She's Having a Baby. Marie Ferrarella

back in style, you know, being a midwife.” And then she added with a measure of certainty, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. Not their business.

      “Mine, neither,” Aggie continued, “except that I’ve always been the type who liked to know things about pretty much everyone I come in contact with.” Aggie lowered herself into the chair on the opposite side of the oval kitchen table. Shifting, she made herself comfortable. “Guess you could call me a people junkie.” Her smile widened. “Pick up a lot of things that way, too.” Leaning forward, Aggie looked at her pointedly. “Like did you know that a little bit of ginger in your food helps with morning sickness?”

      This was news to her. But then, so was the pregnancy. “Ginger? Like in ginger ale?” She’d heard that seltzer water and crackers helped some women. All it did for her was make matters that much worse.

      “No, like in the spice.” Aggie got up and went to the pantry, retrieving a small metal container. She placed it on the table beside the teacup. “Sprinkle it on things. It’ll help settle your stomach.” The smile on Aggie’s lips was motherly as her eyes swept over her guest. “This’ll all be behind you soon enough.”

      “Or in front,” MacKenzie quipped, looking down at her very flat belly and picturing it distended and rounded out with a baby. She’d never thought much about having a family, but now the matter had been decided for her.

      Aggie nodded at her with approval. “Sense of humor even under the gun. I like that.” Reaching over the table, she patted MacKenzie’s hand. “You’ll survive well, MacKenzie. A sense of humor is what sees us through the worst of times.”

      MacKenzie didn’t feel all that humorous right now. Thinking about the future made her feel as if she were staring into a deep, dark abyss. “Is that why you want to become a stand-up comedian?”

      Aggie’s eyes sparkled again, as if they were hiding a joke all their own. “That, and because I’m funny. Or so people have told me. And it’s something new,” she philosophized, “I like trying new things and new jobs. Keeps you young.”

      MacKenzie liked having things certain, liked knowing what tomorrow was going to bring. The unknown obviously didn’t bother Aggie. Part of MacKenzie wished she could be that adventurous. “Well, something must be working because you really don’t look your age. I thought you were in your fifties.”

      The compliment brought a genial smile to Aggie’s lips. “I’ve got a feeling we’re going to be very close friends, girl.” Aggie nodded at the cup that was still sitting in its saucer. “Now drink your tea while it’s hot.”

      “Yes, ma’am.” Picking up her cup, MacKenzie brought it to her lips and drank.

      MacKenzie stayed at Aggie’s a great deal longer than she’d thought she would when she’d first crossed the threshold. By the time MacKenzie returned to her apartment, the dinner she’d brought home with her had become stone cold. What there’d been of her appetite had gotten appeased at the other woman’s table. Aggie had given her a small portion of chicken à la king served over steaming rice. Oddly enough, it had been MacKenzie’s favorite thing to eat as a child and she’d said as much to Aggie, who merely smiled at the information.

      The older woman had sprinkled some ginger over the serving, mixing it in before placing the plate before her. Aggie had winked and promised that MacKenzie would be a new woman by morning.

      MacKenzie had had her doubts, but had eaten the meal with surprising relish.

      Finally home in her own apartment, she gathered up the containers of Chinese food and stored them in her refrigerator. After wiping off the tabletop, she went to bed.

      Accustomed to tossing and turning, she dropped off immediately.

      It was the doorbell that woke MacKenzie, slicing through dreams until it took on shape and form.

      Reluctantly opening her eyes, MacKenzie automatically turned toward the clock on the nightstand. As she did, the thought hit her that she’d forgotten to set her alarm. The doorbell had woken her half an hour before she was due to get up.

      She wasn’t sure if that was fortunate or not.

      She struggled to rouse herself. Who could be at her door at this hour?

      Jeff with a change of heart?

      MacKenzie bolted upright, throwing the twisted covers off and hurrying into the matching half robe that had been haphazardly thrown on the edge of the covers. Abandoning the slippers that stood waiting for her feet at the foot of the bed, she groggily stumbled her way to the front door.

      “You came,” she cried even before she’d finished swinging it open.

      The next second, disappointment drenched her.

      Waking from a deep sleep had left the remnants of a dream still hovering in her brain. On the other side of her threshold stood a half-naked Quade. Swallowing, she glued her tongue to the roof of her mouth.

      She’d been right about his abdomen. He did have a washboard stomach. As a matter of fact, he had the kind of stomach that caused washboard manufacturers—if there was such a thing anymore—to flock to his doorstep just for a knee-disintegrating look. A pair of frayed, cutoff jeans were hanging on for dear life along hips that were taut and slim. The very sight of which would have sent scores of men rushing to their local gyms, entertaining wild delusions of imitation.