A/N: I'll keep this brief and get all of my chatter out here so I don't clutter up the ending…Special thanks to the people who have kindly helped me with this story, and to everyone who's read it and stuck it out here to the end. (Yay! and *sniff*) And thank you to LauraBF for surprising me with a lovely banner, which is linked on my profile page.

I may still have more to say about this story in the form of outtakes, but for now, I'm heading with the vamps to Amish country to work on my other story, Bird in Hand. Hope to see you there. ;)

Disclaimer: All SVM characters belong to Charlaine Harris, and I'm thankful she allows us to borrow them. I'm just taking them on a tour of New England one more time.

Recap of previous chapter: L.L. discloses Lorena's development plans to Sookie and offers information to help sell her house. Sookie gratefully accepts the information, but comes up with an alternative idea. Eric unexpectedly shows up with some research that might help her. He softens to E.J., reaching for his wild, spiky hair, and Sookie opens to taking a risk with him.

Epilogue: Summer's End

"I hate this weather!"

Stepping out of Dr. Ludwig's office into the remnants of Tropical Storm Indira, still blowing with gusto, I struggled to control my inside-out umbrella. Giving up any hope of actually using it, I almost managed to get it folded when another strong gust blew my dress up, Marilyn Monroe style.

Shoving it down, I looked nothing like a sexy movie star. No, with my hair drooping in straggly strands, and my feet squishing and squeaking in their flip-flops, and my makeup streaking down my face (I was sure of it), I looked exactly like Sookie Stackhouse, half-drowned pregnant woman.

But I was covered. Yes, during this pregnancy, I'd made certain that my elastic had kept its spring to prevent any wardrobe malfunctions. I was fully swathed. Under wraps. Protected.

Thanks to the Spanx. Power panties for the power mama, they were called. I'm not making this up. No visible panty lines, the description read, and moderate control. They resembled bicycle shorts, extending from the very top of The Mountain down to mid thigh. I'd taken charge, I…

Sweet Jesus, I was wearing performance underwear, encased like an overstuffed linguiça.

Tossing my mangled umbrella into a trash can, I wrapped my arms around The Mountain and squished and squeaked to my car, parked behind Merlotte's. Sam had taken down the front awning in preparation for the storm, so the typical lunch crowd hadn't gathered there. In fact, the crowd seemed pretty thin inside, so it seemed like a good time to stop by to chat with him and give him my news.

Jason was there, looking positively lonesome all by himself in a booth. "For Pete's sake, Sookie! What are you doing out today?" He stood and gave me a peck on the cheek. "You want to join me?"

I eyed the booth suspiciously, wondering whether I'd fit. He watched while I squatted down to the edge of the seat, then angled and maneuvered myself until I was good and wedged into position.

"Wow, that's some operation."

I decided to ignore him because his clam chowder looked really good. Nodding at his bowl, I asked, "How is it today?"

He must have been feeling extremely generous, or in need of something, because he pushed the entire bowl to me. "Here, have it. Sam's got American Chop Suey on the menu. Special." He waggled his eyebrows. It was his favorite.

I was glad he hadn't added the oyster crackers yet, because nothing botches up a good bowl of clam chowder like a soggy mess of cracker bits.

"So you must be getting close." Jason prompted.

Everyone had been saying that to me ever since The Mountain had popped months ago. "Close" was always relative to a pregnant woman, depending on the situation. Birth seemed only moments away when you were trying to ready everything—setting up the crib and stocking the nursery, figuring out childcare arrangements, and saving for college, to name a few.

At other times, birth seemed eons away.

Like when the baby was crowning.

I shrugged. I skipped over the gory details and the fact that I was at 37 weeks, which would mean nothing to him. "I think I probably have a few more weeks."

Dr. Ludwig had monkeyed around quite a bit when my feet were in the stirrups today, and had emerged telling me I was only a centimeter dilated and 0% effaced, which had made me feel a bit like an underachiever. Also, she had warned me that my blood pressure was creeping up slightly, and that I was to stay off my feet and rest, the real downer.

My spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl, which didn't escape Jason's attention. "Sam makes good clam chowder, huh?"

"Thanks for the treat." It had gone down quite easily, only now I was wondering whether it would stay there. "You been busy?"

"Not too bad. Storm ended up being a dud. We had a few fallen branches we needed to clear from roadways. A few stopped up storm drains. But overall it's been slow."

"Guess we dodged another bullet."

"Oh, man, people got whipped up about it, you know?"

I nodded. Locals had descended on the stores buying last minute storm supplies. "Remember how Gran used to poke fun at the French Toast Crowd?"

Jason laughed. "Milk, eggs, and bread."

"Did you get your peanut butter?"

He laughed again. "Gran taught us well." Following one storm when our power had been out for several days, Gran had fed Jason and me crackers and peanut butter, canned fruit, cereal with powdered milk, raisins, and granola bars. She'd had enough to last for weeks; we'd all been really glad when the power had been restored.

"You got Spam too, didn't you?" Spam had never been on Gran's list of emergency supplies, but Jason used any excuse to buy it.

"Hoyt's coming over tonight for grilled Spam. Hey! That reminds me…" Jason dug in his pocket and pulled out his wallet, from which he removed a photo. "Maxine Fortenberry found this and passed it along."

I looked down and laughed at the motley group. There stood Gran with Maxine, Everlee Mason, and Velda Cannon in front of her house.

"Do you know when this was taken, Jason?"

He shook his head.

"That was the day I took them into Boston to walk the Freedom Trail. We made it to the Granary Burying Grounds and no further."

"Too long a walk?"

"Oh, they had plenty of energy. They just didn't want to leave the graveyard." On that pleasantly cool fall day, I'd had no idea how much energy a group of senior women would have for reading old gravestone markers. "That was also the day Velda's dentures cracked, and she stuffed them in her purse. We ended up in a nearby Brigham's for coffee and ice cream."

He grimaced. "You always had more patience for that stuff."

I shrugged. I'd do it again in a heartbeat. Looking at the photo, I realized with a start that Gran was the only one who had died. I pushed the photo back to him, but he refused.

"You keep it. I figured you'd want it since it was taken in front of Fintan's house."

In Jason's mind, the house still belonged to Fintan, someone only peripherally related to our family. Though he'd never known Grandpa Mitchell, he was connected to him through family lore. And his baseball card collection. I'd never had the heart to tell him otherwise, reasoning that for as strong as my suspicions were, they lacked solid proof.

Maybe I was wrong, but it was a secret I was willing to keep for him.

I was starting to think it was nice having this little chat with my brother when he suddenly leapt out of the booth, calling, "Michele!"

I turned to see Michele Schubert peeling off her dripping slicker. I guessed our brother-sister moment was done, which freed me up to look for Sam. "Thanks, Jason," I called over my shoulder, holding up the picture. I waved to Michele.

On the way to Sam's office, feeling a bit crampy and queasy, I stopped by the bathroom and discovered how tricky performance underwear operates when your skin is damp. I was spotting a bit too, which made me cranky that Dr. Ludwig had done all that tinkering down there. I did my best to tidy up my hair and makeup before giving up on it.

Maybe I shouldn't have eaten all of that clam chowder.

I found Sam sitting at his desk. "Come in! Sit down!" He bolted out of his seat. No one seemed to like to sit near me these days if I was standing. It was like they couldn't relax or something if I wasn't sitting too. Everyone wanted me to take a seat. Except E.J..

Now it looked like they'd get their wish.

"I can't work anymore," I informed Sam, not wasting any time with preliminary chit-chat.

He looked visibly relieved. "Of course, of course. Everything okay?" He nodded at The Mountain. He'd steadfastly kept his hands off of it during this pregnancy, which actually had ended up being more awkward.

I hefted a foot up. "I'm starting to swell. Dr. Ludwig doesn't want me on my feet." I skipped the blood pressure bit.

Sam's eyes flickered toward my puffy ankles and sausage toes—I was glad they were at least nicely pedicured, thanks to Eric's artistic skills—then flickered away rapidly, then back again, holding steady, as though he were daring himself to look at something gruesome. "They don't look bad. I mean, of course I believe you need to stay off your feet, but…" He scrambled, his eyes jumping about the room wildly, seemingly looking for some miraculous conversation-shifting cue. "Hey, how 'bout I get you some clam chowder?"

At the mention of clam chowder, I rapidly held up my hand. "Thank you, but Jason shared a bowl with me."

My cell phone rang. Eric. "Sorry, Sam."

He watched studiously while I took the call.

"Hello?"

"Everything okay?"

"Yes, I'll fill you in later. I had to stop by the diner for a minute." In the background, I could hear E.J. crying. "What's wrong?"

"He keeps asking me for apple hammers, and when I ask him what he means, he tells me they're apples and pretzels, but when I get out the pretzels and apples, he does his wet noodle thing on the floor."

Ew. Meltdown status. "He wants apple chunks and pretzel sticks. He likes to make hammers out of them."

"Hammers?"

"He sticks the pretzels in the apples."

"Really? Hammers?"

"You know how desperate we get some days."

There was a long silence. Well, it was silent except for E.J. still crying in the background. I could definitely commiserate with Eric's frustration. "He's probably extra cranky about being cooped up in the storm."

"Any trouble getting around?"

"I didn't have any trouble. No major flooding. No trees or power lines down. You could take him to that Children's Museum in Clareham."

"I'll probably take him out to dinner too, unless you had something planned."

"That's fine." I was about to try to sneak in a "goodbye-have-fun-I-love-you" when I realized he'd already hung up. Phone etiquette had never been Eric's forte.

Sam was still watching.

"Sorry. E.J.'s a little stir crazy. How are things here?"

"Mostly quiet, like it is now. Guess everyone stayed home for the storm. We had a few people asking for one of your tables."

"Everyone have a place to go?"

"Yeah. I think they were people who hadn't heard yet."

"We'll probably have some stragglers over the next few months."

Sam nodded. Over the past few years, we'd had a growing number of people coming in for meals and other services, well beyond what we'd been set up to offer, especially with my attentions diverted toward my house struggle. When a new community center had opened in the closed Catholic church next to the elementary school, I funneled most of the remaining chunk of Gran's money into the project, which meant that the meal program at Merlotte's had officially closed, though we'd never turn away anyone in need.

Sam's silence was making me uncomfortable. "It's for the best," I added. That was the truth. All of those people could be better served elsewhere.

"Sookie…"

I smiled brightly to stop him from his lecture about returning to school. "I'll get there, Sam." When money and time had permitted, I'd taken a few more courses. The end goal of finishing my degree was still in sight, but the route getting there would have to be circuitous.

It was my turn to abruptly change the subject. "Thanks for all your help with the clam bake last week."

He shook his head. "Sorry about the potatoes. It's tough to judge the timing."

"No! Everyone had fun."

"Congratulations again."

"I feel fortunate I can host."

"You've got the perfect party spot now," he teased.

"Great, so you'll get the potatoes just right next year," I rejoined as I moved to stand. After a little bit of heaving I was upright. "Hopefully we'll be lucky enough to dodge the hurricane again."

By the time I got home, the house was empty and quiet, except for the occasional creak or groan. I stopped for a few minutes to listen.

The underwear needed to go.

With great relish, I peeled them off and stuffed them in the trashcan—freed. On the whole spectrum of privacy and modesty, there was bare-bottomed flagrancy on one, ah, end, and uptight prudery on the other. I shuffled off to find an old friendly pair of underwear with comfortably relaxed elastic. A nap sounded good too. I was about to climb in bed when the tip of my favorite wide-tooth comb peeking out from under the bed caught my attention. I'd been looking for that. Kneeling down with some effort, I grabbed it and pulled. It snagged on a pair of Jockeys too. Eric was going through his own stage in underwear experimentation.

And then since I was already halfway there, I lay down fully on my side, awkwardly, to see what else I could extricate. I'd uncovered a time capsule full of items dropped bedside, only to be kicked under, layer upon layer. Closest to the edge of the bed, I found my newest, very sturdy nursing bra, ready for action, but not very sexy in my opinion, even though the peek-a-boo flaps had apparently been a huge turn-on. Beyond that, I snagged an old friend, a Garfield nightshirt that always fit, pregnant or not.

To reach any further, I'd need a yardstick or something, and noticing all the dust, I decided to find a broom. I stopped by the bathroom first, for good measure, and came out cursing Dr. Ludwig. But eventually, I made my way down to the hidey hole for the dust mop, before returning to my spot on the floor. Whew. Did I mention how awkward this was wedged on my side? I longed for the day when I could lie flat on my belly, if it was ever flat again.

For starters, I snagged my favorite lacey blue bra, startlingly small and delicate. It was too bad that it wouldn't fit anymore, at least not for now. The matching blue panties were probably pushed to the back of my underwear drawer. Once or twice, I might have actually matched…

…"Yah-Yah! Yah-Yah, watch me fly!"

Oops.

The blue bra had snagged on the fairy wings L.L. had given E.J.. For a while, he'd worn them day and night, wearing us all out with his boundless leaping energy. I'd had extremely uncharitable thoughts toward L.L., finally sending the two of them down to the beach, where E.J. had turned himself into a scary water fairy with gobs of seaweed hair. L.L. had run from him until E.J. stopped suddenly, dumped the seaweed off his head, sucked in his lower lip, in that serious way of his, and said, "Yah-Yah! It's me. E.J.."

Yeah. I should probably keep the fairy wings hidden. Chasing a resurgent fairy with The Mountain parked on my bladder would not be fun.

Speaking of which, I was feeling crampy and queasy again. I'd been able to angle the mop to slide out an old textbook. Grabbing it, I dusted it off and trudged once again to the bathroom.

Helping. This one was called. A Guide to the Therapeutic Relationship. It contained pearls of wisdom demonstrating how to maintain eye contact, listen with "all the senses," ask open-ended, probing questions, and remain non-judgmental. Pretty basic stuff. Plus nearly a third of the book had been devoted to Maintaining Professional Boundaries, which, under the instruction of my male professor, had essentially boiled down to don't have sex with your client.

I rolled my eyes. Men and their professional boundaries.

Flipping to the back cover, I noticed I'd paid $79.95 for the text, full-price, as the instructor had recommended the brand new edition, which had really stuck in my craw. This textbook material had seemed so far removed from reality, I'd had trouble connecting with it.

You don't have to always like the rules to play the game, Gran had counseled me more than once. Maybe this was one of those situations.

Truthfully, working at the diner wasn't the same anymore with all of the meal guests gone, and I wasn't qualified to work in any position I'd enjoy at the new community center. I'd need to finish up my degree. With the house battle pushed to the back burner, I didn't know what was standing in my way other than myself. Well, and then there was The Mountain, too.

I returned to the bedroom and left the textbook out on my nightstand. We'd have to do some juggling to make it work in the family, and I would need to initiate that conversation before Baby Two came along.

Exhausted and a little weepy too—damn hormones—I resignedly scooted down to finish what I started, sliding the mop back and forth. From the far corner, I pulled out a tangle of red silk boxers, my embroidered robe, and a pair of skimpy-looking panties.

With a final tug of clothing, I lay naked next to his bare body. Beneath my window, a cool night breeze from the ocean slipped across us, portending fall. Nearly gone, summer had scuttled by surreptitiously, right underneath my nose. Or maybe I'd been looking elsewhere.

I'd had plenty of places to look—managing extra hours at the diner, burying myself beneath a mountain of paperwork and phone calls and legal actions related to my home, and being pursued by one very focused man.

And of course, there'd been E.J.. Watching E.J.'s growing up before my eyes had made time skip like a thin, flat rock flicked across smooth water. At nearly six months-old—half a year!—his latest parlor trick was sitting on his own. There were the occasional mishaps, of course, as his coordination and balance and muscles developed. Sometimes he tuckered out, got distracted, or seemed to forget that holding himself upright was his own job, not the duty of some outstretched cosmic hand. As a result, there were instances when he'd suddenly landed backward—flat out—with a disoriented, astonished look on his face that expressed, "How the hell did that happen?"

I'd wondered that myself on occasion.

On that particular evening, though, we'd arrived there eyes wide open, fully understanding the course we were following. Over the span of the summer, Eric had pursued an intense courtship I'd call old-fashioned if it weren't for the fact that I knew he was fixing to get laid.

He could be oh so patient. And persistent. And so convincing that my inner retro virgin was beginning to stretch, limber up, and feel a randy little pluck.

That night, he'd taken me to the Wellfleet Drive-In, yet another date in a whole string of them. At the end of the movie, we'd simply driven to my house, parked, kissed, messed around a bit, and somewhere along the way, by the time he'd slipped a hand inside my shirt, I'd invited him in for more. There had been no sudden realization or illuminating insight, but rather a warm, steadily-building glow of desire and a growing level of trust and acceptance that at some point had tipped the balance in our favor. We'd come home to roost.

After some more groping, quiet stumbling up dark, twisty steps, and shuffling of clothes, we were here, paused in our action.

"We'll have to be quiet, okay?"

He grinned. "Go ahead and try."

"No, I mean it…you don't want to wake up E.J.." I shuddered at the thought of having to walk the floor with him, our happy moment interrupted.

"Octavia."

"Yeah. Her too. She's got the hearing of a bat." I was realizing how much our private moments would have to be carefully constructed.

"Won't she check if she hears E.J. crying?"

"Not at night. It's my job at night."

Eric's fingers were lightly skimming up and down my body—out, in, out—following the defined outline of my now-enhanced curves. There was a bit more of me to love, compared to last summer. We were both different, for that matter. Things around us had changed, too.

Restraint had never been needed in the shack, where the roaring surf and muffling dunes had silenced our panted moans and exclamations. Sex had happened whenever it suited our desires, unimpeded by anyone else's schedule or sensibilities. "Do you miss the shack?"

He pressed against me, reminding me that I was lying next to a naked, very ready man.

"Oh." I reached down for him and enjoyed watching his head fall back, eyes closed. We could be carefree in a new way with each other, in a way that hadn't been possible then. Trailing my fingers at the nape of his neck, I tugged at the elastic tie holding his neat ponytail in place. When we were good and done, I'd take thrill in his tangled, messy hair, beautiful.

His eyes opened and swept over me from head to toe. "I know you."

He wasn't talking about my body, which had changed in ways unfamiliar to him. We held each others' once-had-beens, our past selves, fragile beings requiring care and respect. We'd become full partners, engaged in knowing and being known.

I fidgeted a bit, not under his gaze, but from the tickling drops of milk dripping from my breasts. "They're uncontrollable," I laughed, moving to dry myself with the sheet. He stopped me, leaning forward instead to kiss and lick the streams. I gripped the back of his head.

"You taste sweet."

Like a cupcake atop crossbones. His and hers. We matched.

We'd seen each others' scars. Almost as if he knew what I was thinking, Eric followed a stream of milk to my belly, where he traced the silvery paths permanently etched in my skin by The Mountain.

Yes, this was me. I'd seen his scars too, cutting just as deep as my own.

His tongue ventured lower, reminding me how much of my body had changed.

Had I startled? He'd stopped and seemed to be waiting, his cheek resting on my thigh.

Would I feel different to him? Would it hurt? "E.J. was a big baby," I explained. Unexpectedly, nervousness had nudged me.

His hand trailed inside my thighs, lightly stroking. "Do you trust me?"

He'd asked me that once in a dark alley, when the thrill of the unknown had exhilarated and frightened me.

"Yes." I didn't hesitate, even though he still brought me fear and excitement. Our trust had grown, gradually, from opening to each other.

He came up for a kiss, mouths parted, deep and full. I felt it everywhere. Pulling back, his summery eyes met mine.

I could open wide to him without splitting apart. Shifting beneath him, I relaxed my thighs, and pulled the bulk of his body, warm and alive, onto me. Braced over me, he could easily crush me if he brought the full weight of himself down. Matching his thrusts, I let go with all my might.

"Sookie! Sookie!"

"Mmm…"

"Sookie! Are you all right?"

"Mm-hmm…" Freed from the weight of The Mountain in my dreams, I turned to move as though unencumbered. I got stuck.

"Sookie!"

"Hmm?" How had rolling become so difficult?

Gentle hands pushed on my shoulder. I reached to press my hand atop his.

"Sookie, it's me."

Feeling a chill, I tugged on a blanket, which seemed to be caught. Opening my eyes, I found myself looking up at a very serious L.L., his lips pursed into a thin, hard line. The comforting lull of drowsiness slipped off me like a sheet of water down a window pane, in one gliding swipe. "Yah!" My eyes flew open to their fully awake state. "What's wrong?"

"Are you okay?"

"Sure." Aside from the fact that I was still struggling to turn over and get up. I supposed it was a little unusual finding a pregnant woman sleeping halfway underneath her bed. "I was cleaning and must have fallen asleep."

He bent down to support me while I pushed myself up ungracefully.

It all happened a little too fast, which made my head spin and brought an uncomfortably urgent feeling of wooziness over me. While L.L. sat down on the edge of the bed, looking relieved, I made a beeline for the bathroom.

"Are you okay?" L.L. called out.

"Clam chowder," I said, by way of explanation. L.L. had never been skittish about those kinds of things, plus he'd seen me vomit more than once. Morning sickness had been a killer this time around.

I was in the process of brushing my teeth when I noticed L.L. hovering in the hallway, looking serious again.

"What's wrong."

"There's a problem."

"Yeah?" I spat.

"Outside."

I rinsed out my mouth. He could never come out with these things directly, taking a meandering course instead. He'd get to his point eventually.

"Octavia's not here, is she?"

Wiping my mouth with a towel, I shook my head. "Uh-uh." She was visiting relatives, taking a break before the baby arrived.

"Come with me." L.L. held his arm out, guiding me to the window in Octavia's room, which faced the side yard.

Beyond the porch extension, the lawn was covered with small branches, sticks, pine cones, and piles of leaves that had blown down prematurely. We'd need to do a lot of extra yard work before our lives filled with newborn challenges once again, but it was nothing unusual after a storm such as this.

And then I saw it. Sweet Jesus.

It wasn't what I was expecting. Sure, we'd been prepared for the possibility of the storm to wreak havoc, but not…this.

"Oh…" I leaned against the window frame. We both looked out again, stunned. "He's not gonna like that. At all."

L.L. nodded in agreement.

There, on the seashell-lined guest parking spot across the lawn, Indira had dealt her blow to Eric's beloved car—yes, his red Corvette—snapping a large limb cleanly from a towering tree trunk and dropping it directly across the car hood, practically cleaving in half. I felt nauseated…

…and made a quick dash to the bathroom, quick being relative, of course. L.L. followed behind a minute later.

He waited, again, while I brushed my teeth. Again. "Come on downstairs. I'll make you a cup of mint tea."

"I have no way of calling to warn him."

"He lose his cell phone again?"

I winced and nodded. "E.J.." He'd yanked a towel out of the swim bag, flinging goggles, diving rings, a rubber duck, and Eric's cell phone into the deep end of the community pool.

"Where did they go?"

"To that indoor playground and children's museum in Clareham."

"Could you call there?"

"I could, but there's nothing any of us can do about it right now. And he'll just get cranky around E.J.."

He nodded. "When are they due?"

"After dinner."

"Give them some more time, then."

"Right." I sat down uneasily at the kitchen table, wondering what it would be like for Eric to come home to the sight of his car smashed under a lopped tree branch.

Worse, I knew we were headed for some intense discussions on the practicality of owning three cars—two old cars and a Corvette—with a newborn and a pre-schooler. It would be the perfect opportunity to buy a nice family car. The Corvette had never been practical. Sure, it had been fun, I supposed, but we couldn't go anywhere in it with E.J. or a newborn because of the car seat issue. We could sell of one of the old cars, for whatever it was worth, if anything, and use the insurance money from the Corvette to buy something family-friendly.

Oh, but he was going to be grumpy about not replacing it, even if it made reasonable sense. Maybe if I first proposed a minivan, which I knew he'd hate, I could get him to agree to some kind of sporty sedan. Or hadn't he been admiring a Cadillac or a Lincoln? One of those could probably work for us.

As I weighed my plan of attack, L.L. put the kettle on the stove and got out mugs and tea bags. "Party seemed to go well last week."

"I think so too."

He sat next to me, quietly, facing the pond.

"It seems like a long time ago already, doesn't it?"

He held still, waiting.

"Well, and then everyone got excited about the hurricane possibility."

We were both looking out at the pond. I was glad we'd planned a celebration. Victories never come without a cost, and when the afterglow fades, the costs become more noticeable and grow in strength.

"Did you ever think things would turn out like this?"

He shrugged. "It's hard to say."

He stood to pour the water and returned with our mugs. We both set to stirring with great intent. I suspected his thoughts were following mine, pondering the course we'd chosen.

Finally, he spoke. "Nothing's ever perfect, is it? That makes me appreciate certain things more."

I nodded.

"But I wish we hadn't had to involve Russell. That's my biggest regret."

I regretted Russell too. Russell enjoyed reminding others of the power he held over them.

We sat in silence for a few minutes. The mug felt warm in my hands. I brought it up to my nose to sniff the mint, soothing. The Mountain shifted and heaved. I shifted too, annoyed by the heavy achiness in my back.

L.L. set his mug down and turned deliberately toward me. "Sookie, don't get between Eric and Russell. Let Eric figure that one out."

"There's no simple answer there."

The problem was that Eric didn't think too clearly about Russell, their history so complicated. Still, I knew L.L. had a point, and I wasn't quite sure how to position myself with Eric. Family relationships could be so complicated, like with Jason and me. For as much as Jason irritated me, he was my brother, my only blood tie aside from E.J., and for as much as I complained to Eric about Jason, I didn't appreciate his trashing Jason to me. Russell and Eric were even more complicated.

"Has Eric had any more luck?"

"He's had a few more inquiries. Selling that loft in the SoWa district helped." Eric had purchased and renovated the space, modern and industrial, after his falling out with Sophie-Anne, when I'd been pregnant with E.J.. "But he's itching for some new clients."

"He loves his work." L.L. knew there was something more there, but hadn't been able to figure exactly what it was. He was delicately fishing, looking for an angle.

I nodded, unable to share with L.L. the private details of how complicated Eric's relationship with his work had been, right from the beginning, when he'd been taken under the much too familiar wing of the architecture firm of Ocella & Associates.

"And Lorena's reach is far and wide." He was still fishing.

I offered up a diversion. "So is Sophie-Anne's. Eric's burned more than one bridge." Sophie-Anne had yet to budge over their non-compete clause.

"Do you regret anything?"

I laughed, rubbing The Mountain. "We have a knack for bad timing, don't we?"

"But things work out. E.J.'s a fine young boy."

"He loves you, you know."

"And I'm lucky." L.L. set his mug in front of him with a sense of finality.

"Hey, how did things turn out with Danielle?"

His expression turned pinched. "I might have made a tactical error."

I groaned to myself, having been unaware I'd be blundering into unhappy territory. Eric had set out fixedly, intent on pairing up L.L. with someone to keep him from sliding back into anything with Lorena. I'd suspected Eric had also wanted to take some of L.L.'s attentions away from me, too. In any case, Eric had gotten moody at every one of L.L.'s numerous failed dating attempts.

"What happened?" Danielle had sounded so interested, I'd been certain they'd have a good time together.

"I called. We chatted for a while."

"That sounds nice."

"Yes. And then she invited me to go out with her."

"Oh." L.L. could be a little bit old-fashioned and uptight, and I wondered whether he'd thought Danielle too forward.

He held up his hand. "I was okay with that."

"All right." He was dragging things out again.

"She suggested we go to a place called the Hoppin' Bod."

"Where?"

"The Hoppin' Bod." He grimaced. And waited.

The Hoppin' Bod? It sounded familiar. The Hoppin' Bod?

"You don't mean..." I clamped my hand over my mouth.

"Go on. Go on and say it."

A laugh escaped in spite of my best efforts to keep it contained. "The Harp and Bard?"

L.L. rolled his eyes, which might have been a first. I reached over to touch his arm. "How in the world..."

He shrugged. "I didn't realize my mistake until later, when I was talking with a colleague."

"So what about Danielle?"

"I didn't say it, but it seemed a bit unseemly for a first date, so I suggested the film festival instead. She said she'd check her calendar and get back to me, but never did."

"Aw. Let me talk to her and explain. Put in a good word. It was an honest mistake. She'll think it's sweet."

He shrugged. I wasn't sure whether to take that as a forget-about-it or a go-ahead. In any case, I'd let the matter drop until a bit later. We sipped our tea in silence. Well, mostly I simply smelled mine, since the scent seemed to be working better than the actual taste on my queasy stomach. I'd have to think some more on L.L.'s dating options.

Suddenly, I needed to make another "dash" for the bathroom. L.L. dutifully followed.

"Something's not right." The tightening of my midsection that I'd thought was a Braxton Hicks contraction or the heaving tug of nausea built steadily without abating, hard enough to knock the breath out of me and stop me in my tracks.

"Oohh!"

"Is it the claw?"

"No," I gasped. "It's the vice."

"The vice?" L.L. was clearly alarmed. "Want me to call Dr. Ludwig?" His hold on my arm tightened.

I stood up straight, relieved. "Whew…No, give it a few minutes. They'll only tell me to wait anyway. I was just there this morning." I waddled out to the parlor very tentatively—not wanting to encourage any more vice-like action—and sat down in the Green Monster with my feet propped up. There. That oughta do it. I'd be fine now. Only then I started to think about the things that I'd need to do if I went into labor. Three weeks from my delivery date, I wasn't prepared. My overnight bag wasn't packed. I hadn't lined up babysitting for E.J.. Well, Octavia and I had talked about it, but she was away now.

"Could you try getting in touch with Eric at the children's museum? If I end up going into the hospital, I don't want him bringing E.J. by. Course I don't know where E.J. can go without Octavia here. Maybe Tara can help. We should call Tara first. Or wait a minute…could you take E.J.?"

My brain was feeling a bit foggy. I wasn't even sure if L.L. answered. I pushed myself up out of the Green Monster. Didn't I at least start to make a list? I wasn't into the complicated birth plans with candles and special music, which didn't sound very practical to me. Toothbrush. Toothpaste. Hair brush and extra elastic ties. I'd want a robe to cover up the ugly hospital gown. A going home outfit for the baby. Something for me too. I could probably stash all of those things in my new diaper bag. I grabbed it and stuffed my purse inside.

Damn. I'd wanted to stock up the cabinet for Octavia with some of E.J.'s favorites. I could leave a list on the counter. We needed pretzel sticks for sure. I opened the pantry door. And maybe some…

….Another contraction coiled around me hard and yanked. I started to sit, realized that wasn't going to do me any good, and then paced restlessly, hoping I'd be able to walk away from the pain. The pain would surely go away, right?

It did…eventually. I smiled brightly. There. "I'm fine."

"Sookie, that was only three minutes."

"No, I'm sure that was at least five."

L.L. held up his black sports watch. From a distance, I could see its stream of numbers flickering. Jesus, was he the official time keeper?

"I'm calling." He moved purposefully toward the phone.

"Give it one more. I'll sit down again. Sometimes that slows things down. It might even stop." I prayed it would. I wasn't ready.

But as I was walking to the Green Monster again, my water broke. Actually, it gushed, leaving no doubt that I was, in fact, in labor.

L.L.'s mouth formed a silent 'oh' before he sprang into action. He reached for me, but all I wanted to do was hunker down and brace myself for what I knew would be a mother of a contraction, that first one after my water broke. I started to lower myself. He had other plans.

"No, no, Sookie. Let's head out to the car." I'm sure he was wondering what he was gonna do with 150 pounds of mama (give or take a few) hunkered on the floor. Meanwhile, that mean contraction gripped me, clenching its fist and squeezing brutally. Maybe L.L. had tried to stop me, but the next thing I knew, I was down on my hands and knees.

The pain wasn't going away.

L.L. grabbed the phone. In the background, down a long, hollow tunnel, I could hear him calling the hospital. The absurdity of it all washed over me, that here I was, alone with L.L., once again, about to give birth.

When the vice finally loosened a bit, I choked out, "Call Bart."

"What's his number?"

I called it out. "Ask him to track down Eric."

I managed to stand on my own. I shuffled gingerly to the kitchen, grabbed a tea towel to wipe my legs, and plodded over to the hidey hole.

L.L. intercepted me, already on his cell phone with Bart.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting a trash bag."

"For what?"

"Your car."

He still looked blank.

"I'll wreck your seats." It was an important point to me.

L.L. turned back to his cell phone, gave me the "wait-a-minute" sign with his finger, and then reached for a trash bag. "It's the children's museum in Clareham," he was explaining to Bart. His hand on my elbow, he ushered me toward the door as he juggled his cell phone, watch, and a garbage bag in the other. I moved in the direction of the steps. "Just a minute," he said to Bart, and then to me, "Where are you going?"

"Dry underwear," I muttered. It was yet another important point to me, though admittedly my brain was a bit foggy, and the steps looked awfully long and tricky.

But L.L. tugged me toward the door, and I didn't argue as a contraction cranked me in its vice. He glanced at his watch. "Still about three minutes," he said to Bart. "If you can't get him at the museum, I'd try Burger Barn…No, don't bother. E.J. doesn't like their french fries…No, Eric hates the clown there…Ah…no…I don't think you should send Russell to the hospital." He looked at me with a questioning, panicked look. My midsection still being squeezed, I managed to shake my head vigorously. L.L. spoke again into his phone. "No. Uh…let him wait at home. Those waiting rooms are tiny. Really uncomfortable chairs." He shrugged his shoulders at me. "All right. Have him call my cell phone…Mm-hmm…I'll give you an update as soon as I can."

I stood up fully and remembered my new diaper bag, grabbing it as L.L. said goodbye.

"He says to tell you he's looking forward to meeting his first granddaughter."

I laughed. "He wishes. Bart appreciates any reason to buy something pink and frilly."

L.L. snorted. "Better than a leather good."

"Have you seen my new diaper bag?" I held out the intricate straps on my bag, studded.

"Is that…"

I nodded. "From the back of Bart's store. Modified."

I'd managed to position myself in the front seat of L.L.'s car, no small feat with my bum slipping on a Hefty garbage bag.

"You gotta get me there in time, okay?"

L.L. nodded.

"I don't want this baby delivered by a Massachusetts State Trooper."

He nodded again, looking very serious, indeed.

"And don't let me scream like I did last time."

Paused at a rotary, he gave me a quick glance. "You really want me to stop you from screaming?"

"Yes. It's embarrassing." I was still convinced Eric would make it there in time anyway.

Once in the rotary, L.L. waved a car through ahead of him.

"Look at that!" I grunted, halfway through a contraction. "They should at least wave."

"Wave?"

"You let him in. He should give you the thank you wave."

The contraction gave one last harsh twist, which brought down a different reality. "Dammit, why are you waving through everyone and his brother? Let's get to the hospital!"

Once we arrived, things were pretty much a blur as I felt my own mental state slip, with contractions piling on top of each other. I noticed strange things in great detail, such as L.L.'s keys sailing through the air toward the parking attendant. "Good catch!" I told him.

The man who would push my wheelchair, called me "Mama." "Hop on board, Mama," he said, "Let's take you for a ride."

L.L. guided me to the seat of the waiting wheelchair, tan, like a coffee with two creams. I sat on café au lait…¡Olé!...

…Bring it! I could do this. The cords of a contraction drew straight through me, cinching my waist—I was sure of it—back to its wasp-like state. But no, The Mountain held there resolutely. Maybe I couldn't do this.

The flash of passing caught my attention. In the corridor, the tiled walls with their lettered signs flickered by like an animated cartoon. A pregnant woman linking arms with her partner moseyed away from us, in the direction of the exit, looking very calm. It wasn't their time, I guessed. I wanted their time slot instead. I wanted my partner with me, too. Where was he?

A woman in black pumps clicked past holding a bundle of balloons. I couldn't see her face, hidden behind a whole heap of red and yellow ones that jostled each other. I remembered their quiet, muffled bumping noises most.

"Your shoe," I said to L.L., as though an unfastened shoelace was the most important thing in the world.

A little yelp escaped my mouth. I couldn't keep my backside down on the wheelchair, but lifting it up did little good. The pressure was so intense, I needed to push. Surely pushing would help. I gripped the arms of the wheelchair.

"Hold on there, Mama," the man behind me prompted.

"Let's go," I encouraged him. I expected him to take me on a racing kind of ride, but instead he kept up his steadily plodding pace and began whistling an aimless, meandering kind of tune at great odds with my pain. A dramatic orchestral number with powerful drum beats would have been more fitting. Yes, something from Last of the Mohicans. Where was my Daniel Day-Lewis?

"Eric!" My chest thumped with pounding drums. Trapped in my dawdling wheelchair, I faced a never-ending maze of corridors.

"Sookie!" His voice echoed from the cold, sterile surfaces surrounding us.

Where was he? "Eric!"

"Sookie!"

"Eric?" This was getting us nowhere.

"I will find you!"

Frustrated, I stomped my foot on its rest, wishing it were a gas pedal. "Faster!" I called to the man behind me.

"I'm trying!" Eric called. "If it's the last thing I do…"

"No! I mean…aargh!" I jerked my body forward, trying to speed the wheelchair along. "Can't you make this thing go faster?"

The driver paused his whistling. "Hold on there, Mama," he drawled.

I struggled to shove myself out of the chair. "Eric!" Where was he? He'd save me, wouldn't he? I groaned in the clutch of a contraction.

And then suddenly, he rounded the corner, heading straight for me. His long, golden mane trailed behind him as he bounded down the hall for me, the loose fabric of his tunic gaping open to reveal a V of bare flesh and rippling muscles. Stopping at nothing to get to me, he took down a candy striper, shoved aside an old man in a walker, and barreled through a group of physicians with their noses in charts. As paperwork scattered around him, he vaulted over first one "Caution Wet Floor/ Cuidado Piso Mojado" sign and then yet another, to come skidding at my feet.

"I found you!" he announced. Hefting the bulk of me into his arms, he grunted.

Right. The music probably wouldn't have done any good.

Had we ridden in an elevator? We must have, because I'd ended up high in the treetops. Up here, I noticed, the very top of the sugar maples were barely tinged with color. What's more, everyone was looking at me. Somewhere along the way, I'd exchanged my clothes for a hospital gown and gotten up on the delivery table, my body slightly crooked, askew, as though I hadn't had enough energy to straighten myself out.

L.L. had taken his familiar position on my left side. On my other side, a cute nurse with striking red hair was pulling a belt tightly around my belly. "I'm Nurse Hahteh."

I shuddered at how L.L. might mangle that name and turned to him to translate. "That's Nurse Harter." But he was looking in the direction of my feet, where, I was glad to note again, my pedicure was holding up nicely. And thank goodness I'd shaved my legs this morning.

A woman at the bottom of the delivery table was introducing herself. "I'm Dr. Sonntag."

That's when it really hit me: everyone was there except the one person who mattered most.

"I can wait," I said through shaky tears and pain.

"The father isn't here," L.L. offered in explanation. He was smiling at the doctor. "I'm Sookie's friend, William Compton. Her birth partner."

"I'm glad you're here to help."

"I'm happy to do it."

There seemed to be more to their conversation. In fact, I'd be happy to let the two of them go off for coffee and a chat. If only everyone would turn their attention away from me, everything would stop. "William's an excellent attorney," I said to Dr. Sonntag. He'd helped save our home.

She nodded at L.L.. "That's wonderful."

Yes, there could be something there. "I can wait," I said again, forcing more certainty in my voice.

No one argued with me. Instead, they continued tending to their business. Dr. Sonntag pulled on a long-sleeve gown backwards. She unwrapped a pair of glasses that looked like safety goggles with a big plastic splash guard flap extending high.

"Those look serious," I joked.

She smiled, but didn't take them off.

The nurse next to me had turned from a monitor. "You can lie on your side if you'd be more comfortable," she suggested. "Sometimes there's less tearing in that position."

That sounded awfully good to me. I could take a nap on my side and wait for Eric to arrive. I turned awkwardly, my gown tangling. Annoyed, I tugged it up over The Mountain, not even caring that I was half naked. Yes, here I would take a nap and rest a bit. But Nurse Harter was directing L.L. to help hold my leg in position, bent at the knee. And Dr. Sonntag was reaching between my legs, only I couldn't feel her because the pressure had mounted, and in spite of my best efforts to stop it all, it was really happening. I bore down.

Sweet Jesus, had it hurt this much last time? I mean, I knew it hurt, but surely I hadn't traveled to the fiery pits of hell and beyond. Was I giving birth to a baby or a freaking bonfire?

I warbled a high-pitched squeal. And then I think I actually growled, like an animal, and topped it off with a moan.

"Shh, Sookie," L.L. soothed.

"You shush," I snapped at him. Let him try to birth a firebomb quietly. "Fucking Northman genes." Where was he, anyway?

"The father is a rather tall man," L.L. explained to the doctor, as though it were an important part of my medical history.

I groaned. Surely she could see already that I was birthing no petite baby. I was surprised she wasn't backing away from my vagina and running for cover. Didn't she know a giant Molotov cocktail would explode out at any moment?

That irresistible urge to push bore down on me again, along with a wave of relinquishment. There was nothing more I could do about it. There was no doubt about it; this was happening. No more waiting. Right here. Right now. I did the only thing I could. Taking control of the moment, I went to that blank, quiet place in my mind, swept clean by pure grit and hard, determined concentration. Fear curled at the edges, threatening to wind anything in its path. I pushed against it. Hard.

I don't know how long I pushed, but suddenly, I was pulled outward again. The room came back into focus. L.L.'s arm had wrapped around my knee.

"It's there, right?" I gasped, my breath coming to me in short, rapid bursts. It had to be. It had to be almost over.

"Reach down and see." Dr. Sonntag guided my hand down to the slippery, unyielding form jammed solidly between my legs. "You're doing a great job. Whenever you're ready."

I groaned in exasperation. I wanted it out. Now.

Bearing down hard, I gave it my all, expecting Number Two to practically shoot out. Pain sliced through me.

"Hold up, hold up, Sookie." Dr. Sonntag reached down to do some fiddling.

It wasn't fucking out yet?

The activity in the room picked up then. Next to me, Nurse Harter tensed. "Keep a hold of her leg," she instructed L.L., and then to me, she said, "Turn over, Sookie." She guided me flat on my back and pushed my knee all the way to my shoulder. On my other side, L.L. did the same. There, in that rather inglorious position, I had myself an excellent view of the ceiling tiles. They slipped and blurred together.

"Keep going, keep going!" Dr. Sonntag coached.

Go where? I'd gladly leave. It wasn't right. They weren't saying what was wrong out loud, but their mannerisms told me they were trying to stay calm. It wasn't a natural calmness. It was a forced, driven kind of calm—much too quiet—the kind of calm that comes only out of a need. What's wrong? I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

From out of nowhere, other bodies appeared in the room, rustling in their blue hospital garb. I recalled those jostling red and yellow balloons and how quiet noises sometimes sound loud. The meandering, carefree whistling of my wheelchair driver played in my head on a loop, recursive. I shook against it.

"Two minutes," Nurse Harter said.

"Give us a push, Sookie," Dr. Sonntag directed.

I started to cry, which was a problem because then I couldn't give a good, solid push, which made me cry even more.

"Push your baby out, Sookie!"

Utterly and truly exhausted, I wished to God that Eric were there. Pinned down with my head back, I didn't see the hands reaching, but the moment they pressed, a finely-tuned panic snipped free, drawing a single loose thread straight through me, unraveling. No! Their hands would hurt, I knew. I scrabbled and thrashed against them, but might for might, they were stronger. They held me rigidly, right on top of the pain.

Let me go! I tried to tell them, but the words jammed in my throat. They said my name again and again. I'm here! What do you want? I'd do anything for them to stop touching. Tell me! From overhead, their looming voices slipped and blurred, just like those ceiling tiles. Pain and fear have a way of doing that, you know, of peeling reason clean away from reality. Bewildered, I struggled to pull myself together, to make sense of time and place, badly frayed.

A voice to my left sounded over the others. "Sookie!" L.L. directed my attention. He smoothed the hair out of my face and lowered his head near mine. I grabbed for him with both hands and held on tightly, clenching his arm. "Stay here!" A grunting sob escaped from my chest.

"Another push, Sookie!" Dr. Sonntag urged.

Nurse Harter leaned over me again, her hands reaching. "No!" The actual word came out of me, sounding appallingly wild. I bore down hard—shoved back—terrified I'd be caught helpless again.

"Sookie!" L.L. jostled my arm. "Sookie, look down! It's a boy."

A bundle passed from between my legs and was whisked away by the blue-clad, nameless people.

L.L. had loosened his hold on my leg and grabbed for my hand. I wondered why his cheeks were wet. When I turned my head to the side, I saw nothing but a solid wall of blue. They were faceless workers to me. Just backs.

Nurse Harter and Dr. Sonntag weren't smiling, and they hadn't moved away from me. I wanted to shoo them away. Nothing in that room—in a hospital, high up in the treetops—was making sense. An angry squall pierced my confusion.

Details filtered in, selectively. L.L. squeezed my hand hard. Dr. Sonntag passed a stainless steel bowl to Nurse Harter, resembling the kind Gran used for mixing cakes. I barely felt the pinch of a needle. When Nurse Harter pushed down on my squishy abdomen, I knew I lacked something important. And then the blue wall disassembled, and suddenly I was holding a squirming hunk of raw flesh. Atop me, his face scrunched as he let out a high-pitched cry.

I had started to shake, my teeth chattering. The tension in the room seemed to have been released. I watched the people near me for clues. They moved briskly, but not in a driven kind of way. Someone laughed. Another person touched my arm and said, "Good job, Mom." I wondered whether I dared breathe in their relief too.

Only a niggling worry was starting to form, undefined. I struggled to figure out whether I needed to concern myself with it.

"You want me to try to call?" L.L. inquired.

"What?" I looked to him, confused.

"Eric. Should I try to find Eric?"

Maybe that was it. I nodded through emerging tears.

After L.L. left, Nurse Harter helped me remove my wet gown and covered me up as best as she could with a blanket.

"Sookie?" She shook my upper arm.

"What?"

"I asked whether you want to try to feed your baby."

My baby. I was holding my newborn baby. I didn't know whether I was wholly up for that, but we were already halfway there, plus it seemed like the thing to do at the moment. She helped me get him situated. He fussed a bit and took a few tries before latching on, somewhat lackadaisically. A blood pressure cuff squeezed my arm. Despite the wash of bewilderment and confusion, later I would remember the warmth of his skin, smudged and marked by birth. I would remember his thick brown hair—like Gran's—wet and matted down. And I'd remember his tiny fingers with their paper thin nails, wriggling without purpose.

Happy birthday. Welcome to the world.

Nurse Harter gently slid a cap on his head.

L.L. returned a few minutes later. "Everybody's okay," he began, which immediately alerted me to the fact that there was indeed a problem. "I couldn't get in touch with them, but Eric left a message on my voice mail after being unable to contact you. They're actually downstairs, in the ER."

Numb to any more stress, I waited.

"E.J. took a fall and split open his chin. No concussion. Nothing broken. He's getting only a few stitches."

"How?" I grappled with the news.

"I don't know. I thought I'd check in with you to see how you're doing and then try to find them. Is that okay?"

I nodded.

"You'll be okay here on your own?"

I was hardly alone, drawing way too much attention for my liking. I nodded again, shoving back a sob. Later, I would owe L.L. a huge thank you.

Down below, Dr. Sonntag had wheeled over an embarrassingly bright lamp, flooding light between my legs. There were more gruesome tasks to be done.

I closed my eyes for a moment to rest. Number Two appeared to agree we'd been through a big ordeal. His body had quieted, save for the quick, weak, rhythmic tugs of a baby sucking for comfort. I might have even fallen into a light sleep. At some point, I sensed more movement near me, and opening my eyes, caught the worn, striated weave of Eric's jeans, drawing my eyes up and up and up to his face, tilted down toward mine. That long, tall view of his body blocked out the cold space filled with equipment and metal instruments and impersonal décor. And then the length of him was folding down, face-to-face with me. Crouched low, stiff and awkward, he looked all arms, as though any movement would send a tray of instruments crashing, or jostle a newborn baby, or bump against a doctor wielding pointy objects.

My fears emerged from the fog. "E.J.!"

"He's fine. Bill's with him."

It was the first occasion I couldn't be there for E.J. for something big, instead tending to another son. Another son. I had two children in my care, though at that moment, I decided one plus one equaled more than two.

"It's a boy," I told him.

Eric relaxed visibly, his face shifting into a quiet smile. I suspected if I had said, "It's a girl," he'd have had the same reaction. L.L. had saved a nice surprise for him.

Reaching behind him, he grabbed for a chair, its metal legs squawking in protest against the tiled floor. Once settled close to the bed, he reached through the bed railing to carefully peel away Number Two's blanket. Pink and wrinkly and raw with that freshly-crammed-through-a-birth-canal appearance, the baby resembled a pork loin. Mild consternation crossed Eric's face.

"He's okay," I assured him. "E.J. looked like a rump roast at birth."

He laughed, his movements easing more. "Yes, he's okay," he pronounced as though it were an official medical diagnosis. His fingertips stroked Number Two's arm, curled up against his body. Today, the baby would sleep in the world, but one day he'd wake and discover he could unfold himself, and then anything would be possible.

"And you're okay too," he said with conviction, glancing down at Dr. Sonntag, still diligently setting me right. He leaned over the bed rail to kiss my forehead.

Yes, alive and mostly in one piece with a healthy newborn snuggled in my arms. And yet, with Eric there, his lips pressed against my forehead, something cut loose. Fresh panic swelled. Those frightening moments, compressed and constricted, were starting to open up again, expanding like dried sponges soaking up water. Their waterlogged pressure in my chest pushed out a gagging sob.

"Sookie…" He appeared to struggle for words, then abruptly stood and walked to the foot of the bed, next to the doctor, observing her handiwork. "She is well, yes?"

"She's great. Your baby is lucky to have such a strong and brave mama. They're both real fighters."

Dr. Sonntag glanced up at Eric through her safety glasses. He was still hovering over her, surveying and assessing like a foreman on a construction site.

She returned her attentions to me. "She's got some tearing that I'm stitching up. The bleeding seems to be under control. We'll keep an eye on it, but I'm just about finished here for now."

Apparently satisfied, Eric returned to my side and nodded firmly, dispassionately. "So there you have it," he seemed to say.

Still dazed and teetering on the edge of something old and dark, I decided I would follow his lead, experienced in its own way. Forging ahead was the way to go. The baby was alive and well and healthy. So was I. Eric was there with us. And E.J. had probably already convinced L.L. to buy him some ice cream.

I took a deep, shaky breath and pushed forward, ignoring the lurking panic. "Do you want to hold him?"

He looked relieved. "May I?"

"Sure. He's finished eating. For now."

Number Two slipped off my breast easily as I shifted. Eric gingerly plucked him out of my arms, disentangling him from the blankets, and brought him in close to his chest. "He's so tiny!"

I wasn't sure our second ten-pounder could be classified as tiny, but still, he was a newborn.

"Was E.J. this small?"

"Even a couple ounces smaller. Hard to believe, isn't it?"

He placed a finger in Number Two's hand, which reflexively grasped him. And then sliding his finger free, he pulled at the tabs of the diaper, revealing the full length of the baby's scrawny, prune-like body with its swollen testicles. "Wow," he laughed appreciatively. Exposed to the cool air, the baby fussed and squirmed and flashed his dark brown eyes, just like Gran's.

Eric's proud smile faltered for the briefest of moments before freezing in place.

Oh, for Pete's sake.

I didn't think I could possibly get any more exhausted, but somehow, my head slipped lower on the pillow. I guessed I'd wait until later to tell him about his Corvette. I closed my eyes, hoping I could rest.

A rattling racket interrupted my plan. Eric had positioned the baby in the bassinette, underneath the warming lights, and had grasped hold of the bed rail, jiggling it impatiently to release the mechanism.

"He-ah," Nurse Harter said with alarm in her voice. I suspected she was worried that a big guy like Eric would rip off the entire thing. "Underneath he-ah." She pulled a latch, which released the railing.

Leaning forward, he managed to slip his arm underneath me to pull into an embrace. The weight of his head bore down on my chest, in the same place where he'd pinned that sapphire sunburst. I imagined it was there then, digging in so hard it hurt.

"I wanted to be here. You know that, don't you? I wish like hell I could have been here for you."

"I know." I knew it, but at that moment, I still appreciated his saying it aloud. "And I'm glad you were there for E.J." I caught his clenched fist by his side and loosened his fingers in mine. "It was scary." I needed to be able to say that aloud too, without having to venture into explanation just then.

With Dr. Sonntag gone, Eric shifted again and slid the exhausted dead weight of my body gently and easily to my side to curl up with me. The movement hurt, and soon I would send him off for an ice pack, but for the moment, I didn't think anything would feel better than having the mass of him pressed against my back.

"I'm proud of you." His voice caught in his throat. "I know it was hard."

It seemed like the right moment to let go and cry, and so I did. Together, we faced the window to catch the backside of Indira, nothing more than dark clouds on the horizon, pushed out by skies scrubbed clear and blue. On this side of the building, facing east, shadows cast long and dark, brightened here and there by the weak, but warm and golden light of late day in late summer, still persisting, angling itself over and around edges and corners.

Nighttime was rolling in noticeably earlier now that September had breached.

It was a night for celebrating with friends.

On the side porch, a small group had gathered near the chip-and-dip, which I'd refilled several times. Outside on the lawn, another group congregated near the outdoor furniture we'd borrowed from L.L.. A bright orange snake of an extension cord cut through them, powering a sound system Jason had set up, on loan from Quinn. From further off, the clank of quoits could be heard.

I flicked on the set of mini twinkle lights strung across the window. They're fireflies," I said to E.J..

Russell snorted, "Let's hope he doesn't take after his father."

I already knew that particular story Russell was referring to; it bothered me much less than his interest in lording it over us and stirring up the muck. Not willing to give him the satisfaction, I pulled on E.J. to have him help me tend to the drink table.

A few minutes later, Pam caught up with me as I was slicing more lemons. She had something on her mind, I could tell, by the cat-that-ate-the canary look on her face. Without any prelude, she practically purred, "Russell's terrible at poker."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Way over-confident," she disclosed.

This had possibilities, indeed. "How's Eric?" I asked. I hadn't had a chance to try him out at a poker table yet.

She shrugged. "He's good. He can hold his own."

I stopped to consider. Eric might be able to hold his own in an ordinary game, but against Russell, I suspected he'd be terrible. In fact, any doubles challenge including the two of them would probably regress into a bloodbath between just the two of them.

"And how are you?" I asked.

A full grin crossed her face. "I'm fabulous."

I slid a glass of wine to her, mulling over how this information might be used.

"We'll talk later, Mama." She tipped her glass to me and gave The Mountain a pat before sauntering off.

"Pammy!" E.J. called out, running after her. "Pammy!" His little hands tugged at her pressed linen trousers.

Turning my attentions back to the bar, I tossed some empties into a recycling bin, checked the ice, and gave the table a quick wipe. And then with those chores done, I decided to find a few quiet moments, away from the odors of seaweed and shellfish wafting from the beach. Crossing onto L.L.'s yard, I walked to the far side of his property, where a small path led to his beach area. The beach curved here, forming a small inlet.

I scooted down into the sand and laid my head back to breathe in deeply and freely. The air was thick and heavy, so dense, it shrouded the lights from the boats and houses nearby, backlighting the foggy night and turning the sky and sea into one solid pewter darkness. Behind that thick murk, anything was possible. Anything could be lurking.

The noises of celebration carried on. Steady music and the rise and fall of many voices were punctuated by bouts of laughter and E.J.'s excited shouts. This place was ours now, in so many new ways. We'd laid our own claims to it—fought to keep it intact—aided by others closest to us.

Things hadn't worked out exactly as we'd planned, but L.L. was now the owner of all the land around us. We'd all taken our hits along the way—made sacrifices, gotten roughed up—but here we were, generally secure, though not wholly intact, in our home. It belonged to us, buffered by L.L.'s properties.

"There you are." Eric's voice crept from behind, his bare feet muffled by the sand. "On a night like tonight, I should have known to look here first." Lowering himself, he straddled me from behind and wrapped me in a firm embrace. He felt substantial and real.

"How's the food coming along?" I asked.

"Potatoes are still quite hard, but no one wants to wait any longer."

"I guess our timing was a little off. Next year we'll get it right."

"Next year?"

"Didn't you know? This is the first year of our annual tradition."

He laughed. "Next year, then. You're not hungry?"

I wrinkled my nose. "Smell of warm seaweed wasn't too appealing." I might not ever have the taste for a traditional New England clam bake again. L.L. had helped prepare the sand pit earlier in the afternoon, while Eric and E.J. had gathered stones and seaweed. After the fire had burned down and the rocks had turned white hot, Sam took charge of layering seaweed with steamers, quahogs, lobsters, potatoes, linguiça, and corn on the cob. And then we waited. A long time.

"Where's the baby?"

"Here." I positioned his hand where a body part was swiping. His hands stroked my belly, circling the whole of me. He'd managed to wrap his arms around all of me, even on days when I didn't think it could be done. I'd had my own work cut out for me; there was an awful lot of Eric to love, too.

And yet, sitting here in front of this vast expanse of murk, and whatever it hid from us, we were just two small people. Maybe we should have run from it—maybe that would have been the sensible thing to do—but somehow with Eric, the two of us together, the mystery felt more exciting and less threatening.

I turned my head and shifted to the side, where his lips met mine. I wondered whether our kisses would ever falter. If we would be lucky enough to grow old together, one day his lips might surprise me, and this moment—on the cusp of new life, celebrating with friends and family—would open and unfold, carefully preserved.

But memories aren't fixed in place, unchangeable. That back-and-forth conversation between now and then wouldn't ever stop, guiding us forward, continually changing our perspectives. What we remembered would depend a lot on where we ended up and how we got there. We loved each other, that much was true, but I knew enough to understand that nothing is unshakeable.

I breathed deeply, pulling the here-and-now inside.

Behind me, Eric was squirming, making me wonder whether he was adjusting himself in his jeans. Sex on the beach, with the waves splashing over us, wasn't nearly as romantic as Hollywood's version. Wasn't that always the case?

But he surprised me when he pulled a soft pouch from his jeans and opened it.

The sapphire sunburst.

He held it out, flashing dark in his pale palm.

"Oh!" I reached out to touch it. It still reminded me of the sky and sea at once, of Great Love. Vast and all-encompassing. Imperfect, too. "It's even more beautiful than I remembered it."

"May I?"

I pointed to a spot on my sundress in response. His fingers worked the delicate clasp and lingered for a bit, sneaking inside the straps of my sundress and bra and slipping them off my shoulder, where his lips trailed. I reached up to touch the pin, in place. It felt good, like it was meant to be there.

"Sookie?" L.L. called out from above us, on the lawn. I turned my head in his direction and looked up through the bank of beach roses.

"Shhh." Eric breathed into my ear, making me shiver. His smiling lips brushed down my neck.

"Sookie?" L.L. called again, from further away.

Eric's mouth hovered near my ear. He held still, his only movement the whisper of his breath. I waited there with him, motionless, until he finally spoke.

"Where were we?" he murmured.

"Right here," I said, knowing.

Together, we turned to face the great open space before us.

~xoxo~