And Babies Make Four

Lara seemed to consider the question, then glanced at Derek, who watched her from hooded eyes. The two obviously were attracted to each other. “Do I miss standing around all day waiting to shoot two minutes of film that might or might not make it to the final cut? No, I like being active and there’s always plenty of activity here.” She grinned, sending another sidelong glance toward the doctor as he finished writing notes in Mindy’s chart.

Derek flipped the chart closed and looked at Mindy. “So, we’ll see you again in two weeks.”

“I thought I was on a monthly schedule.”

“That was just in the beginning,” he told her. “Because you’re carrying more than one baby, we want to be on top of things here, to make sure everything continues going smoothly for you. Besides, you can come here and complain to your heart’s content.” The support portion was the very heart of Manhattan Multiples, and none of them ever lost sight of that. “Everyone will be very sympathetic to what you’re going through. Mothers of multiple babies have their own unique set of…um—” he hunted for the right word “—circumstances.”

More like problems, Mindy thought. And she could readily identify with that. It was all she could do to place one foot in front of the other and deal with the path her life had taken.

Tempting though the thought was, and tempting though Lara’s invitation to stay and talk was, all she wanted to do tonight was fall into her own bed. The thought of sleep was more alluring than food was right now.

“When will I stop being tired?” she wanted to know.

At the door the doctor looked at his watch, then back at her. “In about eighteen and a half years. If you’re lucky.” He glanced toward Lara. “Coming, Nurse?”

Lara brightened slightly at the verbal byplay. “Right behind you, Doctor.”

They had something going, Mindy thought. Or would very soon. The looks that went between the doctor and his nurse were too hot not to generate their own flame, if they hadn’t already.

Mindy couldn’t help the pang of envy that went through her.

Chapter Three

Eloise stood in the hallway before her office, directly in the path of foot traffic and lost in thought.

She’d had no luck yet with getting through to Bill Harper. His aides guarded him like those flying monkeys from The Wizard of Oz.

You’d think that the city of New York would help support an organization that dealt with pregnancies and specialized in multiple births.

Bill’s betrayal still vexed her. How could he hold this grudge against her? And why couldn’t he simply talk to her? It wasn’t as if she was unapproachable, Eloise thought as she nodded at a couple of new members who hurried past her to the ladies’ room. When she died, and if there was need for an autopsy, she was convinced that they would probably find one of the world’s biggest hearts in her chest. She truly cared about what went on here and the people who were involved in Manhattan Multiples.

Caring was one of the reasons she’d started this center in the first place. She’d needed something into which she could channel her energy and her love. She needed something to fill the hole that had appeared when Walter was taken from her.

Even trying to lose herself in her sons’ lives didn’t take care of the problem for her. And as they became older, she knew Carl, Henry and John would have less and less need for her. They’d be going out into the world, testing their wings, forging paths for themselves. As well they should.

But that would leave her with increasingly less to do. She couldn’t very well stay at home counting flowers on the wallpaper. So the idea for the center had been born, and she had taken the helm, dispensing the wisdom of her own experiences, seeking others to add to it, and all the while making a point of being in touch with every single woman who flew or waddled, depending on their state, through those doors.

A people person, she made herself accessible and hoped others would do the same for her.

So why was Bill shutting her out?

With a sigh Eloise shoved her hands into the pockets of her powder-blue skirt.

“You know, if you stand there long enough, someone is going to wind up walking into you.” Allison Baker, her personal assistant, came up to her. “Is anything wrong, Eloise?”

With a shake of her head, Eloise pulled herself out of her trance. For a second she was tempted to share her fears about Manhattan Multiples but then decided against it.

Damn, she wished she knew the answer.

Eloise realized that her prim-and-proper assistant was still waiting for an answer to her question. Eloise said the first thing that came to her mind, lame though it sounded. “I’m just thinking, that’s all.”

Allison nodded knowingly. “About the mayor’s proposed cutbacks?”

Allison was very intuitive and this shouldn’t have been a surprise. Everyone on the Manhattan Multiples staff was talking about it, wondering if they should start updating their résumés and look for work. No one wanted that to happen. Working here was a joy, even at the worst of times.

“Yes.”

Allison hugged the thick binder she was holding a little closer to her chest. “What do you plan to do?”

Eloise tossed her head. “Fight this, of course.” There’d never been any doubt in her mind that she would. Above all else, she’d been blessed with the courage of her own convictions. She would have thought that had become evident by now to everyone.

“I’m not one of those socialites who likes to sit back and watch her nail polish dry. Manhattan Multiples is a long way off from closing its doors. We have fund-raisers to throw and legal issues to stand on. If Bill Harper thinks that we’re going to ‘go gentle into that good night,’ he definitely has another think coming.”

Twenty-something Josie Tate, Manhattan Multiples’ very own walking, breathing tribute to the sixties hippie era as well as their head receptionist, turned the corner just in time to catch the last part of Eloise’s declaration.

“Dylan Thomas, right?” Josie asked brightly, guessing at the origin of Eloise’s reference.

Glancing her way, Eloise nodded her reply. Josie was wearing a wide, ruffled skirt that contained every bright color known to civilized woman within its fabric. It was offset by a black velvet vest that seemed completely out of sync with the damp, humid July day outside the building. But then, Eloise had long since ceased being surprised by Josie’s choice of clothing. And, in an odd sort of way, the twenty-five-year-old pseudo hippie/poet/receptionist added to the charm that was Manhattan Multiples just as much as the pastel decor and soothing music that was piped in during the day.

Self-taught and pleased with herself, Josie grinned. “Hey, I wrote a new poem.” She held up the piece of paper she’d labored over all last night. It was filled with handwriting only Josie could decipher. “Anyone want to hear it?”

In her off hours, Josie wrote poetry and gave readings all over the city to receptive groups of budding poets and would-be musicians in search of lyrics. Her bright-blue eyes jumped from one woman to the other, as if eagerly waiting for a response.

“Only if it’s something that would inspire a fight rally,” Eloise told her.

Allison was already withdrawing. Although they were friends, they were as different in their approach to life and in their interests outside the center as night was to day. The expression on her heart-shaped face was apologetic. “Maybe later.”

Undaunted, Josie pretended to sigh. “A prophet is never honored in her hometown.”

“You hold that thought,” Eloise advised with a laugh, patting her shoulder. “And in the meantime, see if you can come up with something catchy that we can use to help fry our illustrious mayor’s butt.”

“That seems like a waste,” Josie confided. “The man’s got one hell of a cute butt.”

“Josie!” Allison looked at her friend incredulously. “He’s the mayor.”

“That doesn’t stop him from having a cute butt—although the odds are against it.” She grinned, turning toward Eloise. “I’ll see what I can do,” she promised.

Spinning on her heel, Josie headed back the way she’d come. Break was almost over and she had a desk to oversee and people to welcome.

It had been five days.

Jason flipped back the pages on his desk calendar. Time to stop trying to find fault with her, he decided. He pushed the calendar back on his desk. That was what he’d been doing, he thought. Consciously and unconsciously he’d been searching for flaws, for ways to get Mindy to give up and quit.

Who would have ever thought that he would one day be trying to push Mindy Conway away?

Mindy Richards, Jason reminded himself. She was Mindy Richards now, and with a husband in her life or not, she had no place in Jason’s.

Nothing and no one had a place in his life except for work. He owed the people who paid him good money for advice 110 percent of his abilities—and the same portion of his mind. They weren’t paying him to spend his time thinking about Mindy. Wondering about Mindy. Yearning for Mindy.