking No Admittance.

  “You may wait in here.” A middle-aged nurse escorted him to a room obviously set up for expectant fathers and other anxious relatives. Ace spotted the usual dog-eared magazines. A man who was watching a wall-mounted TV exchanged nods with him.

  The nurse pointed out a credenza holding a coffee machine, plastic cups and stirrers, packs of instant coffee and sweeteners. The small refrigerator contained individual creamers, Ace thought.

  “Help yourself. Someone will be with you shortly to let you know whatever progress your wife is making.”

  “Mrs. Marshall is
not my wife, ma’am. She’s a friend,” Ace explained.

  The woman’s face flushed slightly, but without acknowledging her false assumption she continued with her terse instructions.

  “You’re to wait here until instructed to do otherwise.”

  Ace was beginning to be upset by the cavalier attitude of the nurse whose name tag identified her as Miss Beaumont, R.N. He felt that he had to erase from her mind the untoward category that she had already assigned to Elyse. He had to defend her reputation. The nurse had misjudged her.

  “Mrs. Marshall is a widow. Her husband was killed in Iraq and she is having their baby by in vitro fertilization. Possibly you’re not aware of that,” he said, watching her face pale as she heard the admonishment in his voice.

  “No, I was not aware, but we’ll take good care of her.” She looked at her watch. “Excuse me, I must get back. We’ll keep you informed.”

  After she left, he took a seat across the room, away from the television set. The other man in the room asked, “First one?”

  Ace said, “Yes.” The man smiled ruefully, raised four fingers. Old timer, Ace thought, wondering how such a thing could happen.

  He heard thumping sounds coming from the hall and looked up to see Emerald, her face flushed, trying to negotiate the door with her crutches.

  “Oh, Em, wait a minute! Let me help you!” He jumped up from his seat to help her.

  “What’s happenin’? How’s she doin’?”

  “Don’t know yet. They just took her into the delivery room, I think.”

  “I should let them know I’m here. I’m her labor coach.”

  “Is there someone here for Mrs. Marshall? An Emerald or Ace?” The nurse dressed in operating room scrubs asked from the visitor’s room door.

  “I’m here, I’m Em,” Emerald said, trying to stand on her crutches.

  “Can you stand alone?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  The nurse shook her head.

  “I’m sorry, there’s no way you can come into the delivery room with crutches.”

  “Can I help?” Ace asked.

  “Yes, I think so. Mrs. Marshall did ask for you. Come with me.”