---

 

“He sleeps all day.” Whitney’s voice held concern as she sat in her condo across the kitchen table from Max. Connor had been staying with them for a few days and they were worried about him.

“Maybe that’s the best thing. Remember what happened the last time he lost her.”

“His friend Razim was killed the night Connor got the text that she married Lorenzo.”

“It’s awful.” Max grabbed her hand over the breakfast table. “But I remember when I lost you. I was a basket case.”

Instead of teasing him, her expression was solemn. “I was, too.”

“So look at us, honey. Maybe Connor will have a happy ending.”

“Happy endings are for fairytales.” They turned to see Connor standing in the doorway. He hadn’t shaved and wore the same pajama bottoms and T-shirt for the three days since Calla left.

Deeper worry shot through Whitney. “How do you feel today?”

“Like I got hit by a train.” When she started to answer, he said, “No, don’t say anything. I’m done moping.”

“Three days isn’t that long to mope, Con.” This from Max. Whitney knew how he worried about her brother, too.

“For me it is.” He straightened and headed to the coffeepot. “Do you have any news from Casarina? I know I said I didn’t want to talk about it, but I need closure.”

“Calla emailed me,” Whitney told him. “The annulment is finalized. She’s free, but so is Lorenzo. Part of the deal was he wouldn’t be prosecuted.”

“Chalk another one up for the bad guys.” He poured himself coffee, asked if they wanted a refill and took a seat at the table. “I’m not surprised, given their laws.”

“Calla said she and Brie were staying in Casarina to work on their father to change the ‘wives are subject to their husbands ’ law. They’re not coming back until he does.”

“Then it’ll take forever. He’s got three of his daughters at home now, so he’ll do anything to keep them there.” Connor sighed.

“Con, why didn’t you go back with her?”

“She asked me to.”

Whitney and Max exchanged glances.

“You think I should have gone?”

“Connor—”

“No, tell me what you think.”

Whitney held up her head. “Yes, I think you should have gone back with her.”

His gaze shifted to Max.

“I do, too, Connor.”

“I couldn’t. But I’m done talking about this. I have to think about where my life is going. And that doesn’t include her.”

Max asked, “Will you go back to Doctors Without Borders?”

“That’s one option. Or I could go home and work in ER with Dec. I like being with family. But you know what I really want? To set up a private clinic for the poor. I’d have to get funding for it, because the money I get from my patent only covers my living expenses. Finding finances will be a hassle, but that’s a dream I have.”

“Then let’s work on that together.” Whitney felt lightened already by his interest in doing something.

He nodded and sipped his drink.

“There’s more to deal with, Con.” She took in a deep breath. “You need to see someone about the guilt you have over Razim.”

“See someone? As in a psychiatrist?”

“Or a counselor.”

He stared down at his cup. “I’ll get better. I won’t do what I did last time.”

“I don’t think you can get better by yourself.” She grasped his hand. “You talked me into getting help, Connor. Eve turned out to be a godsend. Why isn’t the same thing right for you?”

“I guess it is. I’ll think about it.” He moved back his chair.

Whitney stayed his arm. “Before we get started on researching grants, do me a favor.”

He scowled.

“Take a shower. You smell.”

“Bite me,” he said but headed down the hallway.

When he disappeared into the bedroom, Whitney looked at Max. “I’m shocked he agreed.”

“He knows that stuffing his guilt is the wrong thing to do.”

“I guess. What can we do to support him?”

“Be here for him. Help him find funding for the clinic.” He studied her. “Have you gotten your period yet?”

She bit her lip. Emotion threatened to bubble out. “This morning.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re upset.”

A couple of tears made their way down her cheek. She was incensed. She rarely cried. “I am. And I don’t understand why.”

“Don’t you?” He took her hand. “I think you wanted to be pregnant.”

“Maybe. It’s stupid. We weren’t even trying.”

“We should try.”

“Seriously?”

“Honey, if you’re disappointed, yes. For the record, so am I. We want a child more than we’re acknowledging.”

“I thought I was ready to let fate have its way.”

“Nah. You and I will give fate a push. We’ll have our way.” Then Max arched a brow. “Boy, is this going to be fun.”

 Gabriella and Callandra sat at a table under the gazebo on the decking of the pool. Both were dressed for the hot weather: she wore a red skirt and white sleeveless blouse and Brie a dress from her own closet.

“Before we talk about Papá, tell me how you’re doing,” Calla said.

“As well as can be expected. I have nightmares.”

“Would you like to sleep with me? We did that when we were little.”

A small smile. “No, but thanks. I’ll get over this.”

“Mamá told me Eddie Smith kidnapped you. I don’t get it. He seemed like such a nice guy.”

She shook her head. “I was terrified when he grabbed me and dragged me out. I still can’t believe it.”

“Do you know why?”

She nodded. “Vittorino wanted to get me away without a fuss. He went to the nursing home where Eddie’s mother is and blackmailed Eddie. He said he’d kill Lucy Smith if Eddie didn’t follow his instructions.”

“What will happen to him?”

“The police will probably want to indict him, though it seems to me I’d do the same thing if they went after Mamá. I’m not going to press charges. I’m not sure that will do any good, but he had reason.”

“That’s very forgiving of you.”

“What’s going on out here?” Alexandra appeared on the porch and crossed to them. She was off classes for the summer. “Hi, you two.” She gestured to the pens and paper before them. “What are you doing?”

They exchanged looks. “Um,” Callandra said.

“Tell her.” This from Gabriella. “She’s been sheltered too long.”

Alexandra plopped hands on hips. “Porca miseria. I’m twenty years old. I’m already angry at you and Mamá for keeping your situation with Lorenzo from me. I’m not a child.” The fact that she practically stomped her feet made them grin.

Gabriella motioned to the seat next to her. “Sit, honey.” When Alexandra dropped down with them, Gabriella leaned over and kissed her head. “As of now, you’re officially a grownup. We, at least, won’t keep anything from you.”

Alexandra gestured to the papers. “What are you doing?”

“Creating a strategy to convince Papá to take action.”

“After what he did to you, Calla, and caused to happen to you, Brie, he should give you the moon if you want it.”

“This is about some of Casarina’s restrictions.” Calla heard her voice come out hoarsely. The topic was hard for her.

“You mean father’s restriction on who we marry. He already agreed to end that.”

“There’s more.”

“What?”

“Casarina has a law on the books that says, and I quote, A wife is subject to her husband. It’s been interpreted to mean...what Lorenzo did to me is legal.”

The sun went out of Lexy’s face. “I don’t believe that. Papá and Mamá can’t possibly approve of that.”

“Only Papá,” Brie told her. “Mamá doesn’t.”

“Why hasn’t abuse happened to other women in the country?”

“It has.” This from Calla. “Only a handful of them escaped like I did to go to America. Others probably didn’t report it or could have gone elsewhere. In truth, we think domestic abuse here is much broader than anyone realizes.”

Brie added, “Then it goes unreported in Casarina too.”

“I can’t believe this.” Her sister’s brow furrowed. Loss of childhood had its consequences.

“I’m sorry, it’s true.” Brie’s tone was sympathetic.

Alexandra lifted her chin. “Well then, it’s our duty to talk our father into getting rid of archaic laws.”

“We have to get our ducks in a row, first.”

“I don’t know what that means.” Because she’d never left the country, she didn’t understand most English idioms.

“We have to be prepared with cogent arguments.”

They worked through the afternoon preparing their strategy. When their father came back from the palace for dinner, he went to his home office to finish up the day’s work. Something struck Calla. He’d always come home for dinner unless he was out of town, even if he had to work here, or go back later to the council building. That softened her toward him.

She knocked and was told to enter. “Hello, Papá.” As the oldest and most affected so far, she led the others to his desk.

“Well, aren’t you three belle ragazze? Standing there in the doorway, together.” He frowned. “I wish all seven of you were under my roof again.”

As good an opening as she’d get. “Perhaps we will be from time to time if you grant our request.”

His brow furrowed. Since he’d taken care of Lorenzo and she and Brie stayed home, the lines around his eyes and mouth had diminished. He seemed younger, happier. “I’ve already rescinded my dictum to the other girls. I sent them emails yesterday.” He frowned. “They all replied but Ravenna.”

“We appreciate that,” Brie told him, “but we have another condition.”

“How can I deny either of you after what happened?”

“We must move on, Papá. Not rehash the past.” Calla felt hypocritical because that’s all she’d been doing in private: remembering her relationship with Connor, fantasizing what could have been, and yes, feeling guilty for hurting him again.

The three sisters sat down.

“What is your request?”

Calla held out a paper. “First, we want the old law repealed, immediately.”

“The old law being the one... that a wife is subject to her husband.”

“Yes.”

“I have a council, you know. It may not be that easy.”

She raised a brow. “Papá, you are king.”

“Of course, I’ll try.”

“There’s more. We also want a new law put in its place. One that states a man can be prosecuted for abusing his wife. We think it needs to be fully stated and widely publicized.”

“I’m not sure about that.”

“Papá,” Lexy said passionately, “if the old law is just gone, nothing’s to say abuse won’t go on. Someone could do that to me, if I stay here.”

The if I stay here seemed to hit home. Papá had forbidden her to leave, but like the others, she was standing up to him. “I see. Agreed. Anything else?”

“The women who ran away. We want them to know they can come back.”

“I am aware of only eight in the U.S. who’ve asked for asylum.”

“We must research other countries. Find out if there are more who escaped.” This from Lexy.

“There probably are,” Gabriella put in. “And certainly other women who stayed in Casarina and never reported abuse should know what has changed. Should realize they can speak up now.”

He pivoted the chair and stared out the window. They sat in silence. When he turned back, he said, “All right. I’ll make sure this is all put in place.” He sat back. “But I want you to stay in Casarina until it is.”

The girls exchanged glances. Calla said, “We’ll stay for two weeks.”

“I’m not sure I can accomplish so much in that short a time.”

“Like I said, you’re king, Papá. Just do it.”

For a week, Connor had kept a tight rein on his emotions. But he’d been unable to stop the recriminations. Whit and Max said he should have gone to Casarina with Calla, and when he’d seen Nick and Gabe, they’d both gotten on him about not going with Calla.

To quell the doubts, he spent hours researching grants and federal funding of private clinics for the poor. Most were government-sponsored, but there were a few in D.C. that were not. So, Connor called and got a meeting with the head of one in Foggy Bottom, Sarina Jacobs.

When he arrived, he took in the small, storefront clinic in an impoverished neighborhood. Compared to their boarded-up, shabby neighbors, the medical facility had received a fresh coat of paint recently and sported a simple sign that read, “Free Clinic, Everyone Welcome.”

Inside, he was met by a woman in a lab coat.

“I’m Connor Marino, Dr. Jacobs.” He held out his hand to shake.

“Sarina.”

“Thank you for seeing me.”

“Of course. Anyone who’s been with Doctors Without Borders in Syria deserves all our thanks. Seeing you is the least I can do.” She led him to a cramped office off to the right. “Have a seat. How can I help you?”

Connor was surprised his heart started to beat faster. Helping others always excited him. “I’m interested in opening a free clinic much like yours. Right now I’m on a fact-finding mission.”

“God knows we need more treatment areas in the city.” She frowned. “Where do you want to start?”

“Could you tell me how you’re funded and how you’re set up?”

“First there are three ways to get funding: national grants and other government money, private donations and crowdfunding.”

“Which do you use?”

“NAFC, the National and Free Charitable Clinics.”

“That’s a 501c(3) federal grant.”

“You’ve done your homework.”

“Yep.”

“NAFC is solely focused on the issues of the medically underserved group in this part of the city.”

Connor also knew that the finance group was founded in 2001 and headquartered near D.C.

“The organization believes access to health care should be a right, not a privilege, and values volunteerism, community involvement and collaboration.”

“Why that over crowdfunding?”

“We were lucky we didn’t have to go the route of soliciting money online. But others have done it successfully. Things are different now than they were in 2001 when we began.” She gave him more information on the three ways to obtain financing, then said, “Let me show you around.”

“Great.” For the first time, he noticed she was pretty, with steely blond hair and kind blue eyes. She was slim, petite. He thought of Calla’s dark beauty and her statuesque build. The image hurt so he quelled it.

Sarina led him to the foyer he’d come in through. “This is our waiting area. The room is too small, of course, but we manage. At the counter over there is our reception desk. That’s staffed by volunteer nurses, who are a godsend.”

“How do you get them?”

“Through the nursing schools in the area. Some are still students, but trained enough. Working here gets counted as part of their college credits.”

“Good idea.” He wondered what nursing schools were close to Lakeville. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go home, but he was keeping his options open.

They went into the back. “We have five examining rooms. We usually have two doctors here at a time. One paid staff, paltry though the salary is. One volunteer. The spaces are simple,” she said, entering one, “but they suffice.”

The first thing he noticed was the room smelled like antiseptic and cleaning products. That meant it was well taken care of. He noted the cool blue walls, the clean, efficient exam table and small desk and chair. “This is glamourous compared to Syria.”

The woman leaned against a table. “Was it awful over there?”

“The conditions the people live in are. But we were able to do so much for the Syrians, I never saw it as awful.”

“You’re a good person, Dr. Marino.”

“Connor.”

The tour took about twenty minutes. “So does that give you an idea of what you might want to do?”

“It certainly helps.”

“You know, you might want to volunteer here for a while. Get the rhythm of the place.”

“Hmm. I imagine it would look good on a resume for funding.” He was thoughtful. Hard work would distract him. “When can I start?”

Because Renata wanted to spend alone time with each daughter, she had dinner at a local restaurant with Gabriella last night. Her third oldest daughter was a survivor, but had been shaken by the kidnapping. Renata hoped she was being a good enough mother to the girl.

Today, she took Calla shopping. When Calla lived in Casarina, she’d always loved the open-air markets, so they arrived in town around seven a.m. Even this early people were around to gawk or greet them. Of course, two guards accompanied them, but they stayed back a bit so mother and daughter could talk.

“Want to start at the food market?” Calla asked. That was to the right. Trinkets, clothing and other wholesale goods were on the left.

“Sure. Maybe we can buy some fish. I’d love to prepare a nice dinner for us all. I haven’t done that in a long time.” Of course the palace had chefs.

“It would be nice to cook with you again, Mamá.”

As they entered the large tents, the familiar scents of spices and bakery products surrounded then. “Oh, Mamá, let’s get some crispats.”

“Of course. I love fried dough.” They bought pastries and thick black coffee and sat at a small table.

Calla faced her squarely. “I haven’t asked you a question and hope you will tell me the truth. How are things going with you and Papá?”

“Please don’t let any of that concern you.”

“But it does. My issues have caused the schism between you two.”

“No, Callandra, your father is responsible for separating us by his actions and his lies.”

“Now that the situation has at least calmed down, are you getting along better?”

“We’re more civil.”

“But not intimate?”

“What are you asking, daughter?”

Calla seemed so adult, questioning her like this. “I know you’ve been sleeping in your rooms. You never did that for as long as I can remember.”

“Yes. We are in separate quarters, which is new.”

“Papá can’t like that.”

Renata thought about his visit to her quarters last night...

“I don’t understand why you’re still here,” he said. “I have done everything you and the children asked.”

“Do you expect me to get past the lack of trust you caused in our relationship so fast?”

“I know that will take time. But we need to be close. This isn’t working for you either. I hear you up at all hours.”

“I miss you, husband. But I can’t...”

She said to Calla, “He thinks I’m being stubborn.”

“Are you?”

“Maybe.”

“Mamá, he’s the love of your life. Don’t waste time with stubbornness.”

“Perhaps you’re right. I promise to think about your suggestion.” She sipped the coffee, and her dark eyes sparkled over the rim. “So, now that you’ve pried into my private life, tell me how you’re feeling about Connor Marino.”

“I miss him desperately. In all ways.”

“So you were intimate with him?”

“At Camp David. Being together like that was wonderful. He forgave me. We were so happy for a few days.”

“Why didn’t he come back with you, dear?”

“I asked him to.” She explained all the reasons Connor had given to her.

“Men! They can be so stubborn.”

“It’s more than that, Mamá.”

“It is. I’m so sorry our family interfered again.”

“What happened was Lorenzo’s fault.”

“The entire situation arose from the same starting point. From what your father did.”

“I’m so sick of these recriminations, Mamá. I need to let them go. I need for you to let them go.”

“I hadn’t thought about it that way.”

“Do, please. I know how painful it is to lose love.”

Renata had no intention of losing Alessio. But for the first time, she considered it. Dio mio, that could never happen!

Calla and her mother bought pastries for the girls and one her father liked, then headed to the fish section. The market was getting more crowded, and many of her countrymen stopped and stared. When Calla stepped inside the area, she was assaulted by the smell. “Oh!”

“Is something wrong?” her mother asked.

“The odor is so strong in here.”

“No more than usual. You’re not used to these kinds of markets anymore.”

Calla swallowed hard, took in some breaths then, feeling steadier, she said, “I guess.”

They approached the counter. “What fish is fresh today?” Renata asked the butcher.

“Sea bass, your Highnesses.”

Calla hadn’t been addressed as royalty for years. It was odd. She was a princess, though she no longer felt like one.

“We’d like to see the biggest bass you have,” her mother put in.

The man left and her mother inspected the contents of the cases. Calla found them unappealing. When the butcher returned, he put the fish on the counter in front of them. Something about its glassy eyes and shiny scales made Calla’s stomach pitch. Again, she put her hand to her middle.

“Is something wrong?”

“I am not used to this I—Oh, God, Mamá.”

“The washroom?” Renata asked the man behind the counter.

“Use the one right behind the counter for staff.”

Calla felt too weak to move. Her mother drew her along and got her inside. Calla fell to her knees. And vomited while Renata held back her hair.

“Oh, bambina. This has been so hard on you. You’re still upset.”

“I guess.” She tried to get up but the world spun. “Ah...

Mamá, help me up.”

A knock on the door. “Are you all right, Your Highness?” The head guard.

“Yes, Antonio,” her mother called out. “Please, bring the car around. The princess isn’t feeling well.”

Once she was strong enough, feeling better, her mother helped her to get out of the room and they were ushered through the crowd to their waiting vehicle. Calla laid back into the soft leather of the cushions. It was the best money could buy so when they got on their way, the ride was smooth.

Calla was never ill. She must have been more upset than she thought.

“So, Timmy,” Connor said to the child on the exam table. “How did you hurt your arm?”

The boy’s bottom lip came out in a pout. “Playing street ball.”

“So you fell on the pavement?”

“Uh-huh.”

Connor could tell by the angle of his arm that it was broken. “Well, buddy, you won’t be doing that for a while. We need an x-ray, then I think your arm will have to be casted.”

The boy was tough. He didn’t cry or whine. But his big brown eyes were tinged with fear. “For how long?”

“Depends on how bad the break is.” Connor looked up to the nurse. “Where’s his mother?”

“In the waiting room with her five other children.”

“Can you take him down to X-ray? I’ll get the material for the casting.”

“Another nurse can do that, Dr. Marino. I’ll tell Missy. There’s a patient next door.”

“All right. Let me know when he’s back.” He winked at the boy. “Try not to worry. After we cast your arm, it’ll feel better.”

He left the room and knocked on the door to the next one. He was energized by work, he realized as he walked inside to find a very pregnant woman lying on the table. As he washed his hands, she said, “Sorry, I had to lay down, Doc. My back’s killing me.”

“Nine months pregnant,” the nurse told him.

“Hmm. What’s your name?”

“Nell. I have three others. This one’s been the most uncomfortable.”

“Do you have a doctor?”

“No.” She took in a deep breath. “I didn’t with the others. I went to emergency when the time came.”

“I’m going to examine you. Is that all right?”

“Yeah.”

He sat down on a stool at the foot of the table. He could tell right away they had something to be worried about. Quickly he examined her. “Nell, you’re one hundred percent effaced and one hundred percent dilated.”

“That means...”

“The baby could come any—”

She let out a teeth-scraping scream.

The nurse rushed to the end of the table. “Oh, my God.”

Another scream.

“Hold her hand, Carolyn.” To the patient he said, “The baby’s coming. Push when I—”

Another scream. And she pushed.

The baby popped right out. No crowning, no shoulders first, it simply slipped into Connor’s hands. Startled, he held the big, red newborn. This time, the scream came from the child.

“Nell, you have a boy with very strong lungs.”

Two people came running into the room. “A nurse said she...wow, what do we have here?” Sarina asked.

Connor grinned at the squirming child. “A little miracle, I’d say.”

Later, when he was cleaning up in the doctors’ small area in the back, Sarina came inside and leaned against the counter. “Quite a day. You were a trooper, Doc. Thank you for coming in.”

When the waiting room filled up this morning, his second week working at the clinic, they’d called him and asked him to help out on his day off. “Yeah, funny how things work out.”

“You’ve delivered babies before.”

“Of course. Residency rotations. Fellowship. Quite a few in Syria.” He shook his head, remembering his time in the desert, and how children rarely entered the world in hospitals. “Not all of the latter were successful. A lot of stillborn births.”

Her face fell. “Why is that?”

“Poor maternal nutrition. No prenatal care. It’s sad.”

“As I said when we met, I admire you going there, helping those struggling people. Don’t want to go back?”

“I’m coming to think not. I can be of help here. Working in a clinic is worthwhile to me.”

“You could work here full-time. We don’t pay much, but we can scrape a salary together for you. You don’t have to start your own place.”

“I haven’t decided whether to stay in D.C. or go back home.”

“Then this would be perfect. You’d have time to decide.” She cocked her head. “Let’s go for a drink and talk about it.”

“You know, I’d like to do that. Thanks for asking.”

The nausea hadn’t returned after Calla’s trip to the market. In some ways, she was disappointed, and in some ways she was horrified: what could she possibly be hoping for? To trap Connor into marriage? She never wanted that. Besides how could she want to create the nightmare of her taking their children to Casarina he so feared?

To avoid thoughts of him, she headed to Lexy’s room. From the doorway, she studied the interior. All of them had gotten to choose their own color scheme when they became teenagers. Calla picked varying shades of red with a dash of pinks, Francesca daring greens from sage to emerald, Gabriella the blues of the sea and sky. Evangelina favored a peach décor, Mariela cream and taupe, and Ravenna, to match her nickname Raven, black wallpaper with splotches of color resembling modern paintings. Lexy, the last, had chosen what you might call a literary motif. The walls had been painted off white, and pictures of her favorite authors decorated one. Large-print quotes from literature graced another wall. She’d chosen an off-white couch and a chair that was stenciled with more quotes.

Leaning against the jamb, Calla said, “Hey, sis.”

Lexy looked up from where she’d been sitting at the desk. “Come in.”

“What are you doing? I don’t want to interrupt.”

“I’m writing.” She shrugged. “I write all the time. Nothing’s very good.”

“Can I see it?”

“No.”

“Then how about showing me your new clothes.”

“Um, I don’t have many.”

Calla crossed to the wardrobe and opened it. Three dresses, a few pair of pants, capris and shorts, with only a couple of tops hung inside. “Wow, this is pathetic, Alexandra. How can you live with so few outfits?”

“Said the woman who wore rags in Syria for two years.”

“Touché.”

Her sister’s face brightened. “I could raid your closet. You left all your clothes here.”

Throwing herself on the bed, Calla stared up at the black lacquer fan that spun around. “Go for it. They probably don’t fit me anymore, anyway.” In truth, she’d paid little attention to what she wore since she returned home and knew there was an embarrassing amount of clothes in there.

Lexy cocked her head. “You seem the same size as when you left. Maybe a bit slimmer.”

“Go take what you want.”

She lay back on the bed wondering what she was going to do with her life. Should she stay here in Casarina? She could work at a hospital. What would it be like to live with her family around? Maybe she could be part of the government. Be an aide to her father. He would love that. Her eye caught on one of Lexy’s quotes. These had changed over the years as Lexy had grown up. “Everything is a risk. Not doing anything is a risk. It’s up to you.” Nicola Yoon. Huh. Something to consider.

Lexy returned with an armful of dresses. “Calla, why did you buy so many things?”

“The person who bought them hadn’t been to Syria yet. Hadn’t been married and abused.”

Lexy set the clothes on the bed and sat next to Calla, taking her hand. “I know it was horrid living with Lorenzo. But what was Syria like?”

“There was such poverty. And diseases because of it. People lived in squalid conditions.”

“They must have adored you and Connor.”

She gave a genuine smile. “Connor mostly. He was everybody’s favorite.” She thought of Razim. “Come on, let’s try the dresses on.”

Lexy slipped into a yellow sundress. “Oh, it fits.”

“The color is wonderful on you.”

“I love it.”

Calla eyed the mound. “There’s one in peach. You can have that too.”

“You try it on first. Maybe we can wear them at the same time.”

The peach dress fit everywhere but the bust. “It’s yours.”

Lexy tried a slinky pink sheath. “Fits again.”

Calla tugged at the bodice of the second outfit she tried to get into. “Come zip me up.”

Lexy stood behind her. “It won’t go up. It’s too small on top again.”

Three others fit—or didn’t fit—the same way. “Calla, you grew bigger boobs.” A hesitation. “Why would that be?”

Calla stared at herself in the mirror. She was larger on top. There was no reason for that...except, her doctor’s mind told her, one.

“Calla? Why?”

“I’m not sure.”

Lexy circled around to stand in front of her. She looked older than moments before. “Aren’t you? Because Mamá told me you threw up at the market. Now your boobs are bigger.”

“You know the symptoms.”

“Yes, big sister, I do.”

Syria, eleven months ago

“Dr. Connor, wake up.”

Connor bolted up from his cot. “What is it?” He raked back his hair. “Razim. Is something wrong?”

Next to Connor, Calla awoke. “What’s going on?”

“A woman, in the village. She is having a baby. She could not make it in.”

“She’s close to delivery?”

“Her aunt is there. She says Amira will have the child before the night is over.”

“Grab the bag, Calla. I’ll get blankets. Towels.”

Heat slammed into them and they saw a swarm of mosquitoes buzzing around the light in camp as soon as they walked outside. Quickly they took out bug spray, always in their packs, and sprayed themselves. In Syria, the bugs spread disease like wildfire. They made their way into the street, threading through the darkness that shrouded the path to the edge of the village. Stars lit their way. Razim led them and Connor held Calla’s hand.

“When was the baby due, Razim?” Connor asked.

“Not for a month.” His voice held concern. He’d seen a lot in his twenty-seven years. A lot of bad things.

Connor sighed. Premature babies were common here, but worrisome. Full-termers had a hard enough time making their way into the world under primitive conditions.

It seemed to take forever to walk there—the one Jeep they had was broken—but finally they reached a shack made of stone and dirt with a thatched roof. They were met at the door by a man. He spoke some broken English. “Doctors, thank you for coming. I am Amira’s husband, Ahmet. She is in pain.”

“We’ll help.”

Ahmet gestured to Calla. “Only her.” He ducked his head. Said something to Razim in his own language.

Razim frowned, but translated. “Men are not allowed to do a private thing.”

Calla stepped forward. “I’ll go in and check her out. If I need Connor’s help, Razim, you have to convince Ahmet to allow it.” She disappeared into the house.

Connor said, “Tell him I’m not only a man. I’m a doctor.”

Razim communicated Connor’s message. The man shook his head. In minutes, Calla appeared at the door. “The baby’s in breech position.”

“What does that mean?” Razim asked.

“This will be a hard delivery. She needs us both.” With that, Calla went back inside.

Razim relayed the message to Ahmet.

Connor put his arm on the man’s shoulder. “Do you love your wife?” he asked simply.

The man frowned. Spoke in Arabic. Razim translated. “He said he has four other children. He needs her.”

“Tell him he’ll have her only if I help.”

“Connor!” he heard from within, Calla’s voice rising in concern.

Her husband must have caught her worried tone and finally agreed.

Connor entered the hut. It smelled...primitive. Like dirt and straw. And food just cooked in a fire pit. The woman lay on a cot writhing, but she wasn’t screaming. “She’s quiet.”

“She’s been taught to be. Come up here next to me, Con. Feel her stomach.”

He put both hands on her big belly. Moved them around. “The baby’s huge.”

“Should we try to turn the fetus? I don’t know if we can get it out any other way because the shoulders are bound to be big.”

“Go ahead.”

Calla spent an agonizing several minutes turning the baby. Her aunt held a cloth to Amira’s mouth and she bit down hard. When the positioning was completed, Connor said, “Here, let me deliver.” He knew adjusting a breech baby was exhausting.

Calla moved to the head of the cot. “Push!” Calla mimed the movement.

Miraculously, the woman pushed.

“The head’s crowned. The baby’s coming already.” Another push. “Good, good. I have the shoulders.” It took a second for the rest of the little body to slide out. Connor held him against his chest. Every time, no matter where he was, the feel of a newborn in his hands made him feel like God. He cherished the moment, then handed the baby to Calla.

Awed herself, she put the infant on the mother’s chest. “It’s a boy.”

When the aunt realized this, she smiled for the first time.

Calla tended to the woman and Connor made sure the baby was breathing, checked his vitals, suctioned out his nose and put him in a blanket that looked handmade. Then they gave him back to his mother. When he began to nurse, Calla and Connor left her and gave the news to her husband. He understood the term boy, fell to his knees and said a prayer in Arabic.

For the fifth baby, this seemed odd.

Razim explained. “He has four girls. No boys.”

“Ah.” This from Connor.

On their way home, Razim walked ahead. He often gave them time alone. Calla was unusually silent. “What’s wrong, love?”

She stopped. There were tears in her eyes. “I want to have a baby, Connor.”

He didn’t know where he found the strength to say the hardest thing he’d ever say. “You will. Soon, probably.”

“No, you don’t understand. I want to have yours. Your baby!”