“Enough,” she said. “Move it, you two.”

We got out of there faster than bank robbers, into Ainsley’s Prius, Daniel barely fitting in the back. There was a Duane Reade a few blocks down. “Stay here,” Ainsley said, hopping out of the car. Daniel and I didn’t speak.

It couldn’t be true. Please. Not now.

Six minutes later, she was back with a plastic bag. I looked inside.

Two boxes, four pregnancy tests all told.

No one said anything as we drove to Daniel’s. He unlocked the door, and we clomped up the stairs. “I’ll come in with you,” Ainsley ordered. “Daniel, wait here.”

“Okay,” he answered faintly.

I knew the drill. Somewhere, I could swear I heard the Fates laughing.

My hands were shaking as I held the test.

One line, I thought. One line. One line.

I set the test on the wrapper and tidied up. Ainsley and I didn’t look at each other.

“You guys okay?” Daniel’s voice was a little on the strangled side.

“We’ll be with you in a second,” Ainsley said.

One line. One line. All the times I’d prayed for two came back to me. Please, I told my body. Please be consistent. Do that for me. Let there be just one line.

When I got to a hundred and eighty, I looked.

There were two lines.

Chapter Thirty-One

Ainsley

Because they had a lot to talk about, I left Kate at Daniel’s and drove back to Cambry-on-Hudson by myself.

Oh, my poor sister. I’d spent half an hour sitting with her on the couch, looking at her white face. Daniel, God bless him, didn’t say much after I opened the door and said, “Congratulations.”

Instead, he made her a sandwich. “It’ll be okay,” he said, whether to himself or Kate or me or all three of us, I wasn’t sure. “It’ll be okay.”

There wasn’t much else to say.

As I drove up the FDR Drive, Jonathan called. “Are you free?” he asked.

I glanced at the time. Wow. It was only seven o’clock. It felt like a lifetime had passed since we’d left for Brooklyn late this afternoon. “Um...yes.”

“Are you hungry?”

“I am.”

“Would you like to come here for dinner?”

“I would. I’ll be there in about an hour, okay?”

“Very good.” There was a pause. “Drive safely, sweetheart.”

My grip loosened on the steering wheel. “I will,” I said.

Sweetheart. He called me sweetheart. The endearment nestled in my heart, a warm little jewel on this complicated night.

An hour later, I pulled into the driveway. “I’m on the patio,” he called, and I went down the slate path, past the tree where the girls had a swing, past the front door.

The sun had set, but remnants of orange and red held on. Jonathan had lit a fire in the copper fire pit and a bottle of wine rested in an ice bucket. Two lounge chairs sat side by side.

“It’s lovely to see you,” he said, kissing me, and my heart swelled.

“You, too.” I rested my head against his shoulder. “How was your day?”

“Very good, thank you. Your replacement lacks your, ah, unique energy, but he’s doing a competent job so far.”

“Glad to hear it.”

He poured me some wine. He’d changed into jeans (I was surprised he owned a pair, but he did, and he was rocking them) and a maroon crewneck sweater, and he looked very much like what he was—a son of the Hudson River Valley, established, sure of himself, confident, wealthy.

Happy.

Then he sat down next to me, glanced down at the ground and did a double take. I followed his gaze.

Oh. My purse was open, and there was the backup pregnancy kit. Kate had opted to believe the first two tests. He raised his eyes to mine and didn’t so much as blink.

“About that,” I began.

“Yes. Is there something you want to tell me?”

“It’s not mine. The kit, I mean.” I took a sip of wine.

“So you just carry around pregnancy tests?”

“I repeat,” I said. “It’s not mine.”

He continued looking at me, the flickering light of the fire making it hard for me to read his expression. “I see.” He sat back, tension radiating off him. I would’ve loved to tell him it was for Kate, but I hadn’t asked if that would be okay.

The sky was now almost black with a thin deep red line on the horizon.

I sighed and took another sip of wine. The bugs chirred and sang, and a mosquito whined by my ear.

“If you were pregnant,” Jonathan said, not quite looking at me, “for one, you shouldn’t be drinking—”

“I’m not pregnant.”

“—and for two...that would be... We’d figure it out.”

“Jonathan. Listen to me. Read my lips. I am not pregnant, I’m on the Pill, as I’m sure I’ve told you ten or fifteen times.”

“I know. I just... But if you were pregnant, it...it wouldn’t be horrible.”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s very touching. Why don’t you stop now? We don’t need to have this conversation.”

He dipped his head in exasperation. “What I mean is, I...I like children. I’m sure I’d like your children quite a lot.” He paused. “Our children.”

And there it was again, that stealth missile of sentiment that hit me right in the heart. Captain Flatline was trying to say something lovely.

“Well, I already like your children quite a lot,” I said, my voice a little husky. “I bet our children would be very nice, too.”

The almost-smile rose, changing his face from unreadable to frickin’ adorable.

“Maybe in a year or two, we should have this conversation again,” he said.

A year or two. He was thinking toward the future, and with me in it.

And that was fine with me. I didn’t need more than that right now. No engagement ring, no plans, just maybe someday, and that was enough.

Then he reached over and took my hand, and we sat side by side as the red faded, and the dark blue sky felt like a blessing.

“I think you may be at 70 percent,” I said, and he laughed and kissed my hand and then pulled me onto his chair and kissed me properly, long and deep and wet, his hands under my hem, unzipping my dress, until the mosquitoes drove us inside to bed.

Hooray for mosquitoes.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Kate

Sitting in Daniel’s living room, two pregnancy tests telling me that, yep, I was knocked up, it dawned on me that God had a helluva sense of humor.

How many times in our marriage had Nathan and I done it? Seriously, how many? I’d taken my temperature, counted days, pressed on my abdomen to see if I felt the pinch of ovulation. In ninety-six days, I’d bet we’d had sex at least a hundred times, even taking into consideration his trip to Seattle and the days my period was too gross. We’d been newlyweds. Not young newlyweds, but enthusiastic newlyweds just the same.

How many times had Daniel and I had sex? Twice in the same night. Both times with a condom. Trojan was going to get a very strongly worded letter, yessiree.

“I’m so sorry about this,” I said for the twentieth time.

“It’s fine. Eat your sandwich. I don’t want you to faint.”

There was, I supposed, a microscopic chance that I was pregnant with Nathan’s baby, not Daniel’s. No matter what those fourteen pregnancy tests and two periods had told me.