“Do you have other family nearby…to offer support?”
Rachel averted her gaze. “No. My parents died in a car crash when I was a teenager. And my husband’s family lives in a small town in Ohio. We rarely see them.”
“I see,” said Dr. Oberg. He studied her chart for a moment. “I notice your son was a breech birth. There’s no reason to expect another breech, you know. We’ll anticipate a normal, healthy pregnancy. Tell me, do you have any questions?”
Rachel shook her head, her mind numb.
“Well, then,” said Dr. Oberg, resuming an air of formality, “if you’ll check with my nurse on the way out for your next appointment…”
Moments later Rachel walked out of the office, dazed, telling herself, This can’t be real. It must be someone’s clever prank, a hoax. Pregnant! What would she tell David? Surprise! We’re going to have a baby. Just what our marriage needs.
Marlene caught up with her on the sidewalk, breathless. “Rachel, honey, don’t forget me.”
“I’m sorry. I—”
“The test?”
“Positive. Oh, Marlene, how will I tell David?”
“Maybe…pray about it?”
“I can’t. I’m past praying.”
On the way home Rachel had a daring idea. She would not tell David anything at all. Not yet. Why stir up trouble? Why muddy the waters? It would be weeks yet before she began to show. Anything could happen. The future was anybody’s guess. There was time to work on her marriage, to improve her relationship with David, to prepare him for this so-called “blessed event.”
Yes! Why not? For the present her pregnancy would remain her secret.
It was late October, cold and storm-cloudy. David Webber gazed for a few moments into the dusky, smog-tinged dreariness outside his office window, then turned his attention back to his computer and the work at hand. The prints for the anti-icing design for the new regional jet had to be ready for the customer by 5:00 p.m. He fished through his desk drawer for paper clips, but as usual, couldn’t find anything when he wanted it. Rubber bands, pencils and erasers, scratch paper and marking pens. But no paper clips. Impatiently he slammed the desk drawer, saying something unintelligible under his breath.
David caught a glimpse of his scowling reflection in the expansive windows beyond his desk. He wasn’t one to think often about his looks, but when he did he had to admit to a modicum of conceit. Although nearing his mid-thirties, he had managed to maintain his athletic physique. It helped, of course, having good genes and being over six feet tall. Weekends of tennis and jogging under a hot California sun had tanned his skin a deep reddish brown, giving him a rugged, weather-beaten, even seafaring appearance. Rachel used to tell him with an admiring smile that he looked like one of those macho film stars—he could never keep up with the names. Come to think of it, it had been ages since she’d said anything like that.
These days it was Kit Kincaid, the engineering secretary, who fed his ego with effusive praise. She had even teasingly remarked that it must have been his double in that ubiquitous TV ad showing a smiling, virile, more-than-handsome workman chugalugging a diet soda while the office girls swooned with admiration. The comment had secretly pleased David. He was glad Kit considered him handsome—a man’s man and, yes, a woman’s man.
He looked back at his desk. Paperwork was strewn about like gigantic pieces of confetti. Before David could make sense of the chaos, Ralph Mercer, one of the draftsmen, came striding his way. “Webber, have you gone over the check prints of my drawing?”
“Which drawing?”
“Last Friday’s. The top assembly for the anti-ice system,” Ralph reminded him.
“Yeah, it’s here—somewhere.” He riffled through a mound of papers. “Yes, here it is.” He had merely set the Wellman test report on top of it. “Look, I’ll check the drawing once more and get it right back to you.”
The draftsman left abruptly, only slightly mollified.
David scanned the drawing, remembering now that everything was all right. If the draftsman had waited a minute, he could have taken the check print with him. Now David would have to deliver it personally. Irritated, he wrapped the check print around a roll of vellums for the Hiller job. Might as well deliver everything at once.
Casually he aimed his vision at Kit’s desk. With her curly, honey blond hair tousled around her ivorysmooth face, she looked younger than her twenty-five years. He’d never have guessed they’d become such close friends. Yet Kit had a certain mature, even worldly outlook that had impressed David from the start. She was easy to talk with and he always felt relaxed and more positive about life in her company. Once Rachel’s company had made him feel that way. But those days were long gone, he reflected sadly.
Kit was typing something, unaware of his gaze. With drawings in hand he headed for her desk. Paper clips were a good excuse—a reason to interrupt her work, talk to her, make her smile.
“Talk a minute?” he asked when she looked up, startled.
She smiled. “Okay, David. Sure.”
He lowered his voice a degree and assumed what he considered a tone of stern authority. “Miss Kincaid, you are the secretary to the engineering department, are you not?”
She studied him with a curious half smile. “You know I am.”
“Then you, my dear, are responsible for keeping us supplied with such indispensable items as paper clips, right?”
“Yes, I suppose so…”
“Now I must warn you, Miss Kincaid, if you forsake these small but important duties, you’ll only go on to greater negligence in the future.”
She stifled a laugh. “Come on, David. Are you out again? What do you do? Eat them?”
He winked. “Sure. It gives me an excuse to talk to you.”
Her voice softened. “Since when do you need an excuse, David?”
He inhaled sharply. “All right, young lady, give me six boxes now, or I’ll find your supply and pilfer the entire stock. Then where will you be?”
She leaned toward him and raised her face to his. “Right here, where I want to be. With you.”
She looked delightfully impish, as if there were many wonderful secrets locked in her head, which she would share only when she chose to, with whom she chose.
“Here are your paper clips,” she announced brightly, removing a small cardboard box from her desk. “Are you planning to make me a necklace?”
“Yeah, but not out of paper clips.” He fumbled with the drawings he forgot he was holding. “Say, Kit,” he added softly, making his voice sound as if they were still talking about paper clips. “Kit, how would you like to get a bite to eat after work?”
Her face showed surprise. “Tonight? Don’t you need to be home?”
Although they’d had lunch together a few times, David had never before asked to spend time with her after work. As he observed her reaction, he felt surprised himself at what he’d done and almost hoped she’d turn him down.
“I just phoned Brian a few minutes ago, and he said Rachel is out shopping. He doesn’t know when she’ll get back.” He thrummed his fingers on her desk. “So I told him I have to work late. I thought we’d at least have time to grab a sandwich. But if you’d rather not…”
“No, that’s all right.