There was a stunned silence as the rest of the patients stopped whatever they'd been doing to scan the room for the six-foot tennis player. Vivi winced as she slipped her sungla.s.ses back on and stood. She could feel every eye in the place on her as she crossed the room. Clearly, she was going to have to do a little better in the alias department if she wanted to remain incognito.

"Have you felt the baby move yet?" Dr. Gilbert's hands were warm and gentle on the taut skin of Vivien's stomach.

She nodded her head as he probed gently; she still started with surprise every time she felt what had to be a kick or a jab.

"Here's the top of your uterus," he said kneading a spot just above her belly b.u.t.ton. "The baby's about one and a half pounds now. He's definitely outgrown the fruit references, though your stomach will hit that watermelon stage along the way."

Vivien smiled at his teasing tone.

"Any swelling?" he asked as he pulled the band of her underpants back into place and pulled the gown closed in front.

She shook her head again, figuring the swelling of her stomach went without saying.

"All your vitals look good," he said as he helped her sit up. "How are you feeling?"

"You mean other than the constipation, heartburn, and gas? And the fact that I can't seem to keep a thought in my head for more than five minutes at a time?"

"That's standard operating procedure," he said. "Most of your brain cells will come back after you give birth. Or at least once the baby starts sleeping through the night."

"And how long is that likely to take?" she asked.

"It depends. Every situation, like every baby, is different. But I'd say somewhere between a couple of months and a couple of years."

Vivien blinked. "Years?"

He shrugged. "It's not the norm, but it happens."

"This is one of those small details that I think women should be made aware of before they get pregnant."

"If there was full disclosure, I'd be out of business." Dr. Gilbert smiled at her, but he didn't sound too worried. He paused a moment, then nodded toward the chair where her clothes lay folded. "My a.s.sistant mentioned that you were, um, hiding behind a trench coat and dark gla.s.ses when you arrived. And that you signed in as Venus Williams." He cleared his throat. "Are you in some kind of trouble?"

Vivien blushed. She'd felt like an imbecile sneaking into the office in her "disguise" and, of course, the alias she'd chosen had been ill-advised. But the last thing she needed was for Matt Glazer to figure out which doctor she'd been visiting and why.

"No, I, um. . . ." She closed her eyes for a moment but couldn't come up with a lie that was remotely convincing. "I haven't told anyone about my pregnancy yet, and I just didn't want word to get out until I was ready."

He nodded. "Well, of course that's your business. But I'm not sure how much longer you're going to be able to keep it a secret," he said. "You're carrying small, but your shape is definitely changing. And you're going to get a lot bigger before it's all over."

He smiled and signed off on the paperwork he held in his hands. "I will promise you that my people know better than to give out information about our patients. You can be a.s.sured of that."

After the doctor had left, Vivien put on her trench coat and dark gla.s.ses and pulled the hat low on her head. Although it was hard to see with her shades on, Vivien managed to pay for the visit and schedule her next checkup as well as an ultrasound at the checkout desk. Then she walked quickly through the waiting room, which was still packed with bellies of all sizes, with her head down and her face averted.

Once again, she felt slightly ridiculous but while she had no doubt that Dr. Gilbert believed in his staff's discretion, she also knew Matt Glazer. His first piece about her had stirred up all kinds of attention. He was unlikely to drop something that had struck that loud a chord.

As it turned out, Dr. Gilbert was right about the difficulty of keeping her pregnancy a secret. That very afternoon Vivien was dressing, or rather trying to figure out what on earth she could squeeze into that would see her through decorating the ballroom as well as tonight's cla.s.s, when Melanie rapped lightly on her bedroom door and entered, catching Vivi studying herself unhappily in the dresser mirror.

"Looks like I unearthed these just in time." Melanie held up a short stack of clothing, which she placed on the bed.

"I hope they're extra larges," Vivien said as Melanie came to stand beside her, both of them now studying Vivien's reflection in the mirror. The gap in the black pants had stretched well beyond safety pin range and the camisole was so tight that it made her already sensitive b.r.e.a.s.t.s hurt. And there was, of course, the fact that she couldn't actually breathe.

"Oh, they are," Melanie smiled as she plopped down on the foot of the bed. "What are you now, around the end of your fifth month?"

Vivien stared at her sister's smiling reflection in the mirror while she tried to think what to say. A denial sprang to her lips.

"Don't bother denying it, Vivi," Melanie said. "I've been pregnant three times and given birth twice. Your stomach hasn't popped all the way, but the signs are pretty hard to miss."

Vivien dropped down onto the bed beside her sister. "How long have you known?"

Melanie shrugged. "A while. Honestly, if I hadn't been so blown away by your coming to stay and my life in general, I probably would have known the first time I watched you eat." She laughed. "The b.o.o.bs are a dead giveaway. And so is the stomach, kiddo."

"And here I thought I had everyone but Evangeline fooled."

"I saw her torturing you on Thanksgiving." Melanie laughed again. "I thought you were going to choke on all those vegetables."

"Worst Thanksgiving ever," Vivien acknowledged. "I didn't even get a piece of pumpkin pie."

"I carried a lot bigger than you when I was pregnant," Melanie said. "I just sort of . . . inflated. I used to envy those women who stayed the same except for a little pouch of a stomach." She smoothed a hand over the stack of clothes. "I kind of liked having b.o.o.bs, though. I really hated to give those up."

Vivien sighed. "Are you kidding? I feel like they're alive; they've taken over everything."

"Just wait until you start nursing and you feel them fill up with milk." Melanie's sigh was a happy one. "I loved nursing Shelby and Trip. I felt so . . . necessary. In those early months you are absolutely all they need."

"I don't know," Vivien said. "I never pictured myself as a milk dispenser, though I am feeling pretty cowlike." She paused. "Or as a mother, really."

"How does Stone feel about it? It must be so hard for him to be away."

Vivien took the top piece of clothing from the stack Melanie had brought. It was a pair of khaki pants with an elastic waist and stretch fabric at the stomach.

"Is he upset? Unhappy about you being pregnant?"

Vivien refolded the pants and reached for the next item. It was a black knit top with three-quarter sleeves and a generous pleat down the front. There were black knit pants to match.

"Because it takes two people to make a baby, you know. It's not like you got pregnant all by yourself. Why he should . . ."

Vivien kept her gaze on the clothes, trying not to think about Stone and really not wanting to talk about him. There was a pair of jeans and a white long-sleeved oxford shirt that looked tailored but had generous panels on the sides. The last items didn't seem to belong with the others. The first was a low-cut fuchsia halter top in a thin stretchy material meant to tie around the neck and across the back. With it was a matching palazzo style pant designed to ride low on the hips, exposing the midriff. Vivien wasn't sure if it was designed for the bedroom or a nightclub, but it looked vaguely familiar. "Where did this come from?"

"It was a gift," Melanie said. "Someone sent it to me when I was pregnant with Shelby."

"This?" Vivien held the pieces up. Even at eight weeks the outfit would have looked ludicrous. She didn't even want to think about how it would make her look now. "What moron sent this outfit to a pregnant woman?

Melanie raised an eyebrow. There was a strange expression on her face. "You did."

Vivien blinked in shock. If ever there was a symbol of just how far apart she and Melanie had grown, how little she'd understood or cared about the life her sister was living, this outfit was it. Vivien could hardly believe that she'd acknowledged her little sister's pregnancy and impending motherhood with an outfit better suited for an exotic dancer than a mother-to-be.

"Oh, my G.o.d," Vivien whispered. "I was such an idiot." Her sister had called her all excited about her pregnancy and Vivien had sent her lingerie. Had she imagined it would be stretchy and comfortable? Or had she thought that maybe Melanie would like something s.e.xy for after the delivery? "What was I thinking?"

But of course that was the point. The occasion had required a gift and she had sent one. She hadn't really been thinking about Melanie at all.

"Oh, Mel. I am so sorry. I was so out of tune with you. I didn't understand . . . anything. And I didn't try to."

Melanie took the pink strips of fabric from Vivien and laid them out on the bed. "I put it on once for J.J. when I was about nine months pregnant." Her lips quirked upward. "He told me all I needed was a pole and a stage." A giggle escaped as she looked at Vivien and then back at the outfit. "We laughed for a good thirty minutes." Another giggle. "And believe me, when you're that far along, there aren't all that many things that feel even remotely funny."

Melanie slipped the halter over Vivien's head and over the straining blouse. "I'm so glad I saved it for you," Melanie said as she tied the ends behind Vivien's back. Another giggle escaped. "It's perfect!"

They erupted into laughter then, side-splitting, stomach-jiggling, can't-get-your-breath laughter. They laughed so hard that tears started to form.

They stopped trying to talk and just gave in to the laughter. Vivi felt it deep down in her fingers and toes. It suffused her body; she even imagined it twining its way down into the strands of her DNA. She had no doubt that her cantaloupe-sized little one could feel it, too.

They rolled on the bed in their mirth, laughing and giggling. Every time one of them began to get herself under control the other would snicker and they'd be helpless again.

"Oh, my G.o.d," Melanie finally got out. "I can't think of the last time I laughed this hard." She lay limp on the bed.

"My life hasn't felt all that funny lately, either," Vivien said. "Embarra.s.sing and humiliating, yes. Funny? No." She, too, lay on her back, staring up at the guest room ceiling.

Without moving, Melanie reached over and grasped the tissue box from the nightstand. She pulled one out and handed it to Vivien then took another for herself. They both dabbed at their eyes and cheeks. Vivien hiccupped sporadically. Other than that neither of them moved.

"You know," Melanie said in the silence. "I'm going to need to say something to the kids about their cousin-to-be. I don't want them surprised in the wrong way or unclear about what's going on."

Vivien nodded.

"Now, tell me how Stone feels about the baby."

Vivien continued to stare up into the ceiling, but there were no answers there. It was an incredible relief not to be shouldering the burden of her secret alone anymore. She'd been dying to talk to Melanie about her pregnancy. She'd begun to feel overwhelmed by the enormity of what lay ahead and was keen to share the experience with someone who had already been through it. But accepting help and support also opened her up to unwanted advice. Melanie considered marriage and motherhood her greatest achievements; she would never understand Vivien's reservations about either.

"He doesn't know," Vivien said so quietly that she almost didn't hear it.

"What did you say?" Melanie sat up on the foot of the bed and waited for Vivien to do the same.

Shoulder to shoulder, they turned to face each other.

"He doesn't know I'm pregnant," Vivien said. "I haven't told him yet."

Melanie's forehead creased in confusion. "I don't understand," she said. "Don't you love him? Are you afraid he won't want to be involved?"

"No," Vivien said, all the laughter gone as if it had never been. She caught a glimpse of the two of them in the dresser mirror. She was fuller and rounder than Melanie; her hair was shorter. Her eyes more uncertain. But at the moment they wore equally earnest expressions.

"Just the opposite," Vivien said. "I'm completely afraid that he will."

MELANIE WAITED IN the kitchen while Vivien changed into the black knit maternity top and slacks. No doubt she'd need at least one trip to the potty before they could leave to meet Ruth and Angela, who had offered to come before cla.s.s to help decorate the ballroom for the holidays.

Melanie closed her eyes and ma.s.saged her forehead as she contemplated the Christmas season-their third without J.J.-that lay ahead. Once again they'd have to decorate without him, bake cookies and drink cider without him, wake up Christmas morning and exchange presents without him. Time was supposed to heal all wounds and in many ways the gaping hole in their lives had begun to knit; it just took so little to tear it back open.

Opening her eyes, Melanie turned her attention to the mound of clutter that covered her kitchen counter. Needing to be busy, she pulled the trash can over and began to work her way through it. The circulars and sales pieces went into the trash. The school notices and miscellaneous were stuffed into a cubicle above her kitchen desk where they would most likely sit until the beginning of the next school year when she would finally feel safe in jettisoning them. The most difficult to deal with were the quasi-personal things like the flood of Christmas letters that had begun to arrive. Some were from people she hadn't spoken to in years but who apparently felt the need to fill her in on every single thing that had happened in the past twelve months.

Pretty much none of these letters mentioned children who had ended up in jail, were still living at home because they refused or were unable to get a job, or whose social skills were nonexistent. In these letters only the positive was worth mentioning, and the more positive the better. Even those couched in humor were designed to make the recipient feel as if their family didn't quite measure up. They were exercises in one-upmanship cloaked in holiday cheer.

Catherine Dennison's, which had been mailed despite the fact that the woman lived only a few houses away, was a prime example. Claire, Pucci, and I wish you the best of holidays. We will be celebrating with friends in Aspen again this year and can hardly wait to hit the slopes. A photo of the three of them-who knew skis came doggie-sized-was included. Pucci's ski clothes were the height of doggie couture, and the small ball of fur looked quite determined behind his designer ski goggles.

In the new year, Claire, who has been identified as a potential merit scholar, will take the SAT. Although we typically travel to Europe over spring break, this April will be spent touring Ivy League schools. We will do our best to keep you posted.

Melanie crumpled the letter and dropped it in the trash. She couldn't even get Shelby to talk about the SAT let alone sign up to prepare for it; their relationship seemed to worsen by the hour.

"Viv!" she shouted up the stairs before heading out to fire up the van. "Hurry up! We're going to be late."

Despite Melanie's impatience, Vivien stopped in the downstairs guest bathroom to make what seemed like the millionth pit stop of the day. As she washed her hands she noticed that the washbasin didn't exactly sparkle. When she looked up at her reflection in the vanity mirror, it was pockmarked with water spots. Rushing out to the garage, she spied several black streaks on the hardwood floor.

As they pulled out of the neighborhood and onto 120, she said, "You need to have a talk with your cleaning people, Mel. I think they've gotten a bit lazy."

Melanie didn't look at her as she said, "I had to let Amanda go eight months ago. I just couldn't justify the expense."

"Oh," Vivien said, realizing as she spoke that she hadn't actually seen a cleaning person since she'd been at Melanie's. "I thought she came while we were out." She turned to Melanie, who was still looking straight ahead. "But someone's been changing my sheets every week and delivering fresh towels. And . . ." Vivien's voice trailed off as she realized who that someone was. "Good G.o.d, Mel, why didn't you say something?"

Melanie shrugged, finally turning to look at her. "What was there to say?"

"Well, I would have at least taken care of my own room and bath." Vivien cringed when she thought of all the work she must have added to Melanie's already overwhelming load; the wet towels she'd dropped in the hamper without a second thought. "I sure as h.e.l.l hope Shelby and Trip have been helping."

Melanie snorted. "Right. You've seen what it takes to get them to clear the table or do the dishes. It takes a lot more energy to force them to do something than it does to do it myself."

"Have you been doing everyone's laundry?"

Melanie continued to stare out the windshield, her eyes on the road. "I taught both kids how and every year I swear I'm not going to touch their clothes. But Shelby would just wait until she didn't have a single clean thing to wear and then use that as an excuse for not being able to get ready for school. And Trip would keep wearing his dirty clothes until you could barely be in the same city block with him. It just wasn't worth the ha.s.sle."

"Well, that's ridiculous. You can't do everything all the time. We need to get them on the stick and I'll certainly help."

"Have you ever mopped a floor or really scrubbed a toilet bowl?"

"Well . . ."

"I never had, either. I mean we always had Evangeline and whoever she was torturing at the time. And after J.J. and I got married he insisted we have someone in every other week for the heavy cleaning. But the economy sucks and I had a lot of the insurance money in stocks and, of course, business at the studio is down." She paused as she slowed for a light. "I just can't see spending money on a cleaning service when I can handle it myself."

"Right," Vivi said as she berated herself for being so dense. Tonight she'd discovered how little attention she'd paid to her sister's pregnancies, but at least she'd had the excuse of distance and work. How could she have been living in her sister's house for over a month and not noticed that her sister was the maid?

20.

AT THE MAGNOLIA Ballroom, a low samba played over the speakers. In a far corner a couple practiced a ch.o.r.eographed routine while an instructor looked on. The man was tall and lithe with silver hair and patrician features. The clothes he wore were black and well tailored. His partner looked a good twenty years younger and had a dancer's svelte body. They moved gracefully in each other's arms, each movement of the head and hand intentional and eye-catching. "That's Lawrence Reardon and his partner, Carlotta. They're competing next weekend," Melanie explained. "They've been with Enrique for a long time; he does all their ch.o.r.eography."

Ruth and Angela stood near a group of tables piled high with cardboard boxes marked "Xmas." Ruth held an electric menorah. Angela, who was wearing what Vivi had come to think of as her trademark baggy black, stood next to an artificial Christmas tree roughly her height. She flashed both of them a smile.

Ruth gave Melanie a big hug. Vivien got a nod and the once-over. Without preamble Ruth asked, "When are you due?"

Nonplussed, Vivien bit back the "None of your business" and "What makes you think I'm pregnant?" that sprang to her lips.

"She didn't think anybody had noticed," Melanie said.