She had been less sick today. Or was that because she’d only eaten pretzels . . . ?

With her head going into a spiral, she nodded. “Actually, it would be great to have you here.”

“And I want to be with you for everything. Ultrasounds, appointments, maternity-clothes shopping, sore feet, cravings. I mean, I want to do all of it.”

It was clear what Lane was doing, she thought. He was banking that the likelihood of him not screwing up fatherhood started with him being a supportive partner during the pregnancy—and Lizzie took this as yet another sign that she was right and they had nothing to worry about.

“Let’s do this.”

In quick order, she did her business on the stick—neat and tidy. She was getting to be a pro at this, she decided.

And then they laid the stick on the counter, and went over to the lip of the tub.

They sat there, and tracked the time on his Audemars Piguet, and held hands.

“I would love to raise our child at least partially at the farm,” she said.

“We can move out there.”

She looked over at him. “How can you leave all this?”

“Why would I stay?” He squeezed her hand and kissed her mouth. “My family is going to be in Indiana.”

Lizzie started to smile. And then she teared up.

As if he understood where she was at, he pulled her into his chest. “You’re going to be a wonderful mother. I can’t wait for you to know that as well.”

And then he checked his watch. “Okay, it’s time. Come on, Mom.”

They both took a deep breath, got to their feet, and approached the stick like it was either a bomb or a Christmas present.

Leaning in together, Lizzie started to smile—only to glance at Lane: His eyes were so wide, they were liable to pop out of his skull, and he seemed to pale a little.

But then he wheeled around, scooped her up, and started spinning. “We’re pregnant. We’re going to have a baby. Come on, say it with me! We’re pregnant!”

She could tell he was still uneasy, but deep in her heart, she knew this was all going to be okay. He was going to be a terrific dad, and she was going to love being a mom, and they were going to be out on her land together.

As a family.

“We’re going to have a baby!” she said loudly.

Lane kissed her once. And then again. And then . . . some more.

As that cell phone kept ringing in the other room, Lane laid her out on the thick fur rug in front of the tub. With sure hands, they undressed each other and then they made love with a kind of wonderment on both sides, a kind of . . . oh, my God, it worked, the whole sex thing worked.

They were going to be parents.

And funny, but the prospect offered a completion Lizzie had been unaware of needing.

No matter what happened with Easterly and the BBC and the rest of Lane’s family, life was very, very good for the two of them, and with their love for each other and their child, they were going to make sure it stayed that way.

THIRTY-FIVE

As Lane floored the Porsche’s accelerator, he had a serious case of existential whiplash going on. No more than twenty minutes ago, he’d been making love with Lizzie and trying to get used to the incredible idea they’d created a human life together . . . and now he was gunning for the hospital, hoping against hope that the time he had taken to share the joy with Lizzie hadn’t cheated him out of a good-bye he didn’t want to make.

Pulling up in front of the hospital, he put the 911 in neutral and engaged the parking brake. Lizzie and he both got out and they kissed quick as they traded places.

“I’ll be up as soon as I park,” she said as she got behind the wheel. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Lane ran through the revolving doors and waved at the receptionist as she looked up at him. “I know where I’m going. Thanks.”

He didn’t bother waiting for an elevator. He hit the stairwell and took the concrete steps up two at a time. When he broke out onto the fourth floor, he jogged down the hallway, passing a couple of groups of people and nearly running over a pair of kids playing tag where they shouldn’t have been.

At the ICU, he didn’t waste time at the nursing station, and they didn’t stop him. They all knew why he was there.

What did slow him up? The fact that there were two policemen outside of Miss Aurora’s room. Along with Max and Tanesha.

“Is she conscious?” Lane said as he came up to the two of them and nodded to his brother.

“Yes,” Tanesha replied as they hugged quickly, “and very lucid. Her treatment team lowered the morphine dose this morning to try to cut down on the terrors. I suspect that may be why.”

“What the hell is she saying?”

Lane went over to the closed door and reached to open it, but one of the officers stopped him. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to stay out of there—”

“This could be the last time my momma is conscious, so no. I’m not cooling my heels in the hall.”

Shoving the guy out of the way, he pulled the glass panel wide as Merrimack looked up from scribbling on a pad.

“Good,” the detective said. “I’m glad you’re here. She’s been asking for you.”

Lane stepped in close to the bed. “Momma?”

Miss Aurora turned her head slowly to him. And the smile she offered him was steeped in relief, as if she had just barely caught a plane or a train in time. “My boy.”

She lifted her hand and motioned for him to sit down with her. And as he covered her palm with his own, she smiled even more, although she couldn’t hold on to the expression. It was clear she was in too much pain.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Merrimack said softly. “I ’ppreciate you.”

“You do right, young man.” She glared at the homicide detective. “I know your parents.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll take care of everything.”

“Don’t mess it up.”

On the one hand, it was a surprise to find Merrimack cowed. On the other? That was Miss Aurora’s way.

“I won’t, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”

And then the detective was out of there. From the corner of his eye, Lane caught a quick impression of Merrimack talking to the other officers outside, but he forgot about all that.

“Hi,” he said as Miss Aurora refocused on him.

“You came in time.” Her voice was already fading, and she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Just in time. You got my will?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You’ll make sure that everyone . . .”

“Gets what you want them to have.”

“Service . . .”

“At Charlemont Baptist. It’s all arranged with Reverend Nyce.”

“Good boy.” Miss Aurora shuddered. “I’m so tired. I hurt, boy. I’m tired of hurting.”

He cleared his voice. “Your Lord is waitin’ on you.”

“Our Lord. He’s Our Lord.”

They sat there together for a spell. Lane had no idea whether it was a minute or an hour. Then he got worried.

“Miss Aurora? You still with me?”

“Yes, boy.”

“I’m having a baby.”

That got those eyes back open. “With Lizzie?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You better marry her, or I will haunt you.”

“We’re getting married.”

“At Charlemont Baptist. So I can watch over the nuptials.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her to stay around and see them for herself, but that was cruel. “Nowhere else but there, Miss Aurora.”

She took a deep breath and shuddered again. “I was doing so well. And then . . . it just hit me.”

“You’ve come through other sickle-cell crises. You can—”

“Not this one.”

There was a period of quiet. “Momma?” he prompted.

“I’m still here, boy.”

“You never told me about the rub on your jerk chicken.” He suddenly panicked at all the things he’d taken for granted that he could find out from her. It was as if a piece of him were leaving the planet with her. “And what about the beaten biscuits—”