With Child

“I’m the executor,” he interrupted her. “That gives me the right to put a value on assets, and to make damn sure they don’t lose value.”

She didn’t like that, but couldn’t argue. Finally she said sulkily, “Do I get to know what your formulas say Fenton Security is worth?”

He told her.

She blinked, sat in silence for a long moment, gave her head a little shake, and then said, just above a whisper, “That’s less than I thought it would be. Um…quite a lot less.”

Quinn didn’t want to be doing this. He wanted to be home, the window blinds drawn, stretched out on his bed in his shorts. A couple of aspirin would be dulling his headache and sleep would be dragging him deep.

But something like pity made him go over and pull out the chair across from Mindy.

“Yeah. It’s less than I thought it would be, too. But Dean borrowed a lot on the business. There are some big debts.”

“Oh.” She sounded and looked forlorn. “I wish…”

“What?”

“He’d told me.”

Quinn wished the same. Hadn’t Dean known how shaky the footing was, how far the plunge to the ground would be? Why hadn’t he taken success a little slower? Waited to get a boat, to expand the business, to drive the dream car?

But Quinn knew the answer. Despite the fact that his mother never did come back for him, Dean had been the eternal optimist. Hell, the eternal adolescent. “Nah,” he’d have said. “That won’t happen to me.”

But death had happened, and he hadn’t expected that, either.

Quinn tried to smile. “He enjoyed the damn boat and the car and…” His pretty wife.

Her eyes filled with tears again, even as she gave him a smile as wry as his. “He did, didn’t he?” She sniffed again. “Will you, um, negotiate for me?”

He’d already begun, but he was smart enough not to tell her that. He only nodded.

“I guess I should shower,” she said, starting to stand.

It struck him suddenly that she’d lost weight. Her pixie face had acquired some hollows that hadn’t been there before. The robe hung off one shoulder, exposing a bony protuberance on her shoulder and the most pronounced collarbone he’d ever seen.

“You’re not eating enough.”

She yanked the robe around herself. “And you know this how?”

“I haven’t seen you eat more than a few mouthfuls in…” He couldn’t remember. “You look skinnier.”

“You know, Quinn, Dean always said you didn’t have a girlfriend because you had trouble trusting anyone. I’m starting to think it’s because you’re a heck of a lot better at insults than you are at compliments.”

He’d gone rigid halfway through this speech, hating the idea of her and Dean talking about him, of Dean telling her things about him that were supposed to stay between the two of them.

Her face changed. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”

Quinn just walked out. He was hardly aware of her staring after him.

Goddamn you, Dean, he thought, and didn’t even know if he was angriest at his best friend for psychoanalyzing him for the benefit of anyone who’d listen, or for dying.

TWO WEEKS LATER, Mindy stood naked looking at herself in the full-length mirror on the closet door. She was pretty sure she was three-and-a-half months pregnant, and she could already see changes in her body.

She was skinnier, thanks in part to grief but mainly to the never-ending nausea. Morning sickness, ha! When she first got out of bed in the morning was her worst time, sure, but her stomach stayed queasy most of the day. If she actually threw up, she’d feel better for a little while—long enough to realize she was starved and to stuff her face—but then she’d just get sick again. So she barely managed crackers and celery and carrots—the clean sharp taste of raw vegetables tasted especially good—and clear soup. Juice and crackers for breakfast, chicken noodle soup for lunch, and vegetables and more crackers at intervals the rest of the day.

She’d lost almost ten pounds, which she knew couldn’t be good. But she was trying. And the morning sickness would go away soon. Please God.

Despite the weight loss, she was starting to have a little pooch below her belly button. If not for the missing ten pounds, her jeans might have been getting tight around the waist. And her breasts, too, looked fuller.

She made a face at herself. Or maybe they just looked bigger because the rest of her was so skeletal.

Brendan Quinn sure knew how to make a girl feel good.

Dean had been dead six weeks now, and she was starting to dread the very sight of Quinn. That made her feel petty, because he was doing so much for her. Most of it unasked.

Sighing, she glanced once more at her skinny, pregnant body and turned away, picking out underwear, T-shirt and jeans from the dresser.

A couple of weeks ago, she’d started sleeping up here again, in the bed she’d shared with Dean. She felt less lonely here. Sometimes she’d even pretend to herself that he was just working late, that he’d wake her when he got home and…

She gave a sad laugh. Everything nauseated her right now. Making love would not have been in the cards.