She left the doctor's office and headed to the nearest pharmacy. As she browsed the shelves, she thought, I can go the single mother route without any problems—I'm financially secure, and, thank God, I'm at an age where I don't care what people think or say about me.
The question is, do I try to track down 'Erik' and tell him I'm going to have a baby? His baby… He already has a family. He mentioned his thirty-five year old daughter. He may have other children—even grandchildren. He's probably married. I can just imagine their reaction, if they found out he's going to have an out-of-wedlock child.
No. Better to leave him alone.
But what if he has a family history of heart disease, or some other inheritable condition? It could be a matter of life and death for the baby. If I could somehow get into contact with him anonymously, or hire a private investigator…
The pharmacy had plenty of vitamins and a selection of reference books for the expectant mother. She chose from among them, and headed up to the check out, right past a display of stuffed toys, which remained thankfully silent. They reminded her of the talking lion and the stork poster. What was going on with me? she wondered. Was it my subconscious acting up? What a strange footnote to the happiest day of my life.
She went shopping in the historic district, where the baby shops had diaper bags with sunny Provincial prints on them, clothes made out of pesticide–free, undyed organic cotton, and gauze-draped cribs like solid clouds a baby could nestle in. It was a day for looking and dreaming, rather than spending money, but the salespeople didn't mind. They knew a woman with a Prada handbag and the pearly glow of an expectant mother meant profits; if not that day, then in the future.
As so often happened when she went shopping, she ended up in a yarn store. All the while she shopped that day, her fertile imagination had envisioned new designs, new combinations and patterns—baby knits. She saw pumpkin-orange baby hats with a green 'stem' on the top, fleecy mohair receiving blankets and denim-colored booties. Now she wanted the yarns to bring them to reality.
My editor and my agent have been hinting I should do a baby-knits book for years, but I couldn't write one, or even design a single pattern—it just hurt too much. Now, though…Tiny Graces would make a good title for it, I think. It would fit into the series. Pushing open the door, she entered her favorite store.
The bells on the door jangled a cheery greeting, followed by a friendly "Hello" from Melanie, the girl behind the counter. Sara, the yarn shop's owner, was talking to a customer by the shelf of flashy, funky scarf yarns. She turned when she recognized Grace's voice.
"Hello, Grace! We have in some new cashmere-lambswool blend yarn. I know you'll love it. It's in the second room." Sara turned back to her other customer. "That's Grace Engstrom. She's a marvelous designer. We have her latest book, Simple Grace, up by the counter, and the other three on the shelves in back."
"You'll have to find some more shelf space for me soon. It's a done deal. The Aussie spinners have signed. I now have my own line--six different yarns in a selection of designer colors. In three months, the 'Yarns with Grace' collection will be making their debut."
"Congratulations! That's wonderful." Sara limped over and hugged her. She was a stout, grandmotherly woman with white hair in a shining, smooth bob. "I was hoping it would work out. It would have been a shame for you to have gone all the way to Australia for nothing."
"Oh, it wouldn't have been for nothing even if the deal fell through." And that's not telling the half of it! After all, I came back with an unexpected souvenir. Which will be debuting in six and a half months or so…. she thought. "I always wanted to go there some day, and now I have."
"Well, this makes it even better, then." Sara told her, cheerfully. "Now, tell me what these yarns are going to be…"
I'm really lucky, Grace thought as she browsed through the washable wool yarns after filling Sara in on all the details. Right now, there's nothing about my life that I would want to change. Nothing. Except, possibly, my doctor.
At that moment, the label on a skein of Baby Alpaca Grande spoke to her.
"Don't go home!"
More specifically, it was the illustration of an adorable baby alpaca that spoke.
Grace's head swam for a moment, and her vision blurred. "No!" she hissed at it, under her breath. "You're not—Why shouldn't I go home'?"
"Don't go home!" insisted the baby alpaca. It had a high, squeaky voice, and huge, liquid dark eyes. " Don't go! Don't go!"
"No! I am not going to start obeying a figment of my imagination." Grace glanced around. No one was looking at her funny…yet. "Why shouldn't I go there, anyway?"
"Don't go! Don't go!" It was horrifying how many yarn labels had pictures of animals on them—alpacas, sheep, camels, cashmere goats, angora rabbits, and buffalo. The baby yarns had teddy bears, lambs, kittens and puppies, and all of them joined the baby alpaca in an insane—literally, Grace feared—chorus.
I've gone insane, she thought. This morning I was a sane, rational human being, and now I'm crazy. Worse, I'm a crazy mutant.
She looked around as the labels echoed, "Don't go! Don't go home!" at her for as long as it took her to blink three times. Then Grace Engstrom, innovative designer, author of four books, shrewd businesswoman, sultry seductress, financially independent mother-to-be, whose life was, for one brief moment in time, absolutely perfect, did something she had never done in her life before. She fainted.
When she came to, the voices were quiet, and a ring of concerned faces had gathered around her. "I'm all right. I am, really."
Sara, whose hip replacement surgery wasn't for another six weeks, tried to pick Grace up single-handed. "No. Please, Sara. No, I don't think I need an ambulance. It's low blood sugar. I skipped lunch. Plus—I only found this out recently, but I'm pregnant."
"Oh, sweetie, how wonderful! Melanie, hon, take ten dollars from the cash drawer and go next door to Starbucks. Grace needs to get something in her. Something healthy, now!"
After orange juice and a scone, she had recovered enough to finish her shopping. Out of gratitude to Sara and Melanie, she spent lavishly, buying five skeins here, a dozen there—but nothing with an animal on the label.
While she was waiting for the total, a knitted lamb atop a display of baby yarns said, "Take me with you."
Dementia or delusion or whatever this is, I'm not about to answer back in front of people, Grace thought furiously. Is every anthropomorphicized animal out there going to start ordering me around?
"Take me with you!" The lamb started bouncing up and down with impatience. For a wooly toy lamb with a big blue bow around its neck, it had a surprisingly gravelly voice, complete with a Brooklyn accent.
"Take him with you!" squeaked the labels of yarn around the shop. "Take him with you!" The volume of their cries increased until Grace wanted to cover her ears—only she was afraid that wouldn't help. Melanie finished ringing up her purchase, and Grace handed over her credit card. Soon she was signing the sales slip and gathering up her bags. She had bought enough to fill two of the largest shopping bags in the place.
Suddenly the chorus ceased. "Grace?" Sara called to her as she was about to exit. "Just a moment." She limped over to the door. "I saw you looking at him." she said, and held out the wooly lamb toy. "Here you are, dear. A gift for your little one-to-be."
"Thank you, Sara." The shop owner was beaming at her. Grace summoned up the best smile she could. I can't hurt Sara by refusing her gift. I'll just have to call a psychiatrist in the morning. She hugged her friend, put the lamb in one of her bags, and left the shop.
Since it was already after five o'clock, her next stop was a favorite restaurant. By the time she had finished, it was fully dark. She made the drive home while a tranquil Mozart symphony played on the classical station, and neither the lion nor the lamb said a single word.
A/N: Okay, so where am I going with this? Next chapter starts some serious action, and both the X-Men and the Brotherhood will take notice. Erik is in for a shock.
