"Please, take her." Chelsea handed Annabelle to her, pulled her s.h.i.+rt closed, and curled into the couch. "Take her away. Take her home with you so I don't hurt her. I can't be a good mother to her, but I know you'll take care of her. You'll keep her safe."

"Oh, honey, don't say that."

But Chelsea closed her eyes and withdrew into herself, leaving Emma sitting there with the baby in her arms and a terrible feeling of inadequacy.

Chelsea needed help. She had almost run her car off the side of the expressway, and Emma couldn't get her to talk about it. Her arms full of life and beauty, Emma leaned down to kiss the baby's forehead.

Sweet Annabelle . . .

Someday, your mother will be back to normal, and you'll know how much she loves you. Someday, you'll bask in her love.

Hold on, little one. Better days will come.

She let Chelsea doze off while she took Annabelle to her crib and settled her on the mattress. "Sweet dreams."

Back in the living room, Emma picked up two pillows that had fallen to the floor and sat beside her sister. Nestled in the couch, Chelsea rubbed the cuticle of one thumb as if sc.r.a.ping off paint. There was such turmoil in her demeanor, so much raw pain behind her stormy blue eyes.

Emma's heart ached for her.

"About the doctor," Emma began, trying not to badger. "I think it would be better if you saw someone else . . . a specialist."

Chelsea shook her head. "Dr. Volmer is my a.s.signed ob-gyn now. And we can't afford to go out of plan. I promised Leo we could make his health insurance work."

That was so typical of Chelsea: buck up and stick with the plan, even if it was killing you.

"Honey, I'm not going to let you suffer with this just because your lame insurance provider doesn't want to sh.e.l.l out the money. We'll put a little pressure on them and make them pay."

"But they don't listen. I struggle with them every day . . . all the time." Chelsea chewed her thumb as she looked over at the disheveled stack of letters on the desk. "Sounder Health Care does not cave with pressure. They're ruthless. They're still refusing to pay for my C-section. The excuse is that the procedure wasn't preauthorized, which was true. So I keep calling and telling them it was emergency surgery. And they keep saying my doctor has to submit some extra form, which they'll send to me. P.S. Three months later, I still haven't received the form. Instead I've got a mountain of bills they won't pay."

Chelsea wasn't exaggerating; the bills were about to spill off the desk. "But we know they'll pay eventually," Emma pointed out. "Not to diminish your frustration, but a lot of insurers drag their heels. I think they just hope that people like you will give up and pay it themselves."

Chelsea's lower lip jutted out. "We can't afford to pay it."

"I know, honey. I just used you as an example."

Tears flooded Chelsea's eyes. "You don't understand. Every day I call them. Every day they say they'll fix things, but they don't. They haven't paid any of Annabelle's bills either. They say she's not on the plan until they scan her birth certificate. I've sent them five copies. Five. And still they don't have it on record. They say things like 'lost in the mail' or 'it takes time to scan in.' "

"Monsters . . ." Emma felt a rush of sympathy. Normally, her sister would tear into unscrupulous business practices like this, but right now Chelsea didn't have the stamina or strength to fight this battle. "I'll help you straighten it out. Jake, too. We'll get him to sue their a.s.s. But for now, we've got to take care of you. I'm going to call my doctor, Virginia Chin. She's a real woman's advocate and a lot better informed than your Dr. Volmer."

"But we can't afford it," she said. "We're already drowning in insurance bills."

"Don't worry about the money right now. If we can get you in to see Dr. Chin, it will be my gift to you. Mine and Jake's." Emma realized that this would probably cost hundreds of dollars, but at this point she would pay thousands to get help for her sister. She reached into her purse for her cell phone. "I'm going to call her office right now. Maybe she'll get you started on a prescription over the phone."

"Would a doctor really do that?"

"Maybe. It doesn't hurt to ask." Emma rose and paced into the kitchen. The yogurt and berries she'd had for breakfast were a distant memory, and she didn't want to deprive her baby of nutrients. The stack of dirty dishes, with something dark swirling in the water, put a dent in her appet.i.te. She grabbed two slices of cheddar cheese from the fridge, then stepped out into the cold to make her call.

Sucking on the tart cheese while she waited on hold, she circled the little bench in the side yard, an old castoff that Chelsea had turned into a piece of art. Covered with mosaic tiles, it glimmered in the waning light of the pearl-gray winter sky.

The bench was a reminder of Chelsea's vision and resourcefulness. In her work for the magazine she had brought old houses back to life, turning them into beautiful, functional s.p.a.ces.

Emma wanted her sister back. Healthy and happy . . .

Dr. Chin was not available, but the nurse pract.i.tioner came on the line, and Emma quickly explained Chelsea's situation.

Donna agreed that it sounded like Chelsea was suffering from PPD, but the doctor wouldn't prescribe medication without an exam. "Dr. Chin will want to see her."

"But she's in a very dark place," Emma said, stepping into the light streaming out through the kitchen storm door. "She needs help now, and I know Dr. Chin is booked six weeks out."

"Let me check her calendar, but I promise you, we'll squeeze her in sometime in the next week or so. Dr. Chin will stay late if she has to."

Emma's shoulders sank in relief. "Thank you. I'll hold." Shaking off the cold, she stepped into the kitchen with a new sense of hope. It would only take a few minutes to clear those dishes from the sink. She could get this place in order. With Dr. Chin on the case, Chelsea's life would be back on track in no time.

When Donna came back on the line, she apologized about the delay in the doctor's schedule. "I keep forgetting she's away next week at a conference. The best I can do is the following Wednesday." Emma s.n.a.t.c.hed it. Between the appointment with Dr. Chin and the medication, things were looking up for Chelsea.

"Good news!" she chirped, heading into the living room.

Chelsea didn't answer. She was asleep on the couch, her face pressed into the cus.h.i.+on, her back rhythmically rising and falling.

Watching her for a moment, Emma felt a new sense of peace. At last, help was on the way.

It only took fifteen minutes to fill Chelsea's prescription for Nebula at the corner pharmacy. When Emma returned and found both Chelsea and Annie still asleep, she got to work straightening up.

This had been the routine since Annabelle had been born. Chelsea, once the Queen of OCD, could barely lift her head from the couch these days, and Leo sometimes worked long hours. So Emma usually straightened up when she visited. She took care of the dirty diapers and the dishes in the sink. She swept and Swiffered the kitchen floor. She ran a dust cloth over Emma's pride and joy-the beautiful blue-and-white fireplace with precious tiles from the Dutch city of Delft. Painstakingly preserved by Emma and Leo, the fireplace was once the center of their home, the gathering place for family dinners and parties. They had painted all the trim in the room white for a clean look. The walls below the wainscoting were a creamy vanilla, with a cornflower blue on top to pick up the color in the tiles. "Straight out of one of your magazine spreads," Emma had commented when she'd seen the finished room.

"It's a peaceful haven, perfect for the baby," Chelsea had said. Back then, the baby had been the focal point of all her plans and renovations.

Not so much anymore. These days, the fireplace was always dark and cold, though there was a stack of wood piled beside the garage out back. Most likely the ch.o.r.e of fetching wood and building a fire was too much for Chelsea to handle these days. Even the most basic task such as loading the dishwasher or making a sandwich overwhelmed her.

With the woodwork and tiles of the fireplace gleaming, Emma turned to the antique desk in the corner covered by bills from the notorious Sounder Health Care. She didn't dare mess with the paperwork. Poor Chelsea had been fighting with the insurance provider since Annabelle's birth. Emma had come to hate Sounder, but Leo had explained that they had to stick with the plan; it was the only health care coverage his employer provided.

A wooden frame stuck out from under the fold of an invoice. Sighing, Emma slid it out and frowned at the empty shadow box, one of Chelsea's projects. Just before Annabelle was born, Chelsea had talked a mile a minute about creating an archive of her baby's birth mementoes. The knit skullcap from the hospital, a copy of her birth certificate, her footprint and baby booties-these souvenirs would be arranged in the box and decorated with bows that had been saved from Chelsea's baby shower.

Of course, the box was still empty. Gathering dust.

Emma wiped it off and set it on the kitchen table. She was going to take it home, along with the knickknacks and the footprint they'd made with pink paint last week. When she returned next week, she would give it to Chelsea all a.s.sembled. Maybe that would help cheer up her sister.

In the kitchen she noticed the calendar hanging on the cork board. There were two notations under today's date: the appointment with Dr. Volmer and "date night."

Earlier in the week Chelsea had mentioned her plans to have dinner with Leo, their first date in weeks. She had asked Emma to babysit, but Emma and Jake had plans: dinner with one of the partners at Jake's firm. She checked the wall clock.

It would be good for Chelsea to get out. And after Chelsea's episode this afternoon, Emma would feel better knowing Leo would be by her side throughout the evening.

"Hey, sleepyhead. Are you still on for your date with Leo tonight?"

"What?" Slowly, Chelsea's eyes slid open. "Is it Friday?"

"It is. Do you want to start getting ready? I'll listen for Annabelle if you want to take a shower."

Dazed, Chelsea sat up on the couch, pushed off the fleece throw blanket, and raked her hair back. "I forgot about the date. I'm not really in the mood. The black holes are back."

"Well, maybe this will help." Emma took a pink pill from the new container and handed it to her sister. "I got your prescription filled while you were napping."

Chelsea stared off into the distance. "Thanks. I need a shower."

Emma knew that a shower was one of Chelsea's only relaxations. "Indulge yourself."

"Okay." Chelsea rose, letting the blanket drop onto the floor.

Watching her head upstairs without picking it up or straightening the pillows on the couch, Emma found it hard to measure just how far Chelsea's life had wavered off course.

Later, as she styled her sister's long auburn hair with a blow dryer, Emma told her about the appointment with Dr. Chin. "The soonest I could get was a week from Wednesday."

In the mirror, she saw Chelsea's glum expression, the strain of her lips as she mulled it over.

"Is that date okay for you? You didn't have anything on your calendar."

"I guess," Chelsea said, staring down at the floor. "But by that time I'll be all cured from my little pink pills."

"That would be nice, but I'm trying to be realistic. I know you get sick of hearing me be your cheerleader, but these bad times will pa.s.s. This is temporary. Dr. Chin is going to help you, and you're going to start feeling better soon. You'll be your old self again, ripping down walls and building window seats. You'll start to enjoy being a mother. And in six months, my baby will be here, and the cousins can grow together and bond like siblings."

She brushed Chelsea's hair away from her eyes. "They'll be close like us. Two nuts stuck together like peanut brittle." It was an old family expression coined by their uncle John one summer vacation when Chelsea and Emma had spent endless hours together on the lake.

Chelsea nodded, still a million miles away.

"And then I'm going to need your help. You're going to be the one with the experience, while I'll just be learning how to be a mother. You'll help me out, right?"

But Chelsea didn't answer. She just kept staring at the floor, her blue eyes icy and vacant.

Chapter 6.

One hand on the steering wheel, Leo Green sang along under his breath with the radio, allowing himself to feel a little happy. It was the end of the week, his last meeting had gone well, and he and Chelsea had their first dinner date in a long time.

Man, he needed a night out. They both did.

The past few months had been h.e.l.l for Chelsea, he knew that, but he also knew things would get better soon. Well, he hoped so.

Chelsea had gotten a double whammy, losing her mom and then going through a difficult C-section just days later. And because of the baby coming, Chelsea wasn't allowed to fly down to Florida for the funeral. The timing had been terrible.

Judith's death had cast a shadow over their baby's birth-at least for Chelsea. From the outside looking in, Leo could see that without being swept away by the feelings that had overcome his wife. Emotional grief from losing her mother and physical shock and pain from the surgery. If depression was a churning river, Chelsea had slipped in around the time of their baby's birth and she was still struggling against the current.

And here I am, kneeling at the edge of the river, clutching her hand to keep her from being swept away.

He wouldn't give up. He kept trying to pull her out. But honestly, he had thought they would have made some progress by now. Three whole months. People lost their parents, and time healed those wounds, right? And the doctor said her body was fully recovered from the C-section. But still, whenever Leo was around, she sat in the corner of the couch, curled in a ball. Tuned out, checked out . . . sometimes emotionally vacant. When she cried, she couldn't tell him what had set her off.

This was not the girl he had married. He had fallen in love with a capable, fast-talking dynamo of energy. Full of life and ideas and dreams and hopes . . . that was the thing. Chelsea's beautiful blue eyes had lost that glimmer of hope.

Sometimes, when he talked about news from the office or possible renovations to their house, she perked up. She would lift her head from the sofa and speak and even fire back ideas at him. Traces of the old Chelsea made him wonder if it had been a mistake to let her give up her job at the magazine to be a full-time mom, but when Chelsea made that decision there'd been no arguing with her. "A baby needs full-time care the first year of its life," she had told Leo, "and I'm not going to let someone else step in and do that for us. I'm the DIY Girl, right? I'm going to be home for our baby."

Her decision had appealed to the part of him that loved old traditions. His mom had been at home for him and his siblings, and though he'd resented her meddling at times, in the long run he knew that her watchful eye and guidance had kept them all on the right path.

He wanted the same for his daughter . . . but somehow it wasn't working out that way. Right now, Chelsea wasn't there for anyone. Not for him or for Annabee. Her aloofness had pressed him to spend more time cuddling and cajoling little Lady Baldy. He and the baby had bonded in a way that surprised him, but he hated seeing Chelsea watching them from the outside. It tore him up to see her crying, and it really annoyed him when she said there was nothing wrong.

But he was past annoyance now.

He had moved into action phase, pressing her to reach out for help, and finally, Chelsea was there, too.

She had made an appointment with her doctor. Today was the day, and from talking with Emma he was pretty sure his wife would be starting on antidepressants. "Postpartum depression," Emma had called it. He didn't know much about women's things, but he was glad it had a name and a cure. Medication and maybe some counseling. Once Chelsea figured it out, she would be all over it, driving across town to therapy and setting her phone alarm to remember her medication.

Or at least that was the way Chelsea used to be, before the baby.

He couldn't wait for the day when he came home from work and found his old Chelsea back, turning the attic shutters into a coffee table or coming up with a design to turn an unused closet into a powder room. For Leo, there was no turn-on like a woman who knew how to use a miter box and wield a hammer.

The glare of the setting sun made him squint, and he reached for his sungla.s.ses. Driving had always been therapeutic for him, and it was even better to be driving on a Friday after kicking b.u.t.t in a meeting. Things were looking up.

His cell phone rang, and a local number he didn't recognize came up on the screen. Probably someone calling from Olney Inc. After the presentation he'd just made, they had to be ready to sign on. "This is Leo."

"Did you miss me?"

The sultry tone of the woman's voice made him sure that this wasn't one of the client's reps in the meeting. "Who's this?"

The laugh that cascaded through his car chilled him.

Jennifer.

What was his ex-wife doing, calling on a local line? "I didn't recognize the number."

"Or what? You wouldn't have answered? I know you've been ignoring my calls. I hate that."

Leo wanted to cut the line right then, but he knew that would only rile her into doing something obnoxious. "Why are you calling me, Jen? Remember our talk about moving on? Living our own lives?" After the divorce, he'd tried to be a friend to her, but it didn't work out that way. Whenever they had talked, she had felt compelled to tell him every little detail of her wayward love life. He had suspected that she'd been trying to make him jealous so that he'd come running back to her, but it wasn't going to happen. He had broken up because he couldn't stand being smothered by her. Well, that and she was a little too crazy for him. The good crazy, the "let's do it in the fitting room at the mall" hadn't aged well for Leo. Once it was over, he had never looked back.

"You didn't tell me you had a baby," she said flatly.

His teeth locked painfully. d.a.m.n! The more she knew about his personal life, the worse things would be. "There are a lot of things I don't tell you. What did you do, hack the files at Social Security?"

Her laugh sounded forced, a witch's cackle. "Silly. I drove by your house and saw wifey with the stroller."

"What are you doing in New Roch.e.l.le?"

"If you'd answered my messages, you'd know I'm back."

Whenever Leo saw that he had a message from Jennifer, he deleted it right away. Life was too short to listen to messages from your ex-wife.