When she reached her eighth month of pregnancy, she had decided to move into the mansion. She wanted Jack to be a part of her baby’s life, and with his busy schedule, living with him was the only way to be sure that would happen.
Contractions had begun in her back several hours earlier. She hadn’t told him until daybreak, but she called Meredith to let her know the baby was coming a few days earlier than expected. She and Elliott should arrive by late morning. Knowing Meredith would be with her during labor and delivery had help reduce Charlotte’s anxiety.
“Charley,” David called from the hall. “Where are ye?”
“In the nursery,” she said, rubbing her tummy while she rocked.
He entered the room carrying what looked like a banana smoothie, came to a hurried stop, and studied her face. “From yer expression, the contractions must be stronger.”
“A little bit, but they’re not bad yet.” She held out her hand. “Did you make me a smoothie? Thank you.”
He put his hand on her belly and pressed gently. Around week thirty, he had belly-mapped the baby and drawn a beautiful picture on her stomach of the baby, cord, and placenta, all floating in blue-rippled water. He knew the exact location of head and butt, and palpated her belly regularly to be sure it didn’t move out of the birth position. The picture had washed off, but its image had settled nicely in her brain.
David prepared for the birth the same way he prepared for everything else in his life. He read every childbirth book written within the last five years. He interviewed doctors and midwives. He studied childbirth videos. He planned for contingencies. He drove her nuts.
And she was grateful for every moment he’d spent with her.
“I put a little peanut butter in the drink, too. Thought it would give ye an energy burst. It’s going to be hard work to push the laddie out.”
She gave him a teasing smile. “Both you and Jack insist it’s a boy. I hope y’all aren’t disappointed when it comes out a girl.”
“I insist because I know,” David said.
“No, you don’t. Not unless you bribed the doctor.” She took the milkshake-like drink and stirred it with the straw. “You’re so sweet. Where’d the bananas come from? I thought I ate the last one.”
“Jack went to the store.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. He stopped working on his manuscript for five whole minutes just to go out and get a banana?”
David nodded, looking somewhat bemused. “He said he could run errands, but it was about all he could do for ye right now.”
“He can’t deal with me in pain. If he can’t fix me, he’s useless.” She took a sip of the cool, refreshing drink. “Yum. You’ll have to give me your secret recipe.”
Jack entered the room carrying a cup of coffee and the newspaper. “I’m useless at what?”
“A few things, but I was talking about how you can’t handle seeing me in pain,” she said.
He settled on the settee next to the baby’s crib, one brow lifted in a question. “I did okay in Richmond the night of the fire, didn’t I?”
“I wasn’t hurt then. I was in shock and exhausted, but I wasn’t bleeding.”
“I beg to differ. I wish I had a picture of you. You were bleeding in several places on your head and arms. But you’re right. If you’d been seriously injured, I probably would have fallen apart at the seams.”
David kissed the top of her head. “I’ve got a telephone conference in five minutes. It’ll probably take a half hour, but I can cut it short if we need to hurry to the hospital. I’ll be downstairs. Call if ye need anything.”
“Thanks, sweetie.” She patted her belly. “I think the two of us will be okay.”
Jack stretched out his legs and sipped his coffee. “So how long do you think it’ll take before he or she decides to…you know…pop out?”
She rolled her eyes dramatically. “A baby doesn’t simply pop out. It’s going to take a while. Probably the rest of the day.”
Jack looked older these days. His incarceration and the trial had aged him a bit—matured him, maybe. “I’m glad David’s here,” he said. “You’re right. When the time comes, I won’t be much help.”
“It’s okay. You went to get the bananas.” She lifted her glass in a thank-you salute. “You know…one of my first memories is of you freaking out when I fell off my bike. I was probably about five years old. You took one look at the blood running down my legs and the tears and snot streaming down my face, and you ran like the Devil was chasing you.”
A smile flickered briefly across his face. “My memory is the police showing up to tell Mom that Dad’s campaign plane had crashed. She collapsed on the floor, and you started screaming louder than you were already. I was ten, you were five. I couldn’t help either one of you. My dad was dead and my life was shattered.”
“I am sorry, Jack. It had to have been a horrible day. I know you idolized him, so did I.”
“There wasn’t anything he couldn’t do. He taught me to hunt, ride a horse, and even how to read a senate bill. And then he was gone. I didn’t handle it well.”
“He taught you to love history, too. You went to his college classes while you were still in high school and you couldn’t stop talking about what a great teacher he was.”
“I’m sorry it’s
