Intending to fly home at the end of the week after Thanksgiving, Austin traveled to Manhattan for work meetings. The division Christmas party scheduled for that Friday at the Carlyle, the company had booked rooms. John urged him to stay over. Not in a party mood and concerned about Jenny, Austin vacillated

Never hurt a man’s prospects rubbing elbows with the brass; he was torn. Ted Shipley stuck to the due date he’d predicted. Caroline believed Jenny had “dropped,” meaning: she could deliver anytime. The family brought in food, checked on Jenny several times a day. She knew about the Christmas party, urging him to stay, insisting she’d be fine with the family hovering. So in the end, he decided to take the opportunity to mingle, changing reservation to a Saturday morning flight.

Once in Manhattan’s seductive concrete caverns, bucolic Twin Springs County seemed a distant planet. Facing financial meltdown, the newspapers were on strike, adding to the speculation surrounding the Kennedy assassination. Regardless, or in spite of assorted crises, Manhattan wrapped in tinsel, bright, flashing lights—a painted lady eager to dispense her wears.

One evening he walked from his hotel to Bloomingdales’—a riot of green, silver and gold. Carols blasting from speakers on the street outside themed windows, and on every bedecked floor. Forced cheerfulness did little to improve Austin’s restive mood. Could he blame recent events? Not entirely. Abstinence made him cranky, worse, resentful, and guilty for feeling resentful and neglected.

Unreal the turn his life had taken these past months. His footloose days behind him, he had a wife. In a month or so he’d be a dad. At times, it was impossible to wrap his brain around those facts. Saving Jenny the trouble, he’d volunteered to shop for Barney and his mother. So, here he was in Bloomies’ navigating crowds picking out the gifts he’d have sent to Sarasota.

A full view of the toy department, he stepped off the escalator, browsing through the rows of books, games, trucks, dolls. Stuffed animals on floor to ceiling shelving took up a corner where Santa heard kids’ wish lists. Austin lingered. An elephant, plush-pink snout at the end of a stubby trunk—not a boy’s toy. Dogs, cats, lambs, pigs, none shouted—“buy me!”

Bears! From the dozens on display, he picked a soft brown, not too big, not too small, boy-sized. Somehow familiar under his arm, he totted the bear to the counter where he had it boxed and sent to his apartment.

Friday night’s bash began with cocktails at seven, followed by dinner and dancing. Mixed-level management, up-and-coming support staff, more corporate minefield than social event. The man-talk he could handle. A turn-off, ladder-climbing wives, dripping in borrowed jewelry, designer dresses, trying too hard to impress. Not Jenny’s world. He knew the rules. She’d learn. Tonight—call it bad timing—a party so soon after a national tragedy seemed crass.

Austin mingled near the bar, in conversation with a manager from Chicago when John tapped him on the arm. They carried their drinks to the dining room where Meridith was waiting with the Welbornes’ house guest. A skinny back turned to him, there was no mistaking—Pam. Alarms went off. His face flushed.

Meridith, dazzling in red, curtailed his urge to cut and run. “Austin, I’m so happy you’ll be joining us,” she gushed, giving him a limp, debutante handclasp and a designer-perfumed cheek. “We’ve brought along a dear friend.”

Man! He knew that wicked look. Austin glanced from Meridith to John—an equally, evil smirk.

Pam turned, facing him. “Darling! How wonderful to see you.” She pressed against him, clasped his hand, didn’t let go.

He avoided the cheek bump he knew was coming. She was coming on to him; he was wary. “Pam,” he responded coolly, easing out of her grasp. “What ...” Speechless for the moment, he was thinking, what the hell is she doing here? “You’re l- l- looking well,” he stammered. Sleek and seductive, low-cut black and white, splashed with sparkles; the perfume her trademark: Obsession.

“Like old times,” John remarked, usual suave and swagger.

John and Meridith, he and Pam, the foursome from his college days and the years he’d worked in the New York office. When he and Pam split, she’d moved to Boston. He smelled an ambush, but why?

Meridith had reserved a nearby table, his name card next to Pam’s. Two other couples joined them. Pam had always craved attention; she could be charming in a social setting. She was acquainted with east-coast elite. Corporate-climber wives ate the sort of dirt she dished; men, equally, if temporarily, amused.

Pam had a knack for stroking egos, generously she stroked his. “Austin and I,” she began, placing her hand on his forearm. “Darling, you remember the Bartletts’ summer place in East Hampton,” she cooed, drawing him into her story. Either Pam or John controlled that dinner table conversation.

Austin felt trapped. He’d had a few drinks, his thoughts fuzzy-headed mellow. Staying with this motley crew uncomfortable; leaving too awkward. The remains of dinner cleared away, he wondered why he stayed. Morbid curiosity maybe. How far would Pam take this arrangement? John and Meridith got up to dance, a slow one. The others left the table, leaving him and Pam alone. Planning a getaway, Austin pushed his chair back.

She grasped his arm, nebulous, blue eyes focused on his face. “Dance with me, darling, please,” she pleaded, pouting, “I feel like a wallflower.”

“Ha! You Pam?” Were he to walk out, he was certain guys would swarm her.

“We can be civilized, can’t we?” she taunted

His impulse was to cut and run before he got in any deeper. “I’m…” He didn’t get the words out. On her feet, Pam looped her arm in his. Split seconds later they were on the dance floor in a crushing crowd of couples competing for limited space. She’d taken control. He didn’t like the implications, though his feet kept time.

“I got married, you know,” he stated on the defensive.

“I’ve heard your wife is lovely.” A brittle, east-coast accent he’d come to detest.

“Jenny is beautiful,” he shot back. “Especially now. We’re having a baby.”

“A baby? Oh my!”

Phony. She knew from John and Meridith.

“How very domesticated you’ve become, darling, white picket fence and all.”

The sigh she heaved forced a gush into his ear. Smooth, plainly suggestive. She was baiting him. He didn’t have a snappy comeback.

“Isn’t that what we all want, darling?”

Domestication? Not Pam. Verbal sparring a game they played when they were dating. He’d found her a challenge then. Now? He stepped out of her orbit. “I’m not sure we all do, Pam.”

She persisted, maneuvering into a corner. “What is it, you think I want?”

“Only you would know that.” He glanced around, searching out enough space to escape the corner where he’d landed.

She moved in, whispering against his cheek. “But you see, I thought I did.”

Regrets? He had to hear this.

“Now I know, I made a dreadful mistake.”

Austin reared back. “Mistake?”

She looked him in the eye. “Giving you up, darling. I regret that more than I can say.”

If he hadn’t known her so well, he’d believe she was sincere. Or was she? Vindication would be sweet. She couldn’t hurt him anymore. He didn’t love her.

The set ended with the combo striking up a hot, Latin number. She stepped to the beat—a tango, they’d practiced in the clubs around Manhattan where he and Pam had owned the floor. Familiar patterns moved him with her as though the intervening year was blown away. It felt good to cut loose on the dance floor; a high he hadn’t felt for months.

Three sets later, arm in arm they left the floor. He had to know where this was going before he called a halt.

Pam twirled into his arms. “Can we go somewhere quiet and talk?”

He could have said no, he didn’t. When she came to his room with a bottle of booze, he could have said no. He didn’t let it happen. Hell, he took control, made it happen.

He hadn’t counted on the way he’d feel when last night’s high wore off. She wanted sex; he wanted sex. They both got what they wanted. So why did he feel so damned awful? Jenny. He’d made commitments, promises he’d broken; knowing would cause her pain. Okay, he’d been set up, pushed into a corner. His dark side took over. No excuses. This was wrong.

Easing to the side his head throbbing, he stood. Pam was sprawled, out cold, one naked leg spilling over the side of the bed. She wanted them to meet in Boston or New York—an ongoing affair. No one had to know, she said. No one meaning: Jenny. A crazy idea. He didn’t respond to her proposal. Last night she held a fascination—the pricey sports car he would never own, and no longer wanted. He wouldn’t be her toy.

Last night had been a re-run, a weak moment, nothing more. He didn’t want Pam; he had something better. All he wanted now was to wash off the smell of her, get back to Welborne.

Showered, a towel wrapped around his middle while he shaved, a skinny, nude body slithered into the bathroom. “Owwww,” she moaned, holding the top of her head. “Did we finish the vodka last night?”

Booze wasn’t to blame. They knew what they were doing. “Get your things together, Pam. I’m checking out.” He collected his toothbrush and razor into a leather pouch.

“Not yet, darling.” She pulled the towel around his middle, let it drop. “We have unfinished business.” A polished fingernail sunk into his groin.

The talon of a predator made a salient point. He took hold of her arms, moved her to one side, stepping out of her grasp. “I have a plane to catch.” As fast as he could manage, he dressed in the casual clothes, tossed the others into his bag.

Incredulous, she stared at him from the bathroom doorway. “You’re not leaving.”

“Going home.” He responded curtly, avoiding eye contact.

“When will I see you again?”

“You won’t be seeing me again. It’s over.”

Cold, blue eyes narrowed. She crossed her arms over bare breasts. “How much does she know about us?”

Don’t get mad, get even—Pam’s way of dealing. He’d seen her spite in action. A response would set her off. He zipped his bag, picked it up, headed for the door. “Have a nice life, Pam.”

“We’re not over, darling,” she shouted after him as he stepped into the corridor.

He closed the door without looking back. Could be an idle threat, or ... Whatever happened from now on, he and Pam were finished.

His flight—a short hop—took off on time climbing into dense cloud cover, adding to the quandary gnawing at his gut. He didn’t blame Pam for being sore at him. He’d used her. Hell, they used each other. He’d been with other girls before he met her; she’d been with other guys. She could be future trouble. Pride. She wouldn’t want it known he’d dumped her. By New Years’ Eve, if not sooner, she’d have another guy on the string.

One twenty-seven. Austin checked his watch as the van dropped him in front of his apartment. He told Jenny he’d be home late afternoon. At LaGuardia, he’d been able to board an earlier flight. Time was short, he didn’t call to tell her. She’d be sensitive to inflections in his voice. He had to pull this off without raising questions. He could never tell her about Pam. She’d be hurt, and angry. Knowing that he’d had a lapse of judgment, made a dumb mistake, would change the course he wanted his marriage to take. As long as Jenny didn’t know, he could put this incident behind him, move on.

On the porch at the front door, a cardboard box: The bear from Bloomies’. Tucking the box under his arm, he mounted the stairs. He’d squirrel away the bear until the tree was decorated; have Jenny open the gift on Christmas morning.

Once inside, he called out for her. “Jenny … I’m home!” Silence. He walked through the living room. She hadn’t left a note, and he was early. Just as well, gave him time to sort things out before he had to face her. Carrying the box to the bedroom, he found the bed unmade; stooping, he picked up her nightgown left lying on the floor. Not like Jenny—creeping up his spine a queasy feeling—something wasn’t right. No good speculating.

The Milanos number was the first he dialed. ... ... no answer. Charlie and Gina, the same. If Ivy wasn’t home, Boyce would be there. While the number rang, he heard someone climbing the steps. In the meantime, Boyce picked up. “It’s Austin, Boyce,” skipping the amenities, he questioned, “Is my wife there?”

“Why ... n … no,” Boyce stammered. “They took Jenny to the hospital late last night. You didn’t know?”

His heart took a leap. “No Boyce. I just got home. The place is deserted.”

“Charlie and Gina took Jenny in, then Ivy went. Left me sitting by the phone.”

A knock at the door. “Hold on Boyce, someone’s here.” He put a hand over the mouthpiece. “It’s open,” he called out.

Charlie stepped inside.

“Charlie’s here, Boyce. I gotta go.” He dropped the receiver into the cradle. Striding towards the stairs, he said, “I gotta get to Jenny.”

“That’s why I’m here. I’ll drive you.”

They bounded down the stairs. Charlie’s car was still in idle. He got behind the wheel; Austin slid into the seat beside him. They were driving up the block heading for Welborne Memorial before Charlie filled him in on what had happened: Rob and Caroline were out of town. In pain, Jenny called Gina. Doc Shipley thought, false labor, but he’d better check her out.

Austin ran a hand down his face, a knot in his gut. “She’s not due for another month,” he mumbled, feeling helpless.

Charlie nodded. “At first, Doc. Shipley was going to send her home,” he related. “Then he had second thoughts.”

Austin jumped to the obvious conclusion. “She’s in labor! Why didn’t someone call me? Jenny had the number.”

Charlie gave him a sideways glance, his eyes reverting to the road. “I called your hotel, Austin. They put me through to your room.” He turned a corner “A young lady answered.”

His brain stopped a second, then raced backwards. He’d checked out. Pam was in the room. “The maid,” he ventured, hoping that was true.

“No,” Charlie responded, a tone of disgust palpable. “The young lady said she’d just stepped out of the shower. And … you’d just left for the airport.”

A punch in the gut. Pam, damn her! Charlie Hamlin was no fool. Austin was speechless.

Charlie continued. “The young lady said, you and she were ‘close friends.”’

This was heading into trouble. Get it out in the open, Austin concluded. “The young lady,” he stated also in a flat tone. “I knew her in New York. It was over before I met Jenny.”

A grave nod, Charlie came back, “This stays between us, for Jenny’s sake. We told her you were on your way.”

Officer Hamlin, always the cop. His dirty little secret would be safe.

Charlie pulled up to the entrance; Austin leaped out, nixed the elevator in favor of the stairwell to the second floor. The first person he encountered in the waiting room was Ivy.

She patted his arm. “No need to worry. The nurses have everything under control.” Why was worry etched into her face?

“The nurses! Where’s Ted Shipley?”

“Austin.” Gina came in from the hall. “Doctor Shipley was here looking for you a few minutes ago.” A thin smile wavered, she looked worried also.

Austin turned away heading for the nurses station where a white uniform sat behind a desk. “Get word to Dr. Shipley, Austin Burdette is here,” too demanding, he added. “Will you please?”

Eye brows pinched, a nurse picked up the intercom. It didn’t feel right; too many pinched faces. While Ted was paged, he controlled an inner panic, pacing the short expanse of hallway. Ivy and Gina stood by prattling words of assurance. A few minutes seemed like hours.

A bell sounded, the elevator opened. White jacket, Ted stepped out, smiling pleasantly enough as he came towards them. “She’s doing fine,” he said for everyone to hear. Then to Austin he said, “Follow me, we’ll talk on the way.” Cool, calm, doctors act that way even in dire circumstances.

They burst through swinging doors, down corridors reeking of disinfectant. Ted talked fast in unfamiliar jargon: trimesters, false labor, centimeters dilated. Her water broke. He’d given Jenny an injection. She’d been moved from labor to delivery. Did he want to see his baby born?

Austin’s head was swimming. Yes. No. He hadn’t thought about it. The affirmative popped out. “Yeah, I want to be there.”

“Good Man!” They pushed through another set of doors. Ted handed him a brush, a soap dispenser, they scrubbed under warn running water. A nurse came in with caps and gowns and rubber gloves. She tied on face masks. Ted put his shoulder to the final set of doors.

Inside, a bright light suspended from the ceiling, gleaming tile and stainless, tanks, tubes, bins that rolled on casters. In the center of the room, a narrow table where Jenny lay, her legs and torso covered by a sheet. One of two nurses spoke to Ted. “She’s having good working contractions, Doctor.”

One minute, Austin was relieved to be with Jenny, in panic the next. A antiseptic odor dulled his senses.

Austin close behind, Ted stepped up to the table, took Jenny’s hand. “How we doin’ Mom?”

Her beautiful long hair tucked into a silly-looking cap, she nodded. “Doing fine.”

“Good Girl. Your husband’s here.” Ted joined Jenny’s hand in his before stepping to the foot of the table.

Austin stepped into the place Ted left, squeezed her hand. “Hi.” Why was he wearing this damned mask?

Tears in her eyes, and pain. She looked into his face. “I’m so glad you made it.”

“So am I.” He felt her grip grow stronger—a real hard squeeze. Beads of sweat popped out around her mouth, peppering forehead.

The nurse rested a hand on Jenny’s belly. “Okay, Mrs. Burdette, push with the pain.” She focused on the clock with a sweeping second hand attached to the opposite wall.

Jenny squeezed his hand, pushed. “Ohhhh ... Errr ...” agonizing sounds came out.

How long had she been like this? And how much longer would it take? He remembered a guy in a bar, somewhere in his travels, saying, his wife had been in labor for days. Days! Early this morning she came in. The clock said: two- thirty. How many hours? His brain refused to deal with numbers.

The tension on his hand eased; her pain subsided. She took a deep breath, opened her eyes, gazing at him, a faint smile coming to her face.

“Relax, breathe deep,” the nurse said, patting her belly. “Your pains are coming closer and harder. You’re doin’ great.”

“The baby?” Jenny murmured.

The nurse assured them the baby was fine. How did they know? Wires attached to Jenny’s belly leading to a meter. A second nurse pushed a damp cloth into his free hand. He dabbed sweat from Jenny’s face; hospital, waiting room, delivery, too fast to get his bearings.

What he knew about delivery he’d learned from Dr. Shipley’s pamphlets. Pains as close as Jenny’s meant the baby’s head was in the birth canal. His heart tripped faster.

She took a deep breath before another hard pain hit, squeezed his hand. “Ohhhh ... ahhhh ... errrr...”

“Push, Mrs. Burdette,” the nurse instructed. “Bear down, honey.”

The sounds coming from his wife he couldn’t recognize as human, he hoped he’d never hear again. Man! He wanted this over. He swore he’d never let her go through this again.

From behind the sheets, calmly Ted announced. “We got a crown. Three or four more solid contractions, we’ll have a baby.” He studied Austin, gave a thumbs up, told the nurse on standby to bring a suture kit.

Austin knew what that meant. He winced, shifted footing, drew a deep breath; a sharp smell of antiseptic made surroundings out of focus. She gripped his hand tight against her breast. He could feel pains coming, cresting … easing. If only he could get his arms around her, hold her, somehow ease her pain.

“Take some deep breaths, Mrs. Burdette,” the nurse beside the table instructed. “The next contraction you need to bear down as hard as you can.”

Jenny nodded. “Ummm humm.” She gazed up into his face, until the next pain came. Her eyes went wide, then closed tight. He could feel her pushing, her whole body straining. He heard and felt suction as the hard place in her belly shifted.

An exquisite moan came out of her. An earthy odor. Birth.

The nurse peeked behind the sheet. “A bea-u-ti-ful boy!” she pronounced, grinning at Jenny. “You’ve got a Daniel.” To Austin she directed, “Congratulations.”

“A boy.” His chest expanded until he thought his heart would burst.

The look of admiration she beamed on him he would never forget. Just then their son let out a startling, heart-stopping wail, gulped for air and kept on wailing.

“Good baby,” Ted shouted over the din bouncing off tile walls. Eight pounder, I’d say.”

The nurse wrapped the little guy in a blanket, examining fingers and toes. “This one’ no preemie.”

Jenny held her arms out. “I want him.”

The baby—blood and mucus clinging—was turned on his tummy, laid on her breast. She stroked his wet, black cap, kissed his forehead. “Hush Daniel,” she whispered. “You’re safe. You’re safe.” The sound of her voice calmed the wailing. The little guy nestled, took a huge gulp of air, let out a contented gurgle.

From behind the sheets, Ted commented. “I’d call that a happy kid.”

Tension-melting laughter rung from tile walls.

Jenny took Austin’s hand. “Your son,” she whispered, placing his hand on the baby’s warm, moist, heaving body. A helpless little bundle, fist in his mouth, raucous sucking sounds.

A charge went up his arm, his emotions a tangle. Words passed the lump in his throat. “I wanted a boy.” The first time he’d admitted a preference.

From behind the sheets, Ted said, “I’m almost done here, Jenny. You’ll have some stitches.”

“They’ll heal,” she answered, unconcerned, though sounding sleepy. She closed her eyes, tears glistened on her cheeks. She’d never looked so beautiful, or serene.

“We’ll take the little guy now.” They’d get him cleaned up and weighed.

“No!” Jenny erupted, fire in her eyes. Cupping his head in her hand, she held the baby against her breast. “He wants to be with us.”

The nurse shrugged, went away.

Austin chuckled. He’d just seem the steely Lita. A lioness with her cub. “Ted,” Austin ventured. “Can I take this damned mask off?”

Chuckling, Dr. Shipley peeked around the sheet. “Yeah, go ahead. Kiss your wife, give her one for me. She’s been a good patient.”

A half-an-hour later, he came out of Jenny’s room, headed for the nursery. Before she drifted off, she made him promise he’d stay with their baby, hold him. Under protest, they’d taken Daniel from her, gave her a shot, said she’d sleep the night through.

Walking through the corridor, the last few hours hit him—full force. She’d given him a son. He admired her strength, her courage. A deeper sense of commitment swelled within. Turning the corner, there they were, the family gathered at the window; his son in a basket, pushed up close. Joe Cary, his nose against the glass; the look on his face—priceless. Beside Joe, Ivy, pleased, relieved. Charlie and Gina, wistful for the child they couldn’t have.

If it hadn’t been for them—the family—Jenny would have been alone. They filled the spaces he left vacant. In the months since his marriage, he’d remained aloof from them, wary of family ties. Now he knew he could accept them, and he had to let them know him. In Daniel, all of them were linked by blood.