e still haven’t decided on a name for the baby,” Lexie said.

It was an early evening in the second week of August; Lexie and Jeremy were sitting on the porch of their new home. Though they hadn’t moved in yet, the workers had left for the day, and they were watching the water. Without a breeze, the water was flat and still, so mirrorlike that the whitewashed cypress trees on the far bank looked as if they were growing in opposite directions.

“I’ve decided to leave that up to you,” Jeremy said. He was fanning himself with a copy of Sports Illustrated that he’d intended to read before realizing it had a better purpose on a hot summer night.

“You can’t just leave it up to me. It’s our baby. I want to hear what you think.”

“I’ve told you what I think,” Jeremy said. “You just didn’t like it.”

“I am not going to name our daughter Misty.”

“Misty Marsh? How can you not like that?”

He’d suggested the name the week before as a joke. Lexie was so dismissive that he’d been pressing it ever since, if only to tease her.

“Well, I don’t.” Wearing shorts and a baggy T-shirt, she was flushed from the heat. Because her feet had begun to swell, Jeremy had dragged over an old bucket so she could prop them up.

“You don’t think it has a nice ring to it?”

“No more than other plays on your last name. You might as well want to name her Smelly Marsh or Creepy Marsh.”

“I was saving those for her brothers.”

She laughed. “I’m sure they’d be forever grateful. But seriously, you don’t have any ideas?”

“No. Like I told you, whatever you decide is fine.”

“That’s the problem. I haven’t decided.”

“You know what the problem is, right? You bought every baby name book out there. You gave yourself too many choices.”

“I just want something that fits who she is.”

“But that’s the thing. No matter what we choose, it won’t fit right away. No baby looks like Cindy or Jennifer; all babies look like Elmer Fudd.”

“No, they don’t. Babies are cute.”

“But they look the same.”

“No, they don’t. And I’ll warn you right up front that I’m going to be extremely disappointed in you if you can’t pick our daughter out in the nursery.”

“No reason to worry. They have name cards.”

“Ha, ha,” she said. “You’re going to know what she looks like.”

“Of course I will. She’ll be the most beautiful baby in the history of North Carolina, with photographers from around the world snapping pictures and saying things like ‘She’s so lucky that she got her father’s ears.’”

She laughed again. “And dimple.”

“Right. Don’t let me forget that.”

She reached for his hand. “What about tomorrow? Are you excited?”

“I can’t wait. I mean, the first sonogram was exciting, but this one . . . well, now we’ll really get to see her.”

“I’m glad you’re going.”

“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss it. Sonograms are the best part about all this. I hope they print me a picture so I can show it off while bragging to my buddies.”

“What buddies?”

“Didn’t I tell you? Jed? Man, he just won’t leave me alone, calling all the time, talking my ear off, going on and on.”

“I think the heat’s getting to you. Last I heard, Jed still hasn’t said a word to you.”

“Oh, that’s right. But it doesn’t matter. I still want a picture for me, so I can see how beautiful she is.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So you’re sure it’s a girl now, too?”

“I think you’ve convinced me.”

“What does that say about Doris?”

“It says that in a fifty-fifty proposition, she picked correctly. As would fifty percent of the population.”

“Still a nonbeliever, huh?”

“I prefer the word skeptic.”

“My dream man.”

“That’s right.” Jeremy nodded. “Just keep telling yourself that, so I don’t have to prove it.”

Lexie shifted in the chair, suddenly uncomfortable. She winced before settling back into place. “What do you think about Rodney and Rachel getting married?”

“I’m in favor of marriage. I think it’s a fine institution.”

“You know what I mean. Do you think they’re rushing into it?”

“Who are we to ask that question? I proposed after a few weeks; he’s known her since he was a little kid. I’d say they should be asking that about us, not the other way around.”

“I’m sure they still are, but that’s not the point. . . .”

“Wait,” Jeremy said, “you think they’re talking about us?”

“I’m sure they are. Lots of people talk about us.”

“Really?”

“Duh,” Lexie said, as if the answer were obvious. “It’s a small town. That’s what we do here. We sit around and talk about other people. We find out what’s going on in their lives, share what we think, debate whether other folks are right or wrong, and solve their problems if we have to in the privacy of our own home. Of course, no one would ever admit to it, but we all do it. It’s pretty much a way of life.”

Jeremy considered what she was saying. “Do you think people are talking about us right now?”

“Absolutely.” She shrugged. “Some are probably saying we got married because I was pregnant, others are saying you’ll never last in this town, still others wonder how we could afford the house and surmise that we’re probably in debt up to our eyeballs, unlike their frugal selves. Oh, they’re talking all right and probably having a grand old time, too.”

“This doesn’t bother you?”

“Of course not,” she said. “Why should I care? They wouldn’t think of telling us they did, and they’ll be nice as punch the next time we see them, so we’ll never know. And besides, we’re doing it, too. Which brings me back to Rodney and Rachel. Don’t you think they’re rushing it just a bit?”

In bed that night, Jeremy and Lexie were both reading. Jeremy had finally gotten to Sports Illustrated and was in the middle of a story on female volleyball players when Lexie set aside her book.

“Do you ever think about the future?” she asked.

“Sure,” Jeremy answered, lowering the magazine. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“What do you think it’s going to be like?”

“For us? Or for the world?”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I,” Jeremy answered. “It’s a different question entirely, one that opens up all sorts of different subjects. We could talk about global warming, or the lack thereof, in regard to the fate of mankind. Or whether or not God truly exists, and how people are judged when it comes to being admitted to heaven, which renders life on earth somewhat meaningless. You could be referring to the economy and how it will affect our own future, or even politics and how the next president might be the one who leads us to doom or prosperity. Or-”

She put her hand on his arm, cutting him off. “Are you always going to be like this?”

“Like what?”

“This. What you’re doing. Being Mr. Precise. Or Mr. Literal. I wasn’t asking so we could get into a deep philosophical discussion. I was just asking.”

“I think we’ll be happy,” he ventured. “I couldn’t imagine living the rest of my life without you.”

She squeezed his arm, as if satisfied. “I think that, too,” she said. “But sometimes . . .”

Jeremy looked at her. “What?”

“I just wonder how we’re going to do as parents. I worry about that sometimes.”

“We’ll be great,” he said. “You’ll be great.”

“You say that, but how do we know? What if she ends up being one of those angry teenagers who dresses in black and does drugs and sleeps around?”

“She won’t.”

“You can’t say that.”

“I can,” Jeremy said. “She’s going to be a wonderful girl. How can she not, with you as her mother?”

“You think it’s simple, but it’s not. Kids are people, too, and once they start getting older, they make their own decisions. There’s only so much you can do.”

“It all goes back to the upbringing. . . .”

“Yes, but sometimes it doesn’t matter what you do. We can put her in piano lessons and soccer, we can bring her to church every Sunday, we can send her to cotillion to learn her manners, and we can shower her with lots of love. But once she becomes a teenager . . . well, sometimes there’s nothing you can do. With or without you, in the end, children grow up to become the people they were meant to be.”

Jeremy thought about what she’d said, then pulled her closer. “Are you really worried about this?”

“No. But I think about it. Don’t you?”

“Actually, I don’t. Kids are supposed to become who they were meant to be. All parents can do is to do their best to lead them in the right direction.”

“But what if that isn’t enough? Doesn’t that worry you?”

“No,” he said. “She’s going to be fine.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because she will,” Jeremy said. “I know you and believe in you, and you’re going to be a fantastic mother. And don’t forget, I have written articles about the subject of nature and nurture. Both are important, but in the vast majority of cases, environment is a greater indicator of future behavior than anything genetic.”

“But-”

“We’ll do the best we can. And I’m sure she’ll turn out okay.”

Lexie thought about what he said. “You really wrote articles on the subject?”

“Not only that, I did in-depth research beforehand. I know what I’m talking about.”

She smiled. “You’re pretty smart,” she said.

“Well . . .”

“Not about your conclusions, but what you just said. I don’t care whether it’s true or not, but it was exactly what I wanted to hear.”

“That’s the baby’s heart, right there,” the doctor said the next day, pointing at the fuzzy image on the computer monitor. “And those are the lungs and the spine.”

Jeremy reached over and squeezed Lexie’s hand on the examination table. They were at the OB-GYN’s office in Washington, which Jeremy had to admit wasn’t his favorite place. Granted, he was looking forward to seeing the baby again-the first grainy pictures from the sonogram were still hanging on the refrigerator-but the earlier sight of Lexie on the table with her legs in stirrups . . . well, it made him feel as if he were interrupting something better done in private.

Of course, Dr. Andrew Sommers-tall and trim, with wavy dark hair-did his best to make both Lexie and Jeremy feel as if he were doing nothing more extraordinary than taking her pulse, and Lexie seemed more than content to play along. While Dr. Sommers was checking and poking, they talked about the recent spate of hot weather, a story on the news concerning forest fires in Wyoming, and the fact that the doctor still wanted to drive out to Boone Creek to eat at Herbs, a place that more than one of his patients had raved about. Every now and then he would work more typical questions into the conversation, inquiring about her Braxton-Hicks contractions, for example, or whether she ever felt dizzy or light-headed. Lexie responded as easily as if they were discussing these issues over lunch.

To Jeremy, who was sitting near Lexie’s head, the scene seemed surreal. Yes, the man was a doctor, and Jeremy had no doubt the doctor saw dozens of patients a day, but still, when the doctor tried to engage him in conversation, he did his best to meet the doctor’s eyes as he answered, while ignoring what was being done to his wife. He supposed Lexie had grown used to all this, but it was the sort of thing that made him glad to be male.

After the doctor left, Jeremy and Lexie were left alone for a few minutes while they waited for the sonogram technician; when she entered, she asked Lexie to pull up her shirt. Gel was squirted on the expanding drum of her belly, drawing a quick gasp from Lexie.

“Sorry, I should have warned you it was cold. But let’s see how your baby’s doing, okay?”

The technician led Jeremy and Lexie through the sonogram, moving the hand piece, pressing harder and softer on her belly as she pointed out what she was seeing.

“And you’re sure it’s a girl?” Jeremy said. Though he’d been assured the last time he was here, he’d had trouble making sense of the image but had been too embarrassed to say anything.

“I’m sure,” she said, moving the hand piece again. Pausing, she pointed at the screen. “Oh, here’s a good shot . . . look for yourself.”

Jeremy squinted. “I’m not sure what I’m seeing.”

“This is the butt,” she clarified, pointing to the screen, “and these are the legs here. Like she’s sitting on the camera. . . .”

“I don’t see anything.”

“Exactly,” she said. “That’s how we know it’s a girl.”

Lexie laughed, and Jeremy leaned toward her. “Say hello to Misty,” he whispered.

“Hush! I’m trying to enjoy this,” she said, squeezing his hand.

“Okay, let me get a few measurements here, to make sure the baby’s developing on schedule, okay?”

The technician moved the hand piece again, hit one button and then another. Jeremy remembered her doing the same thing the last time they were here. “She’s right on schedule,” the technician added. “It says here she’s due October 19.”

“So she’s growing okay?” he asked.

“Seems to be,” said the technician. She moved the hand piece again to measure the heart and femur, then suddenly froze. Instead of pushing the button, she moved the hand piece away from the leg, zeroing in on what seemed to be a white line stretching toward the baby, something that looked almost like static or a flaw in the screen. She frowned slightly as she zeroed in on it. All at once, she began moving the hand piece more quickly, pausing frequently to examine the new image. She seemed to be checking the baby from every angle.

“What are you doing?” Jeremy asked.

The technician seemed lost in concentration. “Just checking something,” she murmured. She continued trying to zero in on the image before shaking her head. She raced through the rest of the measurements, then went back to what she’d been doing before. Images of the baby from every angle appeared and disappeared. Again, the technician zeroed in on the wavy line.

“Is everything okay?” Jeremy pressed.

Her eyes were still focused on the screen as she drew a long breath. Her voice was surprisingly steady.

“I see something that the doctor might want to have a look at.”

“What does that mean?”

“Let me get the doctor,” she said, rising. “He’ll probably be able to tell you more than I can. Stay where you are and I’ll be right back.”

Perhaps it was the measured sound of her words that made the blood drain from Lexie’s face. Jeremy suddenly felt her squeeze his hand again, this time hard. A series of dizzying images flashed through his mind, for he knew exactly what the technician had meant. She’d seen something unusual, something different . . . something bad. And in that instant, time stopped as his mind raced through possibilities. The room seemed to close in as he tried to make sense of the fuzzy line he’d seen.

“What’s going on?” Lexie whispered. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Jeremy said.

“Is something wrong with the baby?”

“She didn’t say that,” Jeremy said as much to steady himself as her. He swallowed through the sudden dryness in his throat. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Lexie seemed on the verge of tears. “Then why’s she getting the doctor?”

“She probably has to if she sees something.”

“What did she see?” she asked, almost pleading. “I didn’t see anything.”

He thought about it again. “I don’t know.”

“Then what is it?”

Not knowing what else to do or even what to say, he scooted his chair closer. “I’m not sure. But the baby’s heartbeat was fine, and she’s growing. She would have said something earlier if something was wrong with the baby.”

“Did you see her face? She seemed . . . scared.”

This time, Jeremy couldn’t respond. Instead, he stared at the far wall. Despite the fact that he and Lexie were together, Jeremy suddenly felt very much alone.

A moment later, the physician and the technician entered the room, forced smiles on their faces. The technician took her seat as the doctor stood behind her. Neither Jeremy nor Lexie could think of anything to say. In the silence, Jeremy could hear his own breathing.

“Let’s take a look,” Dr. Sommers said.

The technician added a bit more gel; when she placed the hand piece on Lexie’s stomach, the baby came into view once more. When the technician pointed to the screen, however, it wasn’t toward the baby.

“Can you see it?” she said.

The doctor leaned forward; so did Jeremy. Again, he saw the wavy white line. This time, he noticed that it seemed to be coming from the walls encircling the baby in the surrounding dark space.

“Right there.”

The doctor nodded. “Has it attached?”

The technician moved the hand piece, and various images of the baby came into view. She shook her head as she spoke. “When I was looking earlier, I didn’t see that it had attached anywhere. I think I checked everywhere.”

“Let’s make sure,” the doctor said. “Let me take over for a minute.” The technician rose, and the doctor took her place.

The doctor was silent as he moved the hand piece again; he seemed less adept at the machine, and the images appeared more slowly. Like the technician, he leaned toward the screen. For a long time, no one said anything.

“What is it?” Lexie’s voice trembled. “What are you looking for?”

The doctor glanced at the technician, who quietly left the room. When they were alone, the doctor brought the white line into view. “Do you see this?” he asked. “This is what is known as an amniotic band,” he said. “What I’ve been doing is checking to see if it’s attached to the baby anywhere. If it does attach, it’s usually on the extremities, like the arms and legs. So far, though, it seems that it hasn’t attached, and that’s good.”

“Why? I don’t understand,” Jeremy said. “What do you mean by band? What can it do?”

The doctor exhaled slowly. “Okay, this band is made up of the same fibrous material as the amnion-the sack that holds the baby. See it here?” He ran his finger in a roughly circular manner over the sack, then to the band. “As you can see, one end of the band is attached here to the sack, the other end is floating free. This free-floating end can attach to the fetus. If that happens, the baby will be born with amniotic band syndrome, or ABS.”

When the doctor spoke again, his tone was deliberately neutral. “I’ll be perfectly frank: If that happens, it greatly increases the odds of congenital abnormalities. I know how hard this is to hear, but that’s why we really took our time examining the images. We wanted to be sure that the band hasn’t attached.”

Jeremy could barely breathe. From the corner of his eye, Jeremy saw Lexie bite her lip.

“Will it attach?” Jeremy asked.

“There’s no way to know. Right now, the other end of the band is floating in the amniotic fluid. The fetus is still small right now. As it grows, the likelihood of attachment increases, but true amniotic band syndrome is rare.”

“What kinds of abnormalities?” Lexie whispered.

It wasn’t a question the doctor wanted to answer, and it showed. “Again, it depends on where it attaches, but if it’s true ABS, it could be serious.”

“How serious?” Jeremy said.

He sighed. “If it attaches to the extremities, the baby could be born without a limb, or with a clubfoot, or with syndactyly, which is webbing between the fingers. If it attaches elsewhere, it could even be worse.”

As the doctor answered, Jeremy found himself growing dizzy. “What do we do?” he forced out. “Is Lexie going to be okay?”

“Lexie will be fine,” he said. “ABS doesn’t affect the mother in any way. And as for what to do, there’s really nothing we can do except wait. There’s no reason for bed rest or anything like that. I will recommend that we get a level two ultrasound, which will create a clearer image, but again, all we’ll be looking for is to see whether the band has attached to the fetus. And again, I don’t think it has. After that, we’ll do serial ultrasounds-probably one every two or three weeks, but that’s all we can do for now.”

“How did it happen?”

“It wasn’t anything you did or didn’t do. And keep in mind that so far it doesn’t look like it’s attached. I know I’ve said that before, but that’s important to understand. So far, there’s nothing wrong with your baby at all. Her growth is fine, her heartbeat is strong, and her brain is developing normally. So far, so good.”

In the silence, Jeremy could hear the steady, mechanical hum of the ultrasound machine.

“You said it could get even worse if it attaches elsewhere,” he said.

The doctor shifted in his seat. “Yes,” he admitted. “It’s unlikely that it will, though.”

“How much worse?”

Dr. Sommers slid his file off to the side, as if deciding how much to say. “If it attaches to the cord,” he said at last, “you could lose the baby.”