hey could lose the baby.

As soon as the doctor left, Lexie broke down, and it was all Jeremy could do to keep his own tears in check. He was drained and speaking on autopilot, reminding her again and again that so far the baby was fine and she would probably stay that way. Instead of calming her, his words seemed to make her feel worse. Her shoulders heaved and her hands trembled as he held her; by the time she finally pulled back, Jeremy’s shirt was soaked with her tears.

She said nothing as she dressed; instead, the only sound in the room was the raspy intake of her breath, as if she were trying not to cry. The room felt unbearably close, as if all the oxygen were being sucked away; Jeremy was unsteady on his feet. When he saw Lexie buttoning her blouse over the rounded bulge of her belly, he had to lock his knees to keep from falling over.

The fear was suffocating and overwhelming; the sterility of the room struck him as surreal. This couldn’t be happening. None of it made sense. The earlier ultrasounds had picked up nothing. Lexie hadn’t had so much as a cup of coffee since she’d found out she was pregnant. She was healthy and strong, she got enough sleep. But something was wrong. As he stared, he could imagine the band floating in the amniotic fluid like the tentacles of a poisonous jellyfish. Waiting, drifting, ready to attack.

He wanted Lexie to lie down, to cease all movement, so the tentacle wouldn’t find its way to the baby. At the same time, he wanted her to walk around, to keep doing what she had been doing, since the tentacle was still floating free. He wanted to know what to do to increase the chances that their baby would be okay. The air in the room was almost gone now, and his mind was going white with fear.

Their baby might die. Their little girl might die. Their little girl, the only one they might ever have.

He wanted to leave this place and never come back; he wanted to stay here and talk to the doctor again to make sure he understood everything that was happening. He wanted to tell his mother, his brothers, his father, so he could cry on their shoulders; he wanted to say nothing, to carry the burden with stoicism. He wanted his baby to be okay. He repeated the words over and over in his mind, as if willing her to stay away from the tentacle. When Lexie reached for her purse, he caught sight of her red-rimmed eyes and the image almost broke his heart. None of this was supposed to have happened. It was supposed to be a good day, a happy day. But the joyous anticipation was gone now, and tomorrow would be worse. The baby would be bigger, and the tentacle would get closer. And every passing day would increase the danger.

In the hallway, the technician immersed herself in paperwork as they passed on their way to the doctor’s private office. As they sat across the desk from the doctor, he showed them the printouts from the sonogram. He walked them through the same descriptions, told them the same things about the amniotic band. He liked to go over things a second time, he said. Most people didn’t really hear him the first time around because of the shock. He emphasized again that the baby was doing well and that he didn’t think the band had attached. This, he said again, was good news. But all Jeremy could think about was the tentacle floating inside his wife, drifting, moving close to the baby, and then veering away. Danger and safety, playing a deadly game of tag. The baby growing, getting larger, crowding the sack. Could the band float freely then?

“I know how hard this is to hear,” the doctor said again.

No, Jeremy thought, he didn’t. It wasn’t his baby, his little girl. His little girl in pigtails and kneeling by a soccer ball was smiling in a picture frame atop the doctor’s desk. His daughter was fine. No, he didn’t know. He couldn’t know.

Outside the office, Lexie broke down again and he held her tightly. They said almost nothing to each other on the ride home, and later Jeremy barely remembered the drive. At home, he went straight to the Internet and searched for information on amniotic band syndrome. He saw pictures of webbed fingers, stunted limbs, missing feet. He was prepared for those; he wasn’t prepared for the facial deformities, abnormalities that made the baby look barely human. He read about spinal and intestinal deformities in those instances where the tentacle attached to the body. He closed the screen, went to the bathroom, and ran cold water over his face. He decided to say nothing to Lexie about what he’d seen.

Lexie had called Doris the moment they got home, and the two of them were now sitting in the living room. Lexie had cried when Doris came to the door, and she cried again later as she sat on the couch. Doris began crying as well, even as she assured Lexie that she was sure the baby would be okay, that there was a reason the Lord had blessed them, that Lexie should continue to have faith. Lexie asked Doris not to tell anyone, and she promised not to. Nor did Jeremy tell his family. He knew how his mother would react, how she would sound on the phone, the regular calls that would follow. But even if his mother believed she’d be supporting Jeremy, to him it would feel the other way around. He couldn’t handle that, couldn’t imagine having to support someone else right now, even his mother. Especially his mother. It was hard enough to support Lexie and keep his own emotions in check. But he had to be strong, for both of them.

Later that night, as he lay in bed with Lexie beside him, he tried to think of anything but the tentacle that was waiting to ensnare the baby.

Three days later, they went in for the level II ultrasound at East Carolina University Medical Center, in Greenville. There was no excitement when they checked in or filled out the forms; in the waiting room, Lexie moved her purse from the end table to her lap and back again. She walked toward the magazine rack and picked one out but didn’t open it once she returned to her seat. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and glanced around the waiting room. She tucked another strand behind her other ear and looked at the clock.

In the preceding days, Jeremy had learned everything he could about amniotic band syndrome, hoping that by understanding it, he would no longer fear it. But the more he learned, the more anxious he felt. At night he tossed and turned, sick not only at the thought that the baby was in danger, but at the knowledge that more than likely this would be the only pregnancy Lexie would ever experience. This pregnancy wasn’t supposed to have happened, and sometimes, in his blackest moods, he found himself wondering whether it was the universe’s way of paying him back for breaking the rules in the first place. He wasn’t meant to have a child. He’d never been meant to have a child.

He said nothing about any of this to Lexie. Nor did he tell her the complete truth about ABS.

“What did you find out on the computer?” she’d asked the night before.

“Not much more than the doctor told us,” Jeremy said.

She nodded. Unlike him, she was under no illusion that knowledge would lessen her fears.

“Every time I move, I wonder if I’m doing something I shouldn’t.”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works,” he said.

She nodded again. “I’m scared,” she whispered.

Jeremy slipped his arm around her. “I am, too.”

They were led into the room, and Lexie pulled up her shirt when the technician entered. Though the technician smiled, she could sense the tension in the room and went straight to work.

The baby appeared on the screen, and the image was much clearer. They could see the baby’s features: her nose and chin, her eyelids and fingers. When Jeremy peeked at Lexie, she squeezed his hand with painful intensity.

The amniotic band, the tentacle, hadn’t attached yet. There were ten weeks to go.

“I hate waiting like this,” Lexie said. “Waiting and hoping and not knowing what’s going to happen.”

She said exactly what Jeremy was thinking, the words he refused to utter in her presence. A week had gone by since they had received the news, and although they were surviving, that’s all it seemed they could do. Survive and hope and wait. Another ultrasound was scheduled in less than two weeks.

“It’s going to be okay,” Jeremy said. “Just because the band is there doesn’t mean it’s going to attach.”

“Why me, though? Why us?”

“I don’t know. But it’s going to work out. Everything’s going to be fine.”

“How do you know that? You can’t know that. You can’t promise me that.”

No, I can’t, Jeremy thought. “You’re doing everything right,” he said instead. “You’re healthy and you eat right and you take care of yourself. I just tell myself that as long as you keep doing those things, the baby will be fine.”

“It’s just not fair,” she cried. “I mean, I know it’s petty, but when I read the papers, I always come across stories about girls who have babies when they didn’t even know they were pregnant. Or have perfectly healthy babies and abandon them. Or smoke and drink and everything turns out okay. It’s not fair. And now I can’t even enjoy the rest of the pregnancy. It’s like I wake up every day and even if I’m not thinking about it specifically, I walk around with this sense of anxiety, and then boom! It hits me all at once and I remember and I find myself thinking that something inside me might kill the baby. Me! I’m doing this. My body is doing this, and no matter how hard I want to stop it, I can’t and there’s nothing I can do.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jeremy said.

“Then whose is it? The baby’s?” she snapped. “What did I do wrong?”

It was the first time Jeremy realized that Lexie wasn’t simply frightened, but felt guilty as well. The realization made him ache.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But this thing inside me-”

“Hasn’t done anything yet,” he said gently. “And part of the reason, I’m sure, is that you’ve been doing everything right. The baby is fine. That’s all we know for sure right now. The baby’s doing great.”

Lexie whispered so softly that Jeremy barely heard her. “Do you think she’ll be okay?”

“I know she’ll be okay.”

Again, he was lying, but he couldn’t tell her the truth. Sometimes, he knew, lying was the right thing to do.

Jeremy had little experience with death. But death had been Lexie’s companion throughout her life. Not only had she lost her parents, but she’d also lost her grandfather a few years back. While Jeremy claimed to empathize, he knew he was incapable of fully understanding how hard it must have been for her. He hadn’t known her then and had no idea how she’d reacted, but he had no doubt how she would react if their baby died.

What if they went through the next ultrasound and all was well? It wouldn’t matter, he thought, for the amniotic band could still ensnare the umbilical cord. What if that happened when she went into labor? What if they were a few minutes too late? Yes, the baby would be lost, and that would be heartbreaking. But how would Lexie be? Would she blame herself? Would she blame him, since the odds of another pregnancy were basically nil? How would she feel when she walked by the baby’s room in the new house? Would she keep the baby furniture or sell it? Would they adopt?

He didn’t know, couldn’t begin to fathom the answers.

What made him hurt, however, was something else. Amniotic band syndrome was rarely fatal. But abnormalities and deformities were the rule, not the exception. It was the unspoken topic between Lexie and himself, something that neither wanted to discuss. When they talked about their worries for the baby, it was always couched in terms of possible death instead of the more realistic scenario. That their baby would look different; that their baby would have serious abnormalities; that their baby would face countless surgeries; that their baby might suffer.

He hated himself for thinking that it would matter, because when it came right down to it, he knew he would love the baby no matter what. He didn’t care about missing limbs or webbing between her fingers; he would raise her and care for her as well as any father could. Still, when he thought about the baby, he couldn’t deny that he envisioned her in almost clichéd snapshots: wearing an Easter dress while surrounded by tulips, or splashing through the sprinklers, or sitting in the high chair, smiling broadly through the chocolate cake smeared on her face. He never imagined her with deformities; he never saw her with a cleft palate or missing a nose, or with an ear the size of a penny. In his mind’s eye, she was always perfect and bright eyed. And Lexie, he knew, imagined her exactly the same way.

He knew that everyone had his or her burdens, that no one’s life was perfect. But some burdens were worse than others, and despite the terrible way it made him feel about himself, he wondered whether death would be easier than their daughter living with a severe abnormality-not a missing limb, but something far worse-one that would make her suffer for the rest of her life, no matter how long that might be. He couldn’t imagine having a child for whom pain and suffering were as constant as breathing or the beating of her heart. But what if that was his child’s destiny? It was too terrible to contemplate, and he tried to force the thought from his mind.

Still, the question haunted him.

Time moved slowly the following week. Lexie went off to work, but Jeremy didn’t even attempt to write. He couldn’t find the energy to concentrate, so instead he spent much of the time at the house. They were in the final stages of the renovations now, and Jeremy took it upon himself to begin cleaning. He washed the windows inside and out, he vacuumed the corners of the stairs, he scraped paint splatters from the counters in the kitchen. It was tedious, mind-numbing work, but it served to clear his mind, to keep his fears at bay. The painters were finishing up the rooms downstairs, and the wallpaper for the baby’s room was already hung. Lexie had picked out most of the major pieces of furniture for the room, and when they arrived, Jeremy spent two afternoons putting everything together and finishing the room. After Lexie got off work, he brought her to the house. At the top of the stairs, he asked her to close her eyes and he led her to the doorway.

“Okay,” he said, “you can open your eyes now.”

For an instant, there were no worries about the future, no fears for their daughter. Instead, it was the Lexie of old, the Lexie who looked forward to motherhood, who smiled easily and found everything about the experience memorable.

“You did this?” she asked, her voice soft.

“Most of it. I had to have the painters help me with the blinds and the curtains, but I did the rest.”

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, moving inside.

On the carpet was a throw rug decorated with ducks; in the corner, the crib-with a soft cotton sheet on the mattress and colorful bumpers already attached-sat beneath the mobile they’d purchased a lifetime ago. The curtains matched the rug and the small towels atop the chest of drawers. The changing table was fully stocked with diapers, ointments, and wipes. A small musical merry-go-round, playing quietly, sparkled in the soft yellow light from a decorative lamp.

“I figured that since we’ll be moving soon, I should go ahead and get this room out of the way.”

Lexie moved to the bureau and picked up a small porcelain duck. “Did you pick this?”

“It matched the rug and the curtains. If you don’t like it-”

“No, I do. It’s just that I’m surprised.”

“Why?”

“When we went shopping, you didn’t seem that into it.”

“I guess I’m finally getting used to the idea. And besides, I couldn’t let you have all the fun. Do you think she’ll like it?”

She moved to the window, running her finger over the curtain. “She’s going to love it. I love it.”

“I’m glad.”

Lexie let the curtain drop and moved to the crib. She smiled when she saw the small stuffed animals, but all at once it faded. She crossed her arms, and Jeremy knew that the worries had returned.

“We should be able to move in this weekend,” he said, wishing he knew what else to say. “In fact, the painters said we can begin moving our things in anytime. We might have to keep some furniture in the bedrooms while they finish painting the living room for a while, but the other rooms are ready. I was thinking about setting up my office next, then maybe the master bedroom. But either way, since you’re working, I’ll take care of it.”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “Okay.”

Jeremy put his hands in his pockets. “I’ve been thinking about the baby’s name,” he said. “And don’t worry, it’s not Misty.”

She glanced over at him, one eyebrow raised.

“I don’t know why it didn’t come to me earlier.”

“What is it?”

He hesitated, remembering how it would look on a page in Doris’s journal, remembering how it looked when he saw it on the headstone adjacent to Lexie’s father’s. He took a deep breath, strangely nervous.

“Claire,” he said.

He couldn’t read Lexie’s expression, and for an instant he wondered whether he’d made a mistake. But when she started toward him, she had the trace of a smile on her lips. Up close, she put her arms around him and then leaned her head against his chest. Jeremy wrapped her in his arms, and they stood in the nursery together, still afraid but no longer alone.

“My mother,” she whispered.

“Yes,” he said. “I can’t imagine our daughter with any other name.”

That night, Jeremy found himself praying for the first time in years.

Though he’d been raised Catholic and had continued to attend both Christmas and Easter Mass with his family, he seldom felt any connection with either the service or his faith. It wasn’t that he doubted God’s existence; despite the skepticism upon which he’d based his career, he felt that belief in God was not only natural, but rational. How else could there be such order in the universe? How else could life have evolved the way it did? Years ago, he’d written a column expressing his doubts that life existed elsewhere in the universe, using mathematics to bolster his point, making the case that despite the millions of galaxies and trillions of stars, the odds of any advanced life in the universe were almost nonexistent.

It had been among his most popular columns, one that elicited a great deal of mail. While most people wrote that they agreed with his belief that God created the universe, there were those who differed and offered the big bang theory as an alternative. In a follow-up column, Jeremy wrote about the big bang in layman’s terms, essentially laying out the point that, according to the theory, it meant that all matter in the universe had at one point been compressed into a dense sphere no larger than a tennis ball. It then exploded, creating the universe as we know it. He concluded the column with the question “On the surface, which seems more believable? The belief in God or the belief that at one point, all the matter in the entire universe-every atom and molecule-was condensed into a tiny ball?”

Still, the belief in God was essentially a question of faith. Even for those, like Jeremy, who believed in the big bang theory, it said nothing about the creation of the sphere in the first place. Atheists would say the sphere was always there, those with faith might say that God created it, and there was no way ever to prove which group was right. That’s why, Jeremy figured, it was called faith.

Still, he wasn’t ready to accept that God played an active role in human events. Despite his Catholic upbringing, he didn’t believe in miracles, and he’d exposed more than one faith healer as a fraud. He didn’t believe in a God who sifted through prayers, answering some and ignoring others, no matter how unworthy or worthy a person might be. Instead, he preferred to believe in a God who bestowed all people with gifts and abilities and placed them in an imperfect world; only then was faith tested, only then could faith be earned.

His beliefs didn’t fit in with the beliefs of organized religion; when he went to Mass, he knew he did so for his mother’s benefit. His mother sometimes sensed this about him and suggested that he pray; more often than not, he said he would give it a try, but he never did. Until now.

That night, after decorating the baby’s room, Jeremy found himself on his knees, begging God to help keep his baby safe, to bless them with a healthy child. With his hands clenched together, he prayed in silence, promising to be the best father he could be. He promised to start attending Mass again, promised to make prayer a part of his daily life, promised to read the Bible from cover to cover. He asked for a sign to let him know his prayer had been heard, that his prayer would be answered. But there was nothing.

“Sometimes I don’t know what I’m supposed to say or do,” Jeremy admitted.

Doris was sitting across the table at Herbs the following day; because he hadn’t told his family, she was the one person he could confide in.

“I know she needs me to be strong, and I’m trying. I try to be optimistic, I tell her that everything’s going to turn out okay, and I do my best not to make her any more nervous than she already is. But . . .”

When he trailed off, Doris finished for him. “But it’s hard, because you’re just as frightened as she is.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drag you into this.”

“I’m already in this,” she said. “And all I can say is that I know it’s tough, but you’re doing the right thing. Right now, she needs your support. That’s one of the reasons she married you. She knew you’d be there for her, and when we talk, she says that you’ve been a big help.”

Beyond the windows, Jeremy saw people eating on the porch, having ordinary conversations, as if they hadn’t a care in the world. But nothing was ordinary about his life anymore.

“I can’t stop thinking about it. We have another ultrasound tomorrow, and I dread it. I just keep imagining that we’ll see that the band has attached. It’s like I can see the expression on the technician’s face and I notice how quiet she gets, and I just know she’s going to tell us that we should talk to the doctor again. It makes me sick to my stomach to even think about. I know Lexie’s feeling the same way. She’s been real quiet the last couple of days. It’s like the closer the ultrasound gets, the more we worry.”

“That’s normal,” Doris said.

“I’ve been praying about it,” he admitted.

Doris sighed and looked up to the ceiling, then back to Jeremy again. “Me too.”

The next day, his prayer was answered. The baby was growing, the heartbeat was strong and regular, and the band still hadn’t attached. It was good news, the doctor announced, and while both Lexie and Jeremy felt a surge of relief, the worries returned again by the time they reached the car, when they realized they would have to be back in two more weeks. And there were still eight weeks to go.

They moved into the house a couple of days later: Mayor Gherkin, Jed, Rodney, and Jeremy helped load the furniture into the truck, while Rachel and Doris handled the boxes and Lexie directed them. Because the bungalow was small, the new house felt empty, even after the furniture had been put in place.

Lexie gave them the tour: Mayor Gherkin immediately suggested that the house be added to the Historic Homes Tour, while Jed repositioned the stuffed boar near the window of the living room, giving it prominent display.

As Jeremy watched Lexie and Rachel move into the kitchen, he noticed Rodney lagging behind. Rodney glanced at Jeremy.

“I wanted to apologize,” he said.

“For what?”

“You know.” He shuffled his feet. “But I also wanted to thank you for keeping Rachel in the wedding. I’ve wanted to tell you that for a while. It meant a lot to her.”

“It meant a lot to Lexie that she was there, too.”

Rodney flashed a quick grin, then grew serious again. “You’ve got a nice place here. I never imagined it could look like this. You two did a fine job.”

“It was all Lexie’s doing. I can’t take any credit for it.”

“Sure you can. And this place suits you. It’ll be great for your family.”

Jeremy swallowed. “I hope so.”

“Congratulations on the baby. I hear it’s a girl. Rachel’s already picked out a bunch of outfits for her. Don’t tell Lexie, but I think she’s going to throw her a surprise baby shower.”

“I’m sure she’d enjoy that. Oh, and congratulations on your engagement. Rachel’s a prize.”

Rodney glanced toward the kitchen as Rachel vanished from sight. “We’re both pretty lucky, aren’t we.”

Jeremy couldn’t answer, for once at a loss for words.

Jeremy finally made the call to his editor, a call he’d been dreading and putting off for weeks. He told him that he wouldn’t be submitting a column this month, the first he’d ever missed. While his editor was surprised and disappointed, Jeremy informed him of the complications with Lexie’s pregnancy. His editor’s tone softened immediately; he asked if Lexie was in danger or whether she was bedridden. Instead of answering directly, Jeremy said that he’d rather not go into details, and by the pause on the other end, he knew his editor was imagining the worst.

“No problem,” he said. “We’ll just recycle one of your old columns, something you did years ago. Odds are people either won’t remember it or never saw it in the first place. Do you want to pick something out, or would you rather I do it?”

When Jeremy hesitated, his editor answered his own question. “No problem,” he said, “I’ll handle it. You take care of your wife. That’s the most important thing right now.”

“Thanks,” Jeremy said. Despite his occasional battles with his editor, the man did indeed have a heart. “I appreciate it.”

“Is there anything else I can do?”

“No. I just wanted to let you know.”

He could hear a squeak and knew his editor was leaning back in his chair. “Let me know if you can’t make the next one, either. If you can’t, we’ll just run another old one, okay?”

“I’ll let you know,” Jeremy said, “but I’m hoping that I’ll have something for you before long.”

“Keep your spirits up. It’s tough, but I’m sure everything will turn out okay.”

“Thanks,” Jeremy said.

“Oh, and by the way, I can’t wait to see what you’ve been working on. Whenever you’re ready. No rush.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your next story. I haven’t heard from you, so I figure you’ve got something big in the works. You always go into hiding when you’re working on a doozy of a story. I know you’ve got other things on your mind, but I just wanted you to know that a lot of people were impressed with what you did with Clausen, and we’d like to have the chance to publish your next big article here rather than in the newspapers or somewhere else. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it, and to reassure you that we’ll be competitive when it comes to your fee. It might do the magazine some good, too. Who knows, we might even be open to making a big deal about it on the cover. I’m sorry for bringing this up now-there’s no pressure. Just whenever you’re ready.”

Jeremy glanced at his computer, then sighed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Though he hadn’t technically lied to his editor, he’d omitted the truth, and after hanging up the phone, he felt guilty. He hadn’t realized that when he’d called him, Jeremy had subconsciously expected to be told to pack it in, that they’d find someone else to do his column or just cancel it outright. He’d been prepared for that; what he hadn’t been prepared for was how understanding he’d been. Which made his guilt even more acute.

Part of him wanted to call the guy back and tell him everything, but common sense prevailed. His editor had been understanding, well, because he had to be. What else could he have said: Oh, sorry to hear about your wife and baby, but you’ve got to understand, a deadline’s a deadline, and you’ll be canned if I don’t have something in my hands in the next five minutes? No, he wouldn’t have said that-couldn’t have said that-especially considering what he’d said afterward: that the magazine wanted a chance to publish his next big article. The one he’d supposedly been working on.

He didn’t want to think about it. He couldn’t think about it; the fact that he couldn’t even write a column was bad enough. But he’d accomplished what he’d needed to do. He’d bought himself four weeks, maybe eight. If he didn’t come up with something by then, he’d tell his editor the truth. He’d have to. He couldn’t be a writer if he couldn’t write, and there’d be no use pretending anymore.

But what was he going to do then? How would he pay the bills? How would he support his family?

He didn’t know. Nor did he want to think about it. Right now, he had enough on his mind with Lexie and Claire. In the grand scheme of things, those were far more important than worries about his career, and Jeremy knew he would have put his concerns about them first even if he had been writing. But the simple fact was that right now he had no choice.