“Gwyneth, why don’t you sit down?”
“Sorry Merry. Hospitals make me as nervous as a cat in a roomful of rocking chairs.”
“Everything’s going to be fine. Take a seat.”
“Did you call Jason?”
“Yes.”
“Is he flyin’ back?”
“Yes, but flights were all booked up. He won’t get here until tomorrow at the earliest.”
A wave of relief washed over Gwyneth. “Thank the Lord and Lady. He’ll be here in plenty of time.”
Merry squinted at her. “What do you mean? You don’t think I’ll be in laborthatlong, do you?”
“I wouldn’t want to second guess mother nature or nothin’, but this is your first baby. I knew a girl what went seventy-two hours, screamin’ and pitchin’ fits.”
Merry’s eyes rounded and she blanched.
“Oh, but don’t worry, sugar.” Gwyneth strode over to her and patted her shoulder. “I’m sure you will be just fine.”
“Uh...me too. Oddly enough, I haven’t had a contraction in about ten minutes. Maybe it’s Braxton-Hicks.”
“Who? I ain’t heard tell of them hicks. Are they from West Virginny?”
Merry smiled, then coughed. “No, those are the names of the two people who scientifically studied false labor.”
“False labor? You faked this whole thing? Why?”
“No, I didn’t fake anything. Sometimes it just happens. A woman has contractions for a few hours, then they stop. You’ve never heard of that?”
“Hell, no. Back home if a woman starts grittin’ her teeth, y’all better boil some water and get out the clean towels. There’s no fakin’ allowed.”
“It’s not faking...” Merry took a deep breath and sighed. “Never mind.”
Gwyneth patted her hand. “It’s all right. I don’t blame you fer bein’ scared. I’ve heard some horror stories about birthin’ babies and you have probably heard them too.
The woman behind the glass window called Merry’s number.
“Oh, thank God.”
“And I’ll thank the Goddess. Now let’s go have that baby, and no more stallin’ ya hear?”
In the restaurant’s horseshoe shaped bench seat, Sly stretched, trying to get the crick out of his neck. He probably got it from sleeping on cold tile all day, but he wasn’t about to complain. Morgaine had probably saved his life. Plus, she had spent the day all alone, except for one phone call to Mikhail to set up this meeting.
The waiter at the French restaurant seemed to know Mikhail well. His “special wine” was brought to the table without his even ordering it.
“Does Monsieur wish to share his owner’s reserve with everyone?”
“No, Pierre. Just the other gentleman and I with be drinking my special vintage tonight. The lady can order whatever she likes.”
Morgaine smiled and asked for herbal tea.
The waiter said, “Very good,” and left.
Delicious aromas teased Sly’s palate, but naturally, he wouldn’t be able to partake. At times like this he envied the living.
