out there? Fact was, neither Bobby nor Susan were wild about the color yellow, and if you wanted to maximize your take from baby showers, it never hurt to know for sure.
It was a boy. Bobby’s dream come true. The first of what he’d teased would be five sons, all of whom would choose lucrative careers in professional sports, earning millions of dollars per year, allowing him to retire from the information-systems sales business early. All that, and never a wedding to pay for.
Nothing else mattered back then. The entire world revolved around the hyperactive baby as he boogied without pause, ultimately finding a rib with his foot, and thrumming it in rhythm to a tune only he could hear. Bobby made it a point to be in the bathroom for Susan’s nightly baths, just to watch Steven wriggle in response to the hot water.
They were the happiest and healthiest days of Susan’s life. People used to stop her in stores just to say how radiant she looked in her maternity clothes, and she would blush and beam. It was all true, and she knew it. Those were days to be remembered, and she saved everything for the scrapbook that she expected to build. She kept the receipts for the furniture; she cataloged all the gifts. She even saved the parking receipts from her trips to the hospital.
March 13 was the targeted big day, and as Christmas became New Year’s, and then Washington’s birthday rolled around, they were home free. Even if she went into labor at that point, Steven would merely be another preemie, just like millions of others who entered the world earlier than scheduled but went on to be perfectly normal.
With Lamaze classes completed and bags packed near the front door, all they had to do was wait. Bobby figured that Steven would look just like him—the carrier of all the dominant genes—with his thick brown hair and matching brown eyes. Truthfully, Susan hoped he was right. She’d always thought her own complexion to be too light—especially for a boy. But as long as he came through the tunnel screaming and wiggling, the rest meant nothing.
March 1 was a cold, cold night—only the third they’d spent in their new house, their baby-house—and Bobby decided to inaugurate his half of the two-seater bathtub they’d had installed. The sparkling cider was chilled, the lights dimmed, the heater cranked to deep-fry, and all was right with the world as he helped her into the tub, then dropped his robe and slid in across from her. The CD player eased out the John Tesh album that Bobby thought she liked so much, but which she couldn’t in fact stand. She just didn’t have the heart to burst his bubble. Secretly, she figured that Bobby wanted Steven to perform his dance routine to a real rhythm.
But Steven didn’t dance. He didn’t twirl, he didn’t roll over, he didn’t move. Susan nudged him playfully, but her belly remained perfectly still, the only movement being the vibration of her racing heart.
“He’s probably just tired,” Bobby said, but the look she saw in his eyes was the most horrific expression of fear she’d ever seen, and although he instantly tried to cover it, she knew what he was thinking.
“He’s fine,” she said, stroking her tummy lovingly. “You’re right, he’s just tired. He’s been jumping and twirling all day. He’s got to rest sometimes, too, you know.”
Sure. Sure, that was it. Had to be. They’d come too far for anything to go wrong now. Bobby tried to make small talk, discussing troublesome clients and recalcitrant employees, but that look in his eyes never dimmed, and she never heard a word he said.
Everything would be just fine.
Something was terribly, terribly wrong.
“We’re just borrowing trouble,” Bobby said, finally addressing the issue head-on. “We worry so much about things that they become premonitions. I’m sure that’s all that’s happening here. Steven is fine. Tomorrow morning, he’ll be doing the coffee shuffle just as he always does. Just wait
It was a boy. Bobby’s dream come true. The first of what he’d teased would be five sons, all of whom would choose lucrative careers in professional sports, earning millions of dollars per year, allowing him to retire from the information-systems sales business early. All that, and never a wedding to pay for.
Nothing else mattered back then. The entire world revolved around the hyperactive baby as he boogied without pause, ultimately finding a rib with his foot, and thrumming it in rhythm to a tune only he could hear. Bobby made it a point to be in the bathroom for Susan’s nightly baths, just to watch Steven wriggle in response to the hot water.
They were the happiest and healthiest days of Susan’s life. People used to stop her in stores just to say how radiant she looked in her maternity clothes, and she would blush and beam. It was all true, and she knew it. Those were days to be remembered, and she saved everything for the scrapbook that she expected to build. She kept the receipts for the furniture; she cataloged all the gifts. She even saved the parking receipts from her trips to the hospital.
March 13 was the targeted big day, and as Christmas became New Year’s, and then Washington’s birthday rolled around, they were home free. Even if she went into labor at that point, Steven would merely be another preemie, just like millions of others who entered the world earlier than scheduled but went on to be perfectly normal.
With Lamaze classes completed and bags packed near the front door, all they had to do was wait. Bobby figured that Steven would look just like him—the carrier of all the dominant genes—with his thick brown hair and matching brown eyes. Truthfully, Susan hoped he was right. She’d always thought her own complexion to be too light—especially for a boy. But as long as he came through the tunnel screaming and wiggling, the rest meant nothing.
March 1 was a cold, cold night—only the third they’d spent in their new house, their baby-house—and Bobby decided to inaugurate his half of the two-seater bathtub they’d had installed. The sparkling cider was chilled, the lights dimmed, the heater cranked to deep-fry, and all was right with the world as he helped her into the tub, then dropped his robe and slid in across from her. The CD player eased out the John Tesh album that Bobby thought she liked so much, but which she couldn’t in fact stand. She just didn’t have the heart to burst his bubble. Secretly, she figured that Bobby wanted Steven to perform his dance routine to a real rhythm.
But Steven didn’t dance. He didn’t twirl, he didn’t roll over, he didn’t move. Susan nudged him playfully, but her belly remained perfectly still, the only movement being the vibration of her racing heart.
“He’s probably just tired,” Bobby said, but the look she saw in his eyes was the most horrific expression of fear she’d ever seen, and although he instantly tried to cover it, she knew what he was thinking.
“He’s fine,” she said, stroking her tummy lovingly. “You’re right, he’s just tired. He’s been jumping and twirling all day. He’s got to rest sometimes, too, you know.”
Sure. Sure, that was it. Had to be. They’d come too far for anything to go wrong now. Bobby tried to make small talk, discussing troublesome clients and recalcitrant employees, but that look in his eyes never dimmed, and she never heard a word he said.
Everything would be just fine.
Something was terribly, terribly wrong.
“We’re just borrowing trouble,” Bobby said, finally addressing the issue head-on. “We worry so much about things that they become premonitions. I’m sure that’s all that’s happening here. Steven is fine. Tomorrow morning, he’ll be doing the coffee shuffle just as he always does. Just wait
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