50 Harbor Street

“Oh, hi, Cecilia,” she said. She sounded pleased to hear from her. “Have you had the baby?”



“Not yet.”



“You’re due soon, aren’t you?”



“Next week.”



“How are you feeling?”



The answer to that was pregnant. Very pregnant. But what she said was, “I feel great, better than great. I’m feeling fabulous. Do you know why? Ian’s coming home!”



This news was greeted by a short silence. “Just Ian? I mean, he isn’t arriving by himself, is he?”



“The entire aircraft carrier is on its way back to base.” Ian hadn’t told her why, Cecilia explained, but he probably couldn’t.



“In other words, Nate will be back, too.” Rachel had kept in touch with Cecilia, Carol and Cathy, even though she’d broken off her relationship with Nate Olsen.



“I thought I should give you a heads-up,” Cecilia said. She suspected from everything Ian had told her that Nate wasn’t going to drop this relationship without a fight.



Rachel sighed. “Thanks for letting me know, but I don’t think it’ll be a problem. I doubt I’ll be seeing Nate.”



“He might change your mind.” Cecilia hoped he did. She liked Rachel, and she’d only heard about Nate through her husband, but Ian spoke highly of the warrant officer. It was a shame that Rachel had let her insecurities come between them.



“Nate’s a wonderful man, but I’m not the right woman for him.”



“Shouldn’t he be the one to decide that?” Cecilia asked and then sighed. “Sorry, that’s none of my business.”



“This is really good news for you, isn’t it?” Rachel said, ignoring Cecilia’s comment. “This means Ian might be home when your baby’s born.”



“Yes, if he hurries.” She didn’t know the exact day and time the George Washington was scheduled to dock.



“You’re feeling all right?”



“Oh, yes.” True, she was extra-tired at night and tended to go to bed earlier than she did when Ian was home. The baby was constantly active, kicking and stretching. She rubbed her hand over her belly, communicating her love to her son.



“Keep me informed,” Rachel said.



“Of course.”



They said their farewells and as soon as they’d ended the call, Cecilia dialed Cathy’s number again. This time the phone rang, and Cathy picked up on the first ring.



“Cathy!”



“Cecilia!”



“Did you hear?” they cried simultaneously and then burst into peals of laughter.



“You first,” Cathy said.



“I got an e-mail from Ian.”



“Andrew sent me one, too.”



“I have the strongest feeling Ian will be with me when Aaron’s born,” Cecilia said happily.



“You’re keeping the name?” This had been a silent battle of wills between Cecilia and her husband. He hadn’t agreed to the A-name. At the same time—once he’d retracted his original objections—he hadn’t disagreed, either.



“After all these weeks, the name’s comfortable to me.” The last thing Cecilia wanted was to argue with Ian over a name when he finally got home. Suddenly another thought struck her.



“Cathy,” she cried. “Oh, my goodness, Ian’s never seen me pregnant before.”



“Not true,” her friend insisted. “And if you recall, he’s the one who got you in this condition.”



“Yes, I know, but really pregnant.”



“Pregnant is pregnant.”



Cecilia smiled at Cathy’s teasing. “You know what I mean. He’s never seen me this big.”



“He’s going to love it, seeing your belly swollen with his baby. Andrew was so loving with me before I delivered Andy. He hardly let me go to the bathroom by myself.”



Cathy had miscarried two babies before Andy. None of the doctors had been able to tell her what had gone wrong with those first pregnancies and she’d lived in fear that she’d miscarry the third one, too. But she’d successfully carried Andy to term.



“Everything will be different this time,” Cathy said confidently, answering Cecilia’s unasked question. “Just you wait and see.”



“My due date’s only a few days away. I couldn’t bear it if Ian was so close and couldn’t be with me.”



“If he can’t, you know I’ll be there.”



Cecilia whispered her thanks, more grateful than ever for Cathy’s friendship. “Hold tight, Aaron, hold tight,” she told her unborn baby after she’d hung up the phone.



Three hours later, as Cecilia got ready for bed, her back began to ache. Rubbing it as she walked into her bedroom, she had a feeling that her son had decided he wasn’t going to wait for his daddy.



By midnight, there was no doubt she was in labor. Logging onto the computer, she sent her husband an e-mail to let him know. She timed the contractions, pacing through the apartment as she did. When they were five minutes apart, Cecilia phoned Cathy.



“Now?” Cathy screamed, so excited she woke Andy. “I’ll be right over. Don’t move, breathe deeply and don’t worry. I’m on my way.” Without a pause, phone pressed to her ear, she shouted instructions to her son to get his suitcase and his teddy bear. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” she promised Cecilia.



Sure enough, Cathy rolled up in front of the duplex precisely twenty-two minutes later, after dropping off her son at Carol’s place. She had a basket of soothing musical CDs, lotions and fruit chews. There were snacks, too, in case Cathy got hungry during the labor.



Shortly after her arrival at the hospital, Cecilia was prepped and brought to the labor room. Cathy was with her, wielding a stopwatch and clutching the CD player. Roy Orbison crooned softly from the side of Cecilia’s bed.



She raised her head and laughed. “Somehow, I don’t think this is a good time to hear ‘Pretty Woman,’” she joked.



“I disagree. If Ian was here he’d say you’re beautiful, and he’d be right. You are, Cecilia, and you’re about to have your baby.” Cathy squealed with delight and Cecilia smiled.



But she stopped smiling as the pain overcame her. She lay back on the pillow and closed her eyes, trying hard to let her body flow with the contraction instead of fighting it. Cathy started counting off the seconds in a slow, even tone.



With Allison, Cecilia had labored for nearly fifteen hours in a room by herself, with only a nurse to check on her from time to time. When Allison was born, her cry had been weak and barely audible.



By contrast, Aaron Jacob Randall made his appearance ten hours after Cecilia had entered the hospital. He gave a loud, lusty squall as he was born, pink and perfect. He didn’t like the bright lights and made sure everyone in the room heard about it. Nor did he appreciate having a suction tube stuck up his nose.



“He’s certainly got a good set of lungs,” Cathy said, squeezing Cecilia’s hand. Tears streamed down her face and Cecilia’s, too—tears of joy. She strained to see her son.



“What about his heart?” she pleaded. “Is his heart okay?”



The attending physician smiled over at her. “He looks just fine, but we’ll run all the tests and let you know right away.”



“Thank you,” she whispered, exhausted.



“You did so well,” Cathy said, brushing the wet tendrils from Cecilia’s forehead. “You were incredible—no epidural or anything.”



“I’m exhausted.”



“Sleep,” Cathy urged. “I’ll take care of letting everyone at your office know. Plus Carol and Rachel.”



“Thanks. Sleeping certainly won’t be a problem.” Already her eyes were drifting shut. After a few minutes, Cecilia was hardly aware of the activity going on around her. She knew Aaron had been placed in a tiny bed in her room and was sleeping at her side, swaddled in a pale blue blanket with a blue knit cap on his head.



Cecilia wasn’t sure what time it was when she woke. Her first thought was that she’d given birth to her son. She’d so badly wanted Ian with her, but that hadn’t been possible. Slowly she opened her eyes and discovered that her son’s tiny crib was empty. Half-raising herself, braced on one elbow, she saw her husband sitting beside the bed, cradling Aaron in his arms.



Cecilia blinked, afraid her imagination and desire had conjured him up. “Ian?” she tried tentatively.



He glanced at her and Cecilia saw that his eyes were bright with tears.



“It is you. Oh, Ian, Ian, I can’t believe you’re here. How…when?” Her tongue kept tripping over itself in her happiness.



Her husband gave her the brightest smile she’d ever seen. “The George Washington had a transport that was headed home. The chaplain talked to my CO after I learned you’d gone into labor. I don’t know what he said or did, but he got me on that transport.”



One day Cecilia would personally thank him.



“So this is our son,” Ian said, gazing at Aaron. The baby wrapped his tiny hand around Ian’s finger and held on. “He’s perfect,” Ian whispered, nearly overcome with emotion. “I talked to the pediatrician and she put Aaron through a test they do on newborns—the Apgar, it’s called—and he scored a ten.”



Cecilia sighed, relieved and grateful.



“I’m holding our baby,” her husband said in awe. “Our Aaron.”



Ian had never gotten the opportunity to hold Allison. “I’m so sorry I didn’t make it for the labor,” he told her.



“Next time,” she assured him.



Ian’s head came up. “Next time?” he repeated.



“Aaron needs a little sister, but we’ll talk about that later.”



Her husband grinned. “Aye, aye, Captain. At your service.”



Forty-Three



It was Saturday afternoon. Allison Cox walked out of the JCPenney store in the Silverdale Mall with two of her best friends, Kaci and Alicia. The St. Patrick’s Day displays were still up and the entire mall was decorated with an Irish theme. She was joking and laughing with her friends, having a good time, when she heard her name.



“Hey, Allison.”



She stopped abruptly when she saw Anson, shocked that he’d spoken to her. He wore the same long black coat, noticeably shabbier now. His hair was messy and his boots untied. He didn’t look good. And normally he worked on Saturdays. Why was he here?



Without a word to her friends, Allison joined him. She knew something was terribly wrong even before he spoke.



“Ditch your friends,” he said, eyeing Kaci and Alicia, who were a few paces behind her.



She sucked in a breath. “I can’t do that.”



“Fine.” He turned and walked away.



“It’s all right,” Kaci said, hugging Allison briefly. “Go. Meet us at Waldenbooks at three.”



Allison nodded gratefully and hurried after Anson. He was walking through the mall at such speed that she had to run in order to catch up with him.



“Anson, stop!” she called.