A moment later, she reappeared. “It’s time for Laurie’s big surprise!”

  Though I could tell Paula was stressed—we’d been best friends since we were kids, so I could read her like a book—she covered it up well.

  Paula stepped aside, making way for the big surprise.

  I covered my mouth to suppress a tittering laugh.

  It was a duck.

  The duck—a full-grown person in a big yellow duck costume—waddled into the kitchen, dragging a small wheeled cart.

  “I hear there’s a birthday duckling here!” the duck called in a baritone voice I recognized.

  “Kenny?” I asked, locking eyes with the person in the costume. Sure enough it was my neighbor and Laurie’s all-time favorite babysitter.

  A chorus of tiny chirps caught my attention, and I glanced at the cart.

  And gasped.

  Kenny had brought a small flock of real, live ducklings! Into my house!

  A moment later, my shock gave way to delight. What a perfect theme for Laurie’s birthday party! “Awww, that’s really cute,” I exclaimed to Paula.

  She beamed with pride. “I knew I had to make this party memorable.”

  Laurie, still fully intent on her cake, hadn’t noticed the ducklings yet, so Jim reached over and patted her arm, then pointed at the cart of ducklings.

  Then, movement eye caught my attention, and I gaped in horror.

  Whiskers poked her head around the corner, her eyes hungry and curious, drawn in by the chirps.

  Was Laurie’s first birthday party about to be ruined by a great duckling massacre?

  What trauma would she carry forward with her from such an event? I couldn’t bear to contemplate it.

  “Wait!” I yelled, waving my arms. “Take the ducklings outside! Whiskers!”

  Kenny whirled in shock as Whiskers wiggled her little cat butt, preparing to pounce.

  Chapter Four

  “Nooooo!” I cried, stretching out my hands fruitlessly toward the poor, innocent ducklings.

  “Nooooo!” Jim cried, running at Whiskers.

  “Nooooo!” Kenny cried, throwing himself into a block worthy of a football linebacker.

  For the second time that day, time slowed, and I saw every detail of the scene with startling, perfect clarity.

  I couldn’t reach the ducklings in time.

  Jim bent down to scoop up Whiskers, grabbing her behind her front legs. Sweet relief prickled through me. Laurie’s party was saved!

  My relief was short-lived. Whiskers wriggled, practically morphing from solid to liquid and back to solid again before my eyes, squirming free of Jim and jumping at the ducklings.

  But Kenny, off balance in the duck costume, was falling forward, still blocking Whiskers’ access to the fluffy ducklings.

  My breath caught in my throat. Startled, Whiskers parkoured off the costumed duck, back toward Jim, her claws scuttling on the floor as she darted back toward the hall.

  Kenny hit the floor with a thump.

  Shocked silence fell over the party.

  Kenny scrambled to his hands and knees and gasped, “Out the back door. Before it comes back!”

  “Good point!” Jim strode toward the back door and yanked it open, ushering Kenny in his duck costume and the cart of ducklings to safety.

  I heard a sniffle and glanced toward the noise. Paula had burst into tears.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  She threw out her hands. “I’ve ruined the party! I can’t seem to do anything right! First, the disastrous cake situation, and now this!”

  Rachelle, our new nanny, put an arm around Paula’s shoulders. “Everything’s fine! The cat didn’t make off with any ducklings. We’ll just all go out to the yard, and Laurie can play with the ducklings there.”

  Paula sniffled, then looked at me.

  Suppressing a giggle, I nodded solemnly. “You haven’t ruined anything, Paula. And remember”—I shot her a grin—“you said you wanted to make this party memorable.”

  McNearny raised his red plastic cup toward Paula. “A toast! To the most memorable kid’s birthday party I’ve ever been to!”

  Nick and Denise chuckled, and Rachelle clinked her cup soundlessly against her uncle’s.

  “A toast!” replied Rachelle.

  Paula still looked mortified, but she finally nodded. “Well, everyone,” she said in a quavering attempt at a chipper voice. “Let’s take this party outside!”

  The guests filtered out to the backyard, and Paula and I stayed behind to get Laurie cleaned up.

  I carried Laurie back to her duckie-themed bedroom, and Whiskers weaved between my legs as I pulled another dress out of the closet.

  “Bad kitty,” I said, though I’m sure my half-amused tone didn’t at all get the point across to my mischievous little cat.

  Whiskers purred back at me.

  “I’m so sorry for losing it like that,” Paula said from the doorway. “I’ve just been so emotional the last few days, and I don’t know why.”

  I trained a sharp glance at my best friend. “Have you eaten anything today?”

  She crossed her arms. “No, but I don’t think I’m hangry. I’ve just been a little queasy.”

  Redressing Laurie, I asked, “Are you pregnant?”

  Paula’s forehead creased. “No! We’ve had our boy and girl. We’re done. Surely I’m not . . .” She trailed off, as if unconvinced.

  “Might want to take a test,” I said with a grin. “Young moms are allowed some emotional swings, but since you’re queasy, too . . .”

  A contraction seized me, tightening my abdomen like a vise. I gripped the edge of the changing table and sucked in a breath through my teeth.

  At once, Paula stood at my side, resting a soft hand on my upper back. “Breathe, Kate,” she said. “Breathe through it. Keep breathing . . .”

  This contraction seemed to take forever. I focused, trying to steady myself as I rode it out. By the time I finally let out a breath of relief, sweat beaded on my neck.

  Paula crossed my arms and stared at me. “Kate.”

  “What?” I asked innocently, pushing away the treacherous truth.

  “You’re in labor.”

  “I can’t be in labor,” I said. “Because if I go into labor now, I’m going to have to leave Laurie’s birthday party, and then the twins will probably end up being born on Laurie’s actual birthday, and—”

  “Rachelle and I will make sure Laurie has a great time at the rest of her birthday party,” she said firmly. “I’m going to get Jim and tell him to take you to the hospital.”

  I chewed my lip and retorted, “I’ll pick you up a pregnancy test on the way back.”

  “That might be a good idea,” she grumbled, then disappeared into the hall.

  I treasured the next couple of minutes I spent in the dim room, just staring at my baby girl. Laurie giggled and squirmed, making a face at me. She pushed herself to a sitting position and let out a little cry, holding out her arms.

  “Do you want to be picked up, little duck?” I asked, scooping her off the table.

  But she didn’t want to be picked up. She squirmed again, and I set her on her feet on the floor, then groaned as I eased myself down to sit on the carpet.

  She toddled to the bin of toys in the corner and pulled out a little stuffed bear, tossing it onto the floor. Then another bear. Then a stuffed cat.

  “Booga!” she said, grabbing hold of a doll in a pink dress and throwing it to the ground.

  “Booga!” I called back.

  She turned to look at me, a huge grin on her face.

  I thought my heart might explode outward from all the love building up in my chest. “Mama loves you so much. You know that? You know how much Mama loves you?”

  She stumbled toward me, arms outstretched, and tackled me with a hug, her baby breath smelling of chocolate cake.

  “That’s right! Mama loves you so much. No one can ever take your place in my heart—even if the twins do steal your birthday,” I said with a sigh.

  “Kate?” Jim called, striding into the room. “Are you in labor?”

  Laurie ran to her daddy and wrapped her arms around his legs.

  I let out a half-sigh. “I still don’t think so. Paula’s pretty convinced, but—”

  “You really don’t think you’re in labor, or you’re determined not to be?” he asked, studying me seriously.

  His sympathetic gaze melted me—I sure was tired of these pregnancy hormones making me feel like a marshmallow—and I squeaked, “I’m worried Laurie will resent the twins if they steal her birthday.”

  He leaned against the doorframe. “It’s a birthday, Kate, not a stuffed animal. No one can steal a birthday. You can only share a birthday.”

  I folded my hands tightly together. “I really don’t think I’m in labor.”

  He laughed. “I’ll get the hospital bag, and let’s get you checked out. Do you need me to help you up?”

  “Yes,” I grumbled.

  He pulled me to my feet. “Besides,” he quipped. “If Laurie wakes up tomorrow to find two babies here, she’ll think they’re the best birthday present ever!”

  Chapter Five

  “How can I help you?” asked the young man sitting at the receptionist’s desk.

  The bright lights and sharp antiseptic smell gave the hospital a vaguely sterile feeling. For a moment, I stared at the man, trying to process what he was doing here. He was a little older than I’d thought at first, I decided—perhaps thirty or thirty-five, with a self-assured, friendly manner. All the receptionists I’d met here had been middle-aged women, and he looked distinctly out of place.

  I’m not here to solve a case. So what if he doesn’t fit the stereotype?

  “She’s in labor.” Jim rested a hand on my back.

  “Congratulations!” said the receptionist. I noticed a nametag—Samuel. “Is this your first?”

  “Our second,” Jim replied triumphantly. “Twins!”

  “Well, let’s get you back into a room as fast as we can, then,” he said, tapping a few keys on his keyboard.

  There was something I didn’t like in his manner—something that came off as oily.

  It doesn’t matter—it’s not like he’s my doctor.

  I held up a hand. “I really don’t think I’m in labor yet, but I thought it was worth getting checked out. You can never be too careful with twins.”

  But by this point, even I knew my protests were probably futile. I’d had two contractions in the car—six minutes apart. A very good sign.

  If I’d been hoping to go into labor.

  Samuel nodded politely. “Well, we’ll get you checked out and see if now’s the time or if we can send you back home. Are you already a patient here?”

  “Yesssssssss,” I said, the word slurring into a hiss as an incoming contraction caught me off guard. I leaned forward, pressing my hands against the counter, and closed my eyes.

  “Ma’am?” A note of impatience had entered Samuel’s voice. “Was that a yes?”

  Annoyance flared in my chest. Did he think I could just stop having a contraction so I could clearly answer his questions? How long had he worked in the maternity ward?

  Jim spoke for me. “Yes, she’s had her prenatal care with Dr. Greene.”

  “Mmm.” He tapped a few more keys. “I’m sorry to say Dr. Greene’s on vacation still. Do you think you could reschedule labor for next week?”

  My eyes popped open.

  But Samuel was smiling at me. “I’m just kidding. What’s your name?”

  I relaxed a little, but I was still annoyed by the joke.

  “Kate Connolly,” Jim said.

  “How do you spell Connolly?”

  Jim spelled my name and gave my date of birth and our license plate number.

  I gritted my teeth, willing the contraction to end, willing this check-in process to end, willing this pregnancy to end.

  Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if Laurie and the twins shared a birthday. It would mean that, in a few short hours, I’d finally be done being pregnant.

  For the red of my life!

  The contraction ended, and I let out another shaky breath.

  If I’m lucky, maybe they’ll even come before midnight . . . then the twins and Laurie would be Irish twins, less than one year apart!

  “No changes in insurance?” Samuel asked. A young, pretty nurse in blue scrubs came through a door and stood a few paces away from Samuel, studying the computer screen.

  “Nope,” I said. “Same as last appointment.”

  “Great!” He stood and held out a hospital bracelet. “Let me put this on you, and Nurse Renee will take you back to triage.”

  The redheaded nurse offered a strained smile as Samuel put the bracelet on my wrist. “Hi, Kate. I’m Renee. Let’s get you back to a room and get you checked out.”

  The printer spat out a piece of paper, and Nurse Renee clipped the sheet onto her clipboard without one glance at Samuel. “I’ll be right out.”

  Were they ignoring each other on purpose?

  Surely I’m imagining things. She’s just trying to get me back to a room as quickly as possible.

  She strode out the door with a practiced polish that assured me she’d done this a hundred times—a relief, since she looked younger than me.

  A moment later, the door into the waiting room swung open, and Nurse Renee strode through, pushing a wheelchair.

  I gratefully sank into it, and then we were off, gliding down the hallway under the fluorescent lights. Jim’s shoes shuffled behind us, and I turned my head to call back to him.

  “Honey, do you have my purse?”

  “Yep! I have your purse and the hospital bag.”

  “Can you find my to-do list?”

  Nurse Renee laughed out loud, her manner more relaxed than it had been at check-in. “Why don’t you just set that list aside until we figure out if you’re in labor or not? If the babies are coming, there’s only one thing on your list, and that’s giving birth.”

  She was right. I knew she was right. But my brain was stuttering on the list. What had I left undone?

  “Jim?” I pleaded.

  “Not a chance,” he said. “Nurse’s orders. The list doesn’t matter.”

  My lashes fluttered closed, and I struggled to remember the list. Throw Laurie’s birthday party had definitely been on it—item number one.

  Check. Mostly. Between Laurie’s grandparents, nanny, and honorary Auntie Paula, she’d have a great time at the rest of her party, even if I wasn’t there for it.

  What else was on the list? I never did vacuum again, but I guess I can let that go.

  I hadn’t repacked the hospital bag more efficiently! My eyes flew open in horror. What if I really was in labor, and we couldn’t find the Chapstick when I needed it?

  Then Jim will have Paula go pick some up and bring it to me. I steeled myself.

  Then my hand flew to my mouth. “The poster!” I exclaimed. “On the wall in the twins’ nursery. It’s still crooked!”

  Nurse Renee patted my shoulder indulgently and wheeled me into the triage room. “Easy does it,” she murmured, helping me out of the wheelchair and onto the table. “Your husband will fix that poster when you get home, and you won’t even be thinking about it when the babies are born.”

  I knew it was irrational, but I couldn’t get that stupid poster out of my head. It was crooked. It was wrong.

  The twins’ nursery wouldn’t be perfect when we brought them home!

  She hooked me up to the monitors, and I settled in to await her verdict. Another contraction hit me, and I managed a glance up at the clock.

  Five minutes after the last one.

  Twenty minutes later, the contractions were coming every five minutes.

  “Well, you’re four centimeters dilated,” said Nurse Renee. “And your contractions are regular. So, you’re definitely in labor. I’m going to admit you, but you might be here a little while before the twins make their debut. Sound okay?”

  “What if I say it doesn’t sound okay?” I quipped.

  She chuckled. “Well, I’d say you don’t have too many other options right now. We want to be extra careful with twins.”

  “I was hoping to delay it until Dr. Greene got back from Europe,” I said wistfully.

  “Dr. Phillips will keep you safe and sound,” she said in a reassuring tone. Then her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, “He’s kinda cute, too.”

  The blood drained from my face. “He?” I asked, grimacing.

  I didn’t want a male doctor for an OBGYN—and I especially didn’t want to hear that the doc overseeing this deeply intimate process was kinda cute.

  “Let’s get you transferred back to a labor-and-delivery room,” she said, “you’ll need to be in the wheelchair for that, but once I get you settled in, we’ll let your hubby help you walk the halls during early labor, so you’re more comfortable.”

  She wheeled me back to the labor-and-delivery room, and I was relieved at the immediate change in atmosphere. Instead of the sterile lights of the hallway, this room was more dimly lit, with comfortable, subdued furniture.

  After only about two minutes, the doctor came in.

  “Hi Kate,” he said with a friendly nod. “I’m Docta C, and I’ll be attending to you today.”

  “Docta C?” I asked, confused.

  This had to be the same doctor that Nurse Renee had mentioned—how many uncomfortably young, uncomfortably handsome OBGYNs could there be on duty in the maternity ward today?—but I’d thought she’d called him Dr. Phillips.

  He reached out and shook my hand. “Dr. Cory Phillips, and I’ll make sure you and the twins get through this with flying colors. Up front, how do you feel about C-sections?”

  “I don’t want one,” I said flatly.

  Jim pulled out a small binder from the hospital bag. “I have her birth plan here.”

  Docta C acknowledged Jim with a nod, then looked back at me. “Most of that is probably in your chart already,” he said, stepping up to the computer and entering a password.

  He pulled up my chart and hummed under his breath, almost like he was disappointed. “Looks like you want to do a vaginal delivery with an epidural, like last time?”