"Oh, my G.o.d." A pipe must have burst upstairs. She arose from the couch, then bolted to the stairs. The hallway was clear, but the bathroom floor was a pool of water an inch deep. It brimmed over the marble door saddle when she stepped into the cold lake to get a better look at the torrent gus.h.i.+ng from behind the toilet.

Had the feed line snapped?

Squinting against the cold spray, she reached in to shut off the valve behind the toilet. It turned, but the jet of water didn't slow. The valve was shot.

Where was the next cutoff?

With a moan, she pulled away from the gus.h.i.+ng water, trying to remember where the next cutoff was. She pictured valves on naked pipes . . . the utility closet beside the kitchen.

Blinded by panic she hurried down the stairs and fumbled in the small closet with the hot water heater. There it was . . . but there were two valves. She turned the top one, hoping for the best, then ran back upstairs, noting her wet footprints on the carpeting.

The bathroom was silent, a serene pool of water over white-and-black tile. The swollen white rug was an island of pale sand in the center of the calm lake.

It was a surreal dream . . . a nightmare.

A little whimper escaped her throat. Why was this happening to her?

She leaned against the doorway and sobbed. Where did you even begin to clean up something like this? And that d.a.m.n valve behind the toilet . . . how could it just stop working?

Through her tears she saw the cool reflection of light on the surface of the water. It had to be draining through pinholes in the tile, down the kitchen ceiling. Would they have to redo the drywall downstairs?

Maybe. But right now, it was pouring out through the lowest point, the light fixture. She had to stop the water as quickly as possible.

With a gasp, she stepped in and waded through the cold water. She grabbed the bucket that held Annie's tub toys, tossed them into the sink, and started bailing. She grabbed another big cup and used two hands, dumping water into the tub as fast as she could. When the cups no longer filled, she got the mop. When she got down to dry tile, she went downstairs to a.s.sess the damage.

Annie slept peacefully against the backdrop of water dripping slowly from the kitchen. Chelsea wished she could slip onto the couch across from her and sleep it all away, too.

The step stool brought her close enough to take down the kitchen fixture. It was a struggle to maintain her balance and keep the globe full of water from slos.h.i.+ng over her chest, but she managed to hobble down and pour it into the sink.

The ceilings didn't look too bad, but there would always be the question of moisture and mold. Did they need one of those restoration teams in here, with those giant fans? She had done an article about them, but she knew they were pricey. Ka-ching. She dried her hands on the kitchen towel and called Leo.

"Hey, hon!" His voice was cheerful but he was shouting over the noise in the background. "You caught me at a meet-and-greet c.o.c.ktail party. Can I call you back?"

"We have a problem here," she said, feeling herself s.h.i.+ver from the damp cold. She'd been working in bare feet, and as she explained about the broken valve, she went over to the thermostat and turned up the heat. There went the gas bill. Ka-ching.

"Are you serious?" Leo said. "What a nightmare!"

"Exactly."

"Are you okay? Is Emma there?"

"She's coming over after her doctor's appointment."

"Chelsea, I'm sorry. Who else can we get to help you?"

"The cleanup is almost done," she lied, realizing that Leo didn't get it. She couldn't wait around for someone else to show up and take care of things.

They discussed calling in a restoration company and decided to wait until Leo got home. As they were talking, she followed a slurry of water to the closet and realized that everything on the floor there was soaked. "Oh, no, the closet! All the water got in."

"What was that? Sorry, but it's hard to hear."

"I gotta go finish it up. Call me later, when your party is over."

"I'm sorry you have to do this alone, hon."

She was sorry, too, but she kept silent, not wanting to ramp up Leo's guilt. "Call me later."

She put a plastic garbage bag on the table, then started lining up their wet boots and sneakers from the closet. There was the bin of hats. A soggy paper bag of clothes to be donated. And the butcher block of kitchen knives. She set that evil item on the center of the table and backed away cautiously.

There wasn't as much water to mop up down here, but Chelsea was eager to be done with it. Her hands were cold and sodden and her feet were like Popsicles on the damp floor. Thank goodness they hadn't upgraded the linoleum to wood yet. When she finally finished the minimum cleanup, her back ached and her feet felt numb. She went to wash her hands at the kitchen sink, but when she turned the k.n.o.b no water came out.

Of course-it was on the same line as the upstairs bathroom. She plodded to the small bath under the stairs, grateful for the tiny stall shower here. She would call a plumber in the morning.

As she lathered up her hands, Annie let out a full-fledged wail. It had been three hours since she'd been fed.

"It never ends," Chelsea muttered as she opened the fridge. She downed a pint of milk without taking a breath, then lifted Annie into her arms. The couch swallowed them both into the nursing den. More like a cave. Chelsea pulled a throw over her frozen feet and unb.u.t.toned her blouse. The sight of the baby nursing lulled her to sleep, but she roused herself to switch Annie to the other side. She dozed again, but Annie rousted her with a fierce shriek.

"What is it?" Chelsea asked.

Her only answer was another cry and a scrunched-up face that looked like she was being knifed in the belly. Colic, again.

Chelsea walked her around, patted her back, whispered sweet encouragements, but Annabelle kept wailing.

Desperate, Chelsea popped her into her stroller and took her out to the driveway for fresh air. The cover of the carport gave a feeling of security, and the night air felt crisp and dry.

There . . . that soothed her. Her cry sputtered to whimpers, then mewls, like a little lamb.

Go to sleep. Go to sleep. Chelsea repeated the mantra in her head as she pushed the stroller back and forth under the carport.

For once, it seemed to work.

Chelsea rolled the stroller up to the porch and put the brakes on. There was no way she was moving this baby right now. She grabbed the blanket from under the stroller and covered Annie up to the chin, then ran inside to pee.

Chapter 13.

Amnio was a double-edged sword: a relief that you could learn so much about your baby before it was born, but frightening to consider that the news about the little being inside you might break your heart.

"That's it," the technician said. "You should hear your results in seven to ten days. Your genetic counselor will call you."

Emma propped herself up on her elbows to watch as the woman wiped gel from the mound of Emma's belly. "And you think it's a girl?"

"Looks that way to me, and I've been doing this for six years."

"A girl." She lay down again and laughed. "Jake is going to be thrilled." And she couldn't wait to tell Chelsea. A playmate for Annabelle! After all the worries, the long months when they had trouble conceiving, it was finally happening for them.

Out in the waiting room, Jake picked up on her good mood. "So it went well?"

"Yup." She slipped on her coat, unable to hold in the news. "It's a girl."

"A little Emma." He grinned. "Double trouble for me."

"And Annabelle is going to have a little cousin to boss around. Sort of the reverse of Chelsea and me."

"It's your bossy big-sister karma coming back to bite you."

She linked her arm through his as they waited for the elevator. "Chelsea's going to be pleased. Do you want to bring dinner over to her?"

"I'll drop you off and make a dinner run. She's probably eager for company with Leo gone all day."

As they went to the car, she told him the test results would take two weeks or so, but he was more focused on the idea of having a daughter.

"We should paint the baby's room pink. We'll get her a pink tricycle. A pink puppy. We'll play Pink for her."

In the pa.s.senger seat, Emma fastened the seat belt and rubbed her belly. "Do you hear that? Your father is a nutcase."

"But I love her." Jake palmed her tummy and spoke to the baby. "I'm celebrating your girl-ness."

Emma laughed. She put her hand over Jake's and turned to him. Something about his broad smile and sleepy eyes gave his face an openness; Jake was a clear lake, and she felt confident that she could see straight through to the bottom and everything there was pure and loving and good. Emma hoped their baby would have that same quality-a broad, friendly face that beamed with approval.

"You're going to make a great father."

The house was dark when Jake pulled up in front. Emma opened the door to the sounds of barking coming from the house next door, mixed with the awful shrieking of a small animal or child.

"Is that Annabelle?" The wails pierced the cold, dry air. Emma closed the car door and tried to filter out the yapping of the neighbor's rat dog.

"Where is she?" Jake leaped over the curb. "Are they out in the backyard?"

Since Emma had a key to the side door, they headed up the driveway that separated Chelsea and Leo's property from their obnoxious neighbor, Louise Pickler. The wailing grew louder as they approached the shadowed darkness under the carport.

"Chelsea?" Emma called tentatively. "Are you there?" She imagined her sister in a daze, dozing on the little bench.

But the only answer was the shriek from the stroller that Emma was just beginning to make out beside the brick steps.

"The baby is out here all alone." Jake paused to lean over the stroller. "Are you okay?" He patted the blanket tucked over the crying baby. "She sounds mad."

"Oh, poor baby!" Emma swooped down and lifted her from the stroller. "Are you cold and scared?" The baby felt stiff in her arms. Emma cuddled and cooed, trying to calm her. Annie's protests faded to a whimper as she pressed her face to Emma's chest, nuzzling for milk. "Where's your mommy?"

"That's what I'm wondering. I hope Chelsea's okay." Jake unlocked the door and held the storm door open for Emma and the baby.

Inside, the kitchen was dark but it smelled clean. Emma flicked the wall switch and the overhead light popped, sparked, and fizzled out. She held Annie close to her chest, ready to bolt out the door. "What the h.e.l.l is going on here?"

"The light shorted out because it's wet." Chelsea's dead voice came from the darkness of the living room. "A valve broke upstairs and everything got flooded."

"Oh, honey. Are you okay?" Emma asked as a table lamp flicked on, revealing mops and buckets leaning against the kitchen counter, and Chelsea in her usual spot on the couch.

Jake blinked in the light, looking around the lampshade at Chelsea. "We found Annie outside in the cold. Did you forget her out there?"

"Annie? Oh. I must have left her out there." Chelsea rubbed her eyes, then pushed herself to the edge of the couch to twist around toward the changing table. "Is she all right?"

"She needs a diaper change." Under the blanket, the baby was soaked through.

Chelsea rubbed her eyes. "I don't think she was out there very long. It was just a few minutes."

With a diaper this wet and soiled, it had been more than a few minutes. Emma didn't want to upset Chelsea, but this was scary behavior. She didn't want to think of the terrible things that could have happened to Annabelle. And what if she and Jake hadn't stopped by?

"The important thing is that you're both okay." Jake kneeled behind the coffee table opposite Chelsea, his voice soothing. Emma loved the way he could calm a volatile situation. "I don't know what you used to mop up that water, but your kitchen sure smells clean."

"A little Murphy Oil Soap." Chelsea raked her dark hair back, and her pretty heart-shaped face revealed the shadows of exhaustion. "It was such a mess."

"Well, it looks pretty good now," Jake said, kindly ignoring the mops and buckets.

"And everyone smells better now," Emma said quietly, walking her fingers over Annabelle's tummy. A poem that their mom had made up popped into her head. "Elephant dad, wrinkled and gray, nudges his baby to greet the day. Elephant mom bats her eyes, telling her baby to reach for the sky."

Annie grinned, watching her with bright eyes.

Emma leaned close, breathing in her baby scent. "Such a sweet baby elephant."

"You two in the mood for some dinner?" Jake asked.

Before Chelsea could answer the doorbell rang.

"Hold that thought," Jake said, going to answer it.

Emma fastened the last snap on yellow fleece footie pajamas that made Annie resemble a little duckling.

"What's going on, officer?" asked Jake.

Emma's heart leaped in her chest. Sweeping Annie into her arms, she went toward the door.

"Someone reported an abandoned infant at this address." The officer seemed small under his bulky, dark winter coat and equipment. The radio clipped to his shoulder, the holstered gun and a nightstick hanging from his belt . . . he seemed so confrontational, standing there in the front vestibule. "Do you know anything about that?"

"There's only one infant at this address." Jake pointed to Annabelle. "And as you can see she's fine now. But she has been crying."

"And she was outside," added Emma. "Sometimes the fresh air calms them."

The officer nodded, obviously satisfied with the explanation. "I'm glad everything's okay."

"Who called?" Chelsea asked.

"One of your neighbors."

"Probably Louise Pickler," Chelsea said.