2 July

After a very nice morning and tasty lunch, the family parted – some for afternoon naps, others to swim or lounge by the pool. A couple of hours having passed, Rosamund, Marmaduke, Martha, and Isidore came back into the house by a side door, laughing and chatting amiably as they entered the foyer.

Interrupted by a soft clearing of the throat, the four turned toward the doorway of the downstairs guest room.

"Oh, darling one, we didn't mean to wake you. How inconsiderate of us!" Martha sailed over in flip flops and wrapped in a towel to drop a gentle kiss on her daughter's cheek.

Cora smiled groggily. "It's alright, Momma. I know I should be up anyway." She looked toward the others. "Has everyone been having a nice time?"

A chorus of "oh yes" and "wonderful" and "brilliant" rose up as Robert appeared in the doorway as well, stealing an arm around his wife's middle before kissing her temple.

Before anyone could answer, the doorbell sounded.

"Maybe that's Harold," Isidore said, shrugging. "He forgets his key a lot." With a chuckle, he crossed the foyer to open the door.

But it wasn't Harold. The man on the threshold glanced at the clipboard he held, one eyebrow rising. "Mr. Robert Crawl..son?"

Robert stepped forward. "Robert Crawley?" he inquired. "I am he."

His eyebrow raising even higher at the rich British accent, the man tilted his head. "I've got a delivery for you from Maclaren Baby. Would you sign for it, sir?"

At the gasp coming from behind him, Robert cringed. "But it was supposed to go to England, to Yorkshire!"

The guy shook his head and stabbed at his clipboard with his pen. "We have that as the billing address, but not the shipping address. The shipping address is here."

Robert passed his hand over his brow in a motion reminiscent of his father. "But I need it to go home."

Shrugging, the man pushed the clipboard at him. "This is the delivery address, sir. Sign at the bottom."

Grumbling under his breath, Robert took the clipboard and signed hastily, shoving the thing back at the delivery man. "Incompetent American…." He muttered more silently when he saw his mother-in-law's raised brows.

Robert's mutters turned into curses as the delivery men piled more and more things against the foyer wall. He glanced at Cora, her face pink and her eyes filled with tears, and he lowered his head sheepishly. He'd promised her, and he'd broken it.

As the men finally left the house and closed up their van, Violet and Patrick descended the stairs, Violet's voice ringing out. "What is all this noise?"

Before Robert – or anyone else – could answer, Cora blurted out, "My husband went baby shopping without me. He said he wouldn't, but he did!" Turning on her heel, Cora disappeared into her room, the click of the lock resounding throughout the foyer.

Violet's mouth gaped open as she and Patrick stopped halfway down the stairs. "Robert, why on earth would you buy so many things? You're having a baby, not…." She grasped for the right words. "…not a litter!"

"Yes, Mama, I know. I was simply excited, and I overdid it. And now I'll have to pay for it." Eschewing further conversation or explanations, Robert knocked on the guest door softly. "Cora, please, let me explain."

As he knocked and exhorted, a loud noise sounded in the drive accompanied by the sound of gravel crunching, heard clearly through the still open door. Glancing out the window, Martha rolled her eyes, not bothering to hide her curses under her breath. "He couldn't even drive his own fucking car…."

Isidore moved forward, then grinned when he looked out the window. "Harold!" He turned and exclaimed, "Harold!" again when his son came through the door.

"Hey, Pop," Harold said. He chucked a thumb out the door. "Hope you don't mind I hired a car to drive me. Didn't feel like it. Got dumped." Turning his gaze to his mother he shrugged. "Yes, Ma, again."

No one knew quite what to say. Well, Martha seemed to have too many things to say to pick one, the Painswicks shifted from foot to foot awkwardly, Robert continued to knock softly at the guest room door, and Violet shot Patrick "what the hell have we gotten ourselves into" looks.

After his father let him free of his embrace, Harold gestured to Robert, then to the piles upon piles of baby things against the wall. "What's going on? That's a fuckton of baby shit."

He gave no one a chance to answer before he pointed a finger at Rosamund. "She knocked up too?"

Martha's gaze turned to Rosamund and Marmaduke in sympathy. Rosamund's tears were immediate, and she fled the foyer, pushing past her parents on the stairs. Marmaduke followed, anxious to comfort her. Mortified, Martha took three long strides to her son and looked directly into his eyes, hissing, "What the fuck, Harold? I told you – they can't have children. Why do you have to be so damned insensitive?"

Harold simply shrugged. "The weed?"

When his mother made to cuff him on the arm, Harold hopped neatly backward, then scurried down a side hall toward the kitchen, muttering something about parents and starving.

Patrick and Violet finally made their way down the stairs, peering closely at the baby products. Martha and Isidore followed them, all four shaking their heads.

"Robert, honestly, why did you buy so many things? There are even doubles of some of this stuff." Martha tutted a bit, her brow raised as she moved her gaze to him.

"Please don't start, Martha, please? I really can't explain what came over me." He sighed and bowed his head. "I hope she'll forgive me."

"Of course she will," Violet said briskly. "It's not as if you did something truly horrendous." Wrinkling her nose at the massive wall of baby goods, she shook her head again, continuing, "Although I can't imagine what on earth you would need or want all these things for."

Ignoring his mother, Robert tapped on the door yet again. "Cora, please? I'm sorry, I –"

"No!" She yelled through the panel. "You shopped without me! For our first baby!" She sounded slightly winded.

"I'll take it all back if you want me to. I'm so sor-"

But before he could finish the apology, the door opened, disclosing Cora holding her stomach with a panic-stricken expression. Immediately, Robert put one hand on her shoulder and the other over her hand.

"Cora?"

Her eyes went from Robert's to her mother's. "Something feels strange."

Immediately Martha snapped into mother mode. "What feels strange? Describe it to me, Cora."

"Like… like contractions." Tears filled her eyes.

Martha stepped to the other side of her daughter, taking her other hand. "Hey-hey-hey," she said soothingly. "We don't know what it is. Women have false labor all the time. But we're going to take you to the hospital anyway, okay? Have a doctor take a look."

Before she even looked at her husband, Isidore had grabbed keys and darted out the door to bring the car around, in tee shirt and swim trunks.

"Robert, get her out to the car while I run up to get a real cover-up and shoes." She passed Violet and Patrick, taking the stairs two at a time.

"What about us?" Violet inquired in an irritated voice.

Martha didn't stop, simply called out behind her, "Come or not, but make up your mind in the next five minutes!" The sound of the door closing followed her statement.

Patrick moved his eyes between his son and daughter-in-law and his wife. "Should we go?"

"I don't know about you, but I'm going." And with that, she hastened up the stairs to retrieve her handbag.

Shrugging, Patrick caught up to Cora and Robert, who were waiting just outside the front door, Isidore approaching in a dark green SUV. Once all were bundled into it, the two mothers arriving not long after Cora had been strapped in, they were off.


A fat sandwich in one hand and a joint in the other, Harold wandered into one of the screened porches – the one with the full bar but no hot tub. Stepping onto the brightly polished hardwood floor, he looked up and paused. "Um, hi?"

A hand brushing at her eyes, Rosamund glanced over at him. She took a sip of a large Scotch and moved her gaze past ferns and white-painted wood furniture – reminiscent of a set from Gone with the Wind – and onto the lawn, ignoring him.

With a nod, Harold shuffled over to the bar. "Yep. That seems about right." Putting down his sandwich and tucking the joint behind his ear, he fixed himself an equally large drink.

In a few moments, Rosamond heard his footsteps, then felt his presence beside her. When he said nothing, nor moved, she lifted her head to look at him. "Yes?"

Harold gave her a lopsided smile and, with his sandwich, indicated a white wicker loveseat positioned close to her rocking chair. "Do you mind?"

She couldn't help rolling her eyes at the ridiculous sight of him before her, sandwich and drink, ruffled hair and joint poking out from behind his ear like an accountant's pencil. Shaking her head, she gave out a brief snort and waved her left hand toward the seat. "I didn't think you'd care whether I did or not."

Shrugging, Harold sat, taking a gulp of his drink before setting it down on the small table between them. "I wasn't trying to be mean or anything. I'd just forgotten the circumstances."

The loud crunch accompanying his bite of snack made Rosamund think his sandwich must have pickles in it. "Of course," she said, looking away again.

After eating a sizeable portion of the sandwich, Harold deposited the rest on the table and picked up the drink. "So, why's your other half not down here with you? I mean, if I did upset you."

Not turning from the view of the lawn, Rosamund drew her knees up to her chest, hugging them, the half-finished Scotch clutched in her right hand. "I told him I wanted to be alone for a while." After a few seconds she murmured, "I suppose even in a house this size, it's hard to be alone."

Harold's face scrunched up. "Hey, Roz, I gave you an out."

"Don't call me that. It's Rosamund."

"Well, I did, didn't I? Gave you a chance to say no."

Finally, Rosamund turned and stared at him. "Yes, you did. I guess I didn't really feel like being alone."

He tilted his head at her. "Which is it?"

A long sigh escaping her lips, she regarded him and the comical effect of his aspect and question. Then she chuckled. "You know, Harold, I actually don't know. When I'm alone, I want company, but when I have company, I want to be alone."

"Sounds like quite the conundrum, Roz." He ignored her cringing. "I know what you need." Waggling his eyebrows, he drew a lighter from his pocket and plucked the joint from behind his ear.

"Oh, I don't know. I probably shouldn't."

"Why not?" He paused, the joint between his lips, the glowing lighter just shy of the tip, his brows meeting in the middle of his forehead.

Rosamund thought a moment. Then she shook her head. "You know, what the hell. I'll have a hit of that."

Harold winked at her. "It's the good stuff, Roz. I always save it for the holidays."

Rolling her eyes again, she reached for the joint. "I'll forgive you for saying what you did earlier – if this is as good as you say it is."


Violet paced up and down the linoleum floor of the maternity waiting room, her hands clasped behind her back and her eyebrows drawn together.

"Please, sit down," Patrick pleaded. He and Isidore sat together on one of the overstuffed couches. Cora had insisted that Martha come with her and Robert into the examination room.

The only answer was a vehement shaking of her head, her red hair curling down around her shoulders. The waiting room hummed with life, women being admitted with partners on a spectrum of anxiety, from pretended calm to full-on hyperventilation. Nurses and doctors bustled about with papers while people in the waiting area slept or read or looked ahead nervously, feet tapping and bodies fidgeting.

After about an hour of waiting, Robert entered the waiting room, seemingly in a daze. The men rose from the couch in anticipation

"Well?" Violet demanded, stopping short just in front of her son. "Is she alright? What about the baby?"

Robert's eyes met his mother's and he blinked. "Baby?" He paused and licked his lips, then snapped out of the daze. "Oh, oh yes, she's fine. It's like Martha said – false labor."

The waiting room seemed to fill with fresh air for the three anxious grandparents. They relaxed in relief.

"But it's not a baby."

"What?" Violet shook her head rapidly. "What do you mean it's –"

Holding up a hand to stop her, Robert shook his head as well. "What I mean is – it's not a baby. It's two." He began to grin. "Twins. We're going to have twins."

Patrick gave out a happy whoop. "Really, son? Twins?"

"Way to go, Cora and Robert!" Isidore looked about beside himself with pride.

However, Violet tilted her head inquiringly. "But she's so far along. Surely we would have known that several months ago. Why didn't we know?"

Robert let out a hearty laugh. "The old doctor in the village – the one you insisted we consult? Apparently he couldn't be bothered to learn to use the sonogram machine!" Giving a little hop, Robert made to return to Cora and Martha. "Papa, make sure those at the house know she's alright?"

His joyful footsteps had barely faded when Violet finally dropped down into a chair. "Twins," she repeated, her hands resting on her knees, looking just as dazed as Robert had when he'd come into the room.

But Patrick rubbed his palms together. "This calls for a celebration. Issi, can you ring Rosamund and Marmaduke and let them know? We're going to have a grand dinner tonight!"


"Twins? Goodness, well that's – oh my. They have waited a good long time, Issi, and they'll be wonderful parents." Marmaduke nodded as the man on the other end of the line relayed their dinner plans. "Yes, I'll tell Rosamund and Harold," he said.

As he ended the call, Marmaduke closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. Two babies. Two at one go. And they had not one. He got up and slowly wandered into the hallway to find his wife.


Smoke curling around their heads like fragrant halos, Harold and Rosamund took hits in turns, sipping Scotch and swapping stories about Robert and Cora when they were children.

"I swear, Robert was so possessive about his books. You would have thought they were made of solid gold – or chocolate!" Rosamund paused to pluck a small bit of leaf off her tongue and coughed delicately as she laughed.

Harold shook his head, inhaling deeply with the joint to his lips. Exhaling, he rasped out, "Cora couldn't be separated from her dolls. Fuck, I think at least five of them were 'princes'." Passing over the joint, he made air quotes. Then, looking past Rosamund, he blinked and his face went white. "Shit," he breathed. "Don't look."

His appeal made her want to turn her head all the more. "What is it?" she asked, her eyes wide.

"There's this girl who lives next door, Clarissa – and she's been wanting to pin me down for years. But I just don't like her that way. She's looking over the fence now, thinking she's being subtle..." Harold's eyes narrowed. "What is it going to take to her to get the message?" Then his eyes widened and focused on Rosamund. "Uh, Roz, I apologize for this in advance, but…"

Suddenly, Rosamund became aware of Harold's lips upon hers, he waiting no more than a split second to kiss her. Surprised and somewhat tipsy along with slightly stoned, she had no idea how to react, and wasn't sure how to stop it. He moved one hand to her shoulder, but only to turn them to a more advantageous angle. Rosamund didn't even close her eyes, surprised as she was. She noticed that Harold's eyes were fastened on the fence.

Just as abruptly, he let her go and fell back. Blinking hard, Rosamund gathered herself to say something, but was interrupted by a cough from the doorway. Marmaduke. Her eyes met his, which were full of hurt.

"It's not –" she began, trying to stand, but too impaired.

Marmaduke stayed in the doorway, squaring his shoulders. "Cora is fine. They're coming home soon." He paused, his lips tightening before he said, "They're having twins."

Rosamund stilled herself in the chair, stunned. "Twins?" she breathed.

"Yes. And Papa and Issi want to celebrate, take us all out to dinner. I hope you'll be ready to go when they get back." Without another word, Marmaduke turned and went back into the house.

"Fuck."

Rosamund glanced over at Harold, her eyes filled with tears for a second time that day. "Is that for your sister having twins or for how I've just hurt Marmaduke – without any choice?" She looked down.

When she lifted her head again, Harold had slunk away.


Once the doctor left and Robert had returned, Martha gave the two of them a proud grin. "I'll leave you both to talk." She pressed her son-in-law's hand and kissed her daughter's brow. "We'll be waiting for when you're ready."

Watching the door close behind her mother, Cora turned glistening eyes to her husband, a lazy smile affixed to her lips. "Can you believe it?" she whispered.

"I wouldn't if I hadn't seen the proof for myself." He chuckled and pointed to her handbag where the sonogram photo was safely stored. Then he sobered, head bowed. "Might you forgive me, sweetheart?"

"What for?" She clutched his hand tighter.

He met her gaze. "For buying baby things without you."

Cora started to laugh. "It's probably a good thing you got a head start," she conceded, then smiled seriously. "Darling, I was emotional, and it's fine. We'll go through what you bought together, and figure out the rest. We're going to need a lot of baby things."

"True." He returned her smile and kissed her cheek, then her lips. "Let's get out of here, shall we? We have celebrating to do."

Grinning, Cora started to get up, then she squeezed his hand. "Robert?"

"Yes, my darling?"

"When we get back to England, we're getting a new doctor. In London if we need to."

Robert knew that when she spoke in that tone, she wasn't kidding. But this time, he agreed. "Of course, Cora." He placed a gentle hand on her baby bump. "Nothing the best for these two." His other hand strayed to her cheek. "And nothing but the best for you, my love."