Stork Raving Mad(21)

“I’d forgotten, actually,” I said. “It’s been weeks since I went down into the basement.”

“Probably just as well,” he said. “It’s taken on a sort of frat-house ambiance. Nothing we can’t fix with a few trash bags, of course,” he added quickly. “But you might want to let me call Danny and have him come up to the ground floor.”

“Call him and brief him,” I said. “And tell him I’ll drop down to his lair to see him a little later. I need him at his computer, not doing the flamenco in the kitchen, and I may want to look over his shoulder.”

I also might want to take a look at the basement, to see if I thought getting it back to normal was going to take more than a few trash bags. I had visions of squalor that would take Dumpsters, fire hoses, and fumigation.

“Will do,” Rob said, and hung up.

The doorbell rang. Again. What now?





Chapter 7


I set down my ginger ale, waddled to the door, and opened it to find Abe Sass and Art Rudmann standing on the doorstep.

“Am I glad to see you two,” I said. “Come in.”

“Meg! You’re looking wonderful!” Abe exclaimed. He was tall, lean, and Lincolnesque.

“But a little pale,” Art added. “Don’t you think she looks a little pale? Are you eating enough?” He was short, plump, and always looked as if he’d misplaced something and couldn’t quite remember what.

“I’m fine and I’m eating more than enough to keep Gilbert and Sullivan happy,” I said. “Come in; you’re letting out all the warm air.”

“Where’s Michael?” Abe asked as they shed their coats and and hung them on one of the coatracks.

“In the kitchen with the students,” I said, gesturing.

“And Dr. Wright?”

“In the library.”

“We should probably have a short huddle with Michael before we tackle them,” Art said. “If Wright’s in the library, then I suppose Michael’s office is out. Perhaps we could go out to the barn and use your office.”

“Dr. Blanco’s out in my office,” I said. I noticed that they hadn’t asked about him—clearly they shared my view that he was a lesser menace. “He wanted privacy for his important phone calls. If you want a room not already filled with either anxious students or hostile faculty, I’d suggest either the pantry or the nursery. Sorry, having all these students around does rather complicate things sometimes.”

“It’s the nursery, then,” Abe said. “If you don’t mind.”

“Top of the stairs,” I said. “I’ll—”

“Oh, my God!” Art was pointing at something at my feet. A small puddle.

“Did your water break?” he asked. “Do you need to go to the hospital?” He had clutched Abe’s arm and his eyes were as wide as I’d ever seen them.

“No, I’m fine,” I said. “That’s only some spilled ginger ale.”

“Are you sure?” Art asked.

“Now, now,” Abe said, patting his arm.

“If my water broke, it wouldn’t contain ice cubes,” I said, pointing to one sitting in the middle of the puddle. “Trust me, only ginger ale.”

“That’s a relief,” he said. “I was so worried that your water had broken.”

“Why worried?” I asked. “I’d be relieved. It would probably mean I was going into labor soon. I’m looking forward to getting this over with.”

“Isn’t it dangerous?” Art asked. “Wouldn’t we have to rush you to the hospital if it broke?”

“Dangerous?” I echoed. “It’s a normal part of pregnancy. Although it doesn’t happen to everyone; according to Dad, seventy-five percent of the time it doesn’t happen until well along in the delivery. And the only danger is that if you don’t give birth within twenty-four hours of your water breaking, there’s an increased risk of infection. So if it breaks, I call my doctor, very calmly, and do whatever she tells me to do.”

“What if you can’t reach her?” Art asked.

“Then we call my dad,” I said. “Remember, he’s a doctor, too.”

“But they don’t live here,” he said. “I thought they lived in Yorktown. That’s at least an hour away. What if—”

“He and Mother bought a farmhouse here so they can come to visit as often as they like without being a bother, as Mother puts it. And they’ve been staying here for the last few weeks, just in case. And Dad’s been giving Michael and Rose Noire all kinds of lessons in what to do under every possible circumstance—Michael says it’s the next best thing to med school. So there’s no danger that I won’t have help if I need it.” Of course, there was some danger that I might trip over all the eager helpers and well-meaning worriers, but I decided it wouldn’t be tactful to say so aloud.