Friday : May 25, 2007

Bess peered through the peep hole and sighed, leaning her head against the cracked paint.

"I know you're in there, Bessie," Margaret's muffled voice still managed to sound sharp and even a little bossy. "Open the door, please."

Bess threw the bolt and jerked the door open, "I guess I owe Mary twenty dollars," she said with a bitter laugh. "She said you wouldn't leave us alone."

"You should listen to Mary." Margaret hesitated on the threshold. "Might I come in?"

"Sure," Bess dropped her arm and swept it towards the apartment. "Welcome to the Higgins Hell Hole, population eight. I'm thinking of making a sign."

Margaret's soft eyes took in the chaos of garbage, dishes, clothes, toys, and dirt with a look of pity that made Bess want to smack her. Ever since the judge awarded her custody of her six cousins, Bess felt like life was slipping out of control. Her father moved out and now it was up to her to keep everything together. The bastard. Bess opened the bottle of whisky on the counter and dumped some in a cup. She didn't care what Margaret might say. She needed this drink.

"Mary's not here," Bess added, slumping down onto the threadbare couch. "And the little ones are napping."

"I didn't come to see Mary or the babies," Margaret replied, retrieving a plastic trash bag from the kitchen. "You've been avoiding me ever since the funeral."

"Can you blame me?" Bess turned, shoving aside the remains of the takeout from last night with her foot. "My life is falling to shit and now they want me to play mom to six kids. It's fucking insane." Bess scrubbed her face with her hands. "I'm half alcoholic myself, Marg."

"I know," Margaret continued to toss odd bits of garbage and food into the bag.

"Of course you do," Bess spat. "Because everyone and their mother seems to know all our business these days. Did your stupid-ass husband tell you or did you just read my file—"

"Don't you dare drag him into this," Margaret's head snapped up, and her eyes flashed. "John would never violate your privacy, not even for me."

Bess scowled, shoving away the wave of guilt that tore over her. Her eyes stung, and no matter how hard she tried, the tears came anyway. She buried her face in her hands. When she felt the couch cushion shift and Margaret's gentle hand on her shoulder, a sob tore out of her throat.

"It's alright."

"Go to hell," Bess swiped at her face with her sleeve. "My whole life everything's been shot to hell and I'm so damn tired of it. I just—"

"You want to stop caring. It's why you drink."

Bess stared at her, swallowing hard. "Yeah. Something like that." She tried to stop crying but the tears kept coming. "I can barely take care of myself. How the hell am I supposed to take care of six kids? Dad couldn't even do it, and I—"

"You're not him," Margaret insisted, pulling her handkerchief from her pocket. She handed it to Bess.

Bess mopped her face, her hand brushing the stitched initials in the corner. "Marg—I know what John did for us. I know all of it. And I know I should be grateful and I am but—but I just—I don't want his help, I don't want help from anyone, and—"

"Bessie, I asked him to help."

"Of course you did," Bess shook the tears out of her eyes and shoved the handkerchief back at her friend. "God, I'm such a mess."

"What do you need?"

"A different life."

"Besides that."

"I need to get off long hauls," Bess stared at her hands. "I can't leave Mary with the kids for weeks at a time with CPS breathing down my neck, but I don't know what else to do—"

"Liar."

Bess flinched, staring at her friend a little incredulously. Margaret was starting to sound too much like John. Stupid married people.

"We both know Marlborough Shipping has local deliveries."

"He won't give that to me," Bess groaned. "Locals are the prime job—"

"Ask him," Margaret stood and began to tidy once more. "Do it Monday and call me when he says yes."

"You don't understand." Bess tossed back her whiskey. "I've known John for six years, Marg. He'll say no."

"You're wrong," Margaret spoke slowly, her voice firm. "I used to think John was unreasonable but he's not. He's just—"

"An asshole."

Margaret paused, eyes flashing, "Only I'm allowed to call my husband an asshole, Elizabeth Higgins. Do it again and you can clean this bloody flat all by yourself."

Bess grunted and pulled herself to her feet. She grabbed a trash bag and started filling it. They worked together in silence for several minutes, the clock ticking loudly from it's forlorn spot on the wall.

"I'm sorry I'm being such a bitch," Bess tied the strings of her trash bag.

"You're not." Margaret smiled a little. "You're just scared."

"Aren't you?" Bess cast about for the right words. "Knowing there's a tiny person relying on you to keep your shit together? You've only got three and a half months left until you give birth—" Bess shivered. "I'd be terrified."

Margaret's hand stole across her belly for just a moment before she slowly tied the plastic strings on her trash bag."I don't know," she said at last. "I'm still afraid but it's not the same anymore."

"How so?"

"Bessie, I didn't come to talk about me—"

"But talking about you keeps me from thinking about my own shit. Besides, watching you and John fumble over each is fun. What's happened?"

"I—I've decided that I—well, I think I'd like to be in love with John, that's all." Margaret tucked a lock of hair behind her hair.

"Really? You just decided you want to be in love now?"

"Yes."

"Poor John." Bess snorted. "I hope this means you're having sex with him regularly—"

Margaret rolled her eyes "Stop."

"So yes?"

"No! I mean, yes—but—"

"So you are having regular sex?"

"Oh, shut up."

"Please just grease him up before I ask him for the locals."

"Forget I said anything," Margaret shoved her and busied herself with the dishes.

"So how exactly do you plan to make yourself fall in love with him?"

"The bloody hell if I know," Margaret snapped and Bess snorted again, choking on her laughter as she tried to hold it back."I'm so glad you're entertained by my blundering love life."

"If you want to fall in love here's what you do." Bess held up a finger. "First, you really should have sex every day if you can."

"Bessie, stop with the sex—"

Bess held up a second finger, " Second, fake it till you make it."

"Fake what exactly?"

"Being in love. It's not that hard."

Margaret's flushed an angry red. "That's your advice?"

"You really should listen to me. I know shit."

"Brilliant for you."

"It's a recipe for success," Bess insisted, "All those damn rom-coms you and Mary adore agree with me."

"I'm leaving now," Margaret set the garbage bag down and moved to the door. But then she stopped, "I thought you said I was already in love with John."

"You are," Bess shrugged. "You're just a stubborn-ass who has to do everything the hard way. Kind of like John."

Bess sighed as the door shut with a thud. She picked up the whiskey bottle, took a large drink, and glanced at the wall calendar. Three and a half months was plenty of time for Margaret to realise she was in love, but— Bess shook her head and made a silent bet with herself. Thorntons never did anything the easy way.


Saturday : May 26, 2007

Margaret blew her bangs out of her face and cut through the tape on another box. The stacks of their meager possessions were as neat and orderly as John could make them, but she was tired of living in a museum of boxes. With each passing day Margaret felt a new sense of urgency to make their flat into a home—or as much of a home as she could manage. Margaret rubbed her eyes and glanced at the plastic clock propped on the shelf. Next to it hung the yellow sticky note John had left for her that morning.

Working late today. John

Margaret sighed a little and pulled an armful of books from the box. John always worked late these days, but he never forgot to let her know what time to expect him. Over the weeks she'd grown quite fond of his little notes. But vague ones without a specific time meant the work was starting to pile up faster than he could chip away at it.

Margaret pushed her hair out of her eyes again and frowned. John needed help, but he'd never admit it. His stubborn refusal to ask for help irritated her. Margaret's eyes darted to the clock again as her stomach growled.

"All right then, little love," she rubbed her swollen belly. Since crossing into the second trimester Margaret's appetite had returned with a vengeance. "Time for a break."

Margaret rummaged about the tiny kitchenette, fixing a plate of food but her mind refused to settle. Her conversation with Bess continued to nag at her. Margaret couldn't think of a logical reason why pretending to be in love was a bad idea but she couldn't shake the feeling it was horribly unfair to John. Yet doing nothing wasn't an option. She had to do something, didn't she?

Margaret slammed her plate down. She was a terrible actress. The one school play she'd been forced to perform in had ended in disaster. She'd been mercifully cut from the cast and sworn off the creative arts.

Maybe tidying the flat was her poor attempt at romance. John deserved something more but she had no idea what to do. The edge of a polaroid tucked behind the tea tin caught her eye and Margaret pulled it out, smiling a little. She'd taken it last weekend while John poured over the Depot's finances. She glanced at their tiny table where several stacks of files were scattered across the space.

He hadn't bothered to eat that day. John rarely thought about food when he was working. A flair of irritation niggled her and Margaret set the picture back. He was going to work himself to death.

"Impossible man." She muttered and picked up the phone, punching the number for the Depot.

But even after several rings, there was no answer.


John rubbed his eyes and glanced at his watch. He'd just finished his rounds in the bay and he was already up to his neck in problems, plus the files on his desk were piled sky high.

Time for another round of coffee.

John passed Slick Higgins with a grunt on his way to the office. The old trucker slammed his locker and said nothing. Few words were ever exchanged between the drivers and John, but this was worse than usual. Slick was still under investigation by CPS and Bess Higgins had been granted temporary custody of the Boucher children until further notice. It was better than having his mother keep them, but nobody seemed happy with the arrangement.

Margaret was spending most of her free time trying to help Mary and Bess find their feet without Slick. John shook his head. He understood why she was doing it but he wished his wife wouldn't try to save the whole damn world all on her own. Stubborn ass woman. John slammed through his office door, and made straight for the coffee pot. He stopped.

The machine was full of fresh coffee.

"What the hell?"

John glanced around but Williams was still minding the radio and Bess wouldn't be in today. John was the only other person that could coax the damn machine into making a pot of coffee. He poured himself a cup, taking a tentative sip.

"Damn, that's good."

It was better than his.

John turned and stopped again. A brown paper sack sat in the center of his desk. Inside were four hefty sandwiches, a large serving of carrot sticks, and three apples. John sat heavily, his stomach growling, trying to think.

Who would actually bother to bring him lunch? His mother gave that up years ago, and Fanny didn't give a damn if he ate or not. John noticed the small square of purple paper stapled to the side of the bag and pulled it off.

Please eat. Maggie

John stared at the note, reading and rereading it. Then he stepped across the hall and ducked into the small nook where Williams sat at the band radio.

"Did you see my wife come in?"

"Today?" Williams scratched his cheek. "Not that I recall. Is that coffee fresh?"

John nodded, heading back to his desk. Williams followed behind him, pouring himself some coffee. John settled himself and made quick work of the first sandwich. Williams blew on his cup, and sipped his coffee.

"Shit. This is good. Did you switch flavors?"

"No," John stared again at the note laying in the center of his desk. "My wife made it."

And she made him lunch. The constant ache in his stomach eased a little as he quickly finished his second sandwich.

"Can she make the coffee tomorrow?"

John stared at the steam rising off his cup, ignoring Williams as the older man grunted, and moseyed to the futon. He picked up the purple square of paper, read it one more time, folded it carefully in half, and tucked it into his shirt pocket. Then he sorted through the pile of work on his desk, creating two stacks. He glanced at his watch again.

"I'm leaving at seven," he said, shoving aside the first stack. He would work on it at home.

"What about our budget meeting with Mr. Bell?"

"I'll reschedule it. Be here at six on Monday." John bit into the first apple, and scribbled a note to himself.

"Bell's gonna bitch like a wet cat on a cold day if you reschedule that meeting again."

"I don't give a shit," John finished the apple and tossed the core at the trash. "I'm going home at seven."

"Whatever you say, Master." Williams shook his head and topped off his cup. "Does your wife have anything to do with your sudden decision to rearrange the entire day?"

"Get out."


Monday : May 28, 2007

It was always dark when John woke up. He stared into the blackness until he could make out the ceiling fan and the boxes that lined the room, listening to the soft sounds of Margaret breathing. He'd spent most of weekend working in silence. But the work—and the quiet—had been different somehow. Less strained.

And Margaret had been there, quietly unpacking boxes, humming softly to herself. On Sunday she'd left for work and John found himself counting the hours and minutes until she'd come back.

John rolled over and ran his fingers through Margaret's mess of brown curls. In the past few weeks since all the chaos of Tom's funeral, something had shifted between him and his wife, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what. John hadn't mentioned it to Margaret because he wasn't quite sure what to say or even how say it, whatever the hell it was.

John leaned over and kissed Margaret's cheek, resisting the temptation to wake her up just so he could say goodbye. He shook himself and sat up. It took less than ten minutes for him to shower and dress, telling himself he'd shave tomorrow. Which gave him five stolen minutes with Margaret. John sat down on the edge of the bed and laid his hand on Margaret's stomach.

"Take care of your mom while I'm gone."

Like always, John was rewarded with a firm kick. He never got tired that. John smiled and stood, gathering his gun, pocket knife, cell phone, keys, and hat. He hesitated before he tucked his wallet into his back pocket. Margaret's note was still inside, folded up with the ultrasound.

John couldn't shake the need to do something for Margaret, for both of them, but he didn't know what. He sighed. He hated vague shit like this. He also hated the nagging feeling that he was missing something, some piece of a puzzle he couldn't figure out. John glanced at Margaret again before scribbling on the yellow pad of sticky notes he kept in his sock drawer. He stuck the small square of paper to Margaret's phone.

It wasn't much, but for now it was all he had.


John was a little surprised to see Bess Higgins sitting in the hall outside the office. John stepped inside, took the cup of coffee Williams handed him, and sat down with a grunt.

"Has Mr. Bell called?"

"Not yet."

"What's Higgins doing here?"

"She was here when I opened."

The handset on John's desk rang and he took a large swallow of coffee, "She'll have to wait."


Margaret fiddled with her order pad, her eyes shooting back and forth between the wall clock in the restaurant and the clock on her mobile. Surely Bess had been in to see John by now, but she hadn't called. Margaret chewed the skin around her thumbnail. She'd been certain John would say yes when she'd told Bess to ask for the local deliveries.

But what if she was wrong?

She shook her head. She didn't have anything other than a nagging feeling but somehow Margaret knew she wasn't wrong.

Margaret slipped her hand into her apron pocket and pulled out her planner, flipping it open to the back inside cover where she'd stuck John's note from that morning. When he'd come home early and completely unexpected on Saturday, Margaret longed to know if he'd been pleased with her lunch but had been too embarrassed to ask. Margaret smiled to herself as she read his note again.

Your coffee is better than mine. John

"Margaret," Bill snapped. "I'm not paying you to moon about like an air-headed teenager."

"But I am a teenager," Margaret pointed out, closing her planner and slipping it back into her apron.

Before he could reply, her mobile buzzed.

"Excuse me, Bill," Margaret slipped into the kitchen, wriggling between the walk-in and the sink. "Bessie?"

"Margaret Ann, explain yourself this instant."

"Aunt Shaw?" Margaret's stomach lurched, and she almost dropped her mobile. "How—how are you this morning?"

"Are you pregnant?" Aunt Shaw interrupted.

Margaret pressed her eyes closed. So much for asking Edith to keep a secret. She never could when they were children but Margaret had hoped her cousin might actually try for once.

"Aunt—"

"Edith told me everything," her aunt continued. "It explains why you married your American."

"Perhaps I fancy him," Margaret interjected, her temper flaring. "I fancied him enough to get pregnant. John's quite delightful, you know."

"I've spoken to Henry and he says—"

"You what?" Margaret choked. "You've spoken to Henry Lennox about my—my private affairs? How could you?"

"He's my lawyer."

"Well, he's not my lawyer and my life is none of his bloody business." Margaret snapped. But her aunt wasn't listening.

"After the wedding, Henry will be in America for the summer working through the estate of a very wealthy client. He's agreed to spare you a weekend—"

"No."

"—to help you understand all your legal rights, especially regarding custody of the child should you ever need—"

"I don't need a lawyer," Margaret said forcefully, rubbing her temples with her fingers. "Even if I did, I wouldn't want Henry."

"You don't know what you want, Margaret Ann. You never have."

Margaret sucked in a ragged breath, her aunt's words like a punch to the gut. And then she hung up.


John slouched in his chair, and scrubbed at his face with one hand. Mr. Bell was still rambling, but after almost two hours, John was done.

"Is there anything else, Mr. Bell?" He interrupted.

"Not quite," Mr Bell chuckled. "I demand to know when you're going to introduce me to your lovely wife. Rumor tells me she's ravishing. I'm positively wounded you didn't invite me to your little wedding."

"Nobody was invited."

"I suppose the context of your marriage dictated speed rather than courtesy, didn't it?"

John bit back a caustic reply.

"Oh, one last thing. I've hired a new solicitor to examine my estate as the last fellow made a bit of a mess of the entire thing. I'd like you to prepare a detailed report for the Blanding office so I can incorporate those figures into my long term plans. Preferably before the summer is over. Give your mother my regards and I insist on meeting the new Mrs. Thornton sooner rather than later."

John grunted and slapped the receiver down. Conniving old bastard. The last thing John needed right now was a trip down to the Blanding office. He sighed, poured himself a cup of coffee, and stepped out into the hall.

"You're still here."

Bess shrugged, shoving her hands in her pockets.

"What do you want, Higgins?"

"The local deliveries."

John raised his eyebrows.

"Before you say no, just hear me out."

"I've got trucks to inventory," John glanced at his watch, "You get ten minutes."


When John finally got back to his office, it was long past three in the afternoon. A fresh pot of coffee was waiting, and there was another brown paper bag on his desk. Williams came in on his heels, a large stack of files in his hands.

"Move Bess Higgins from long hauls to the locals. She starts on Wednesday."

"You sure that's a good call?"

"No," John said, pulling the purple note off his lunch. "But it's the right one."

"Slouch is gonna spit shit."

"I'll deal with him."


Saturday : June 16, 2007

"Miss Margaret?" Williams eyed the four Boucher children following after her like a line of ducklings. "What can I do for you?"

"Is John here?"

"He don't like to be bothered when things are so busy—"

"He won't mind me." Margaret said with a confidence she didn't quite feel. "I'll make some coffee, yeah?"

Williams have her a rough grin, "You'll get no complaints from me."

Margaret nodded, but her stomach was a churning mess. She hadn't been this nervous since her wedding night. It was more than ridiculous too. John was her husband and she ought to be able to visit him at his office whenever she liked. But she wasn't just coming with lunch and coffee. John was working far too hard for one man to sustain and Margaret had finally found a solution to help.

At least she hoped she had.

"Aren't you going to knock?" Janie demanded.

Margaret shot a scolding glance over her shoulder, nerves twisting her chest.

"Go on, Margaret Ann," she breathed, tightening her fist. "Be brave."

She knocked softly and pushed the door open, poking her head through. John glanced up, and Margaret's heart did a queer little stutter as the irritated look on his face softened into surprise. He was practically buried in paperwork, his hat perched on a stack of files, and his black hair sticking up from where he'd raked his hands through it as he worked.

"Maggie? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," she motioned the children inside. John's face twitched and he pushed himself back from his desk, a tiny frown settling between his eyes. "All of you sit there and keep quiet," Margaret directed them towards the futon. "Janie, take Pete. You too, Lilly-love. I'll only be a minute."

After a moment of quiet encouragement, Lilly settled down, her wide eyes glued to Margaret.

"I'm sorry to bring them," Margaret said, pulling up a chair across from John. "Mary is taking the ACT this morning and there wasn't anyone else. They promised to be quiet."

"I promised twice," Joey said.

John nodded at the little boy and turned back to Margaret. "What is it?"

She pulled a brown sack from her book bag and held it out. John's eyes softened as he took it.

"Do you want coffee?"

"I can—"

"I don't mind."

"Please."

Margaret busied herself with the old machine, watching John eat his lunch out of the corner of her eye. When the coffee was done, she handed him a fresh cup, her skin tingling as his fingers brushed hers.

"You also left this," She held out a thick file. "It's from your budgeting meeting with Mr. Bell. I saw it and thought you might need it today, and—well—" She paused as John pulled a purple stickie note off the top page, raising an eyebrow at her. "I read it—"

"The whole thing?"

"I'm very good with numbers and finances, John. I—I checked your work."

"For mistakes."

Margaret nodded, biting at her thumbnail.

"How'd I do?"

"Decent. But there were a few problems with your calculations."

John frowned, "Where?"

Margaret slipped around the desk, "There, there," Her body flushing as she brushed against him. She forced herself to finishing scanning the papers, "And there. They're small, but—"

"Important." John leaned closer. "Where did this figure come from?"

"From me." Margaret took a fortifying breath. "My mother left me some money when she died," she explained quickly. "It's not much, but it's something. I also added my income to savings, and then projected both to—"

"That's your money, Maggie," John interrupted sharply.

"Our money, John."

A strange look flickered over his face, a mixture of surprise, bewilderment, and something else she couldn't quite place.

"I added those two figures into the Depot's budget. You see, here and here," she pointed triumphantly. "It gives you far more margin to work with."

"I'll be damned." John sat back, that odd look still on his face. "I should hire you to do this shit."

"Yes, you should. " Margaret twisted her hands behind her back. "My Saturday classes are over now. I want the office work Bess used to do. I can train Mary to take over after I have the baby. That way you can focus on contracts and deliveries, we'll save a little money until the baby comes, and also give Mary a job."

John crossed his arms, his frown deepening. Margaret pressed her lips together, waiting. She wanted to do this for Mary, for herself, for their baby, but mostly for him. The silence was almost unbearable but finally, he shook his head and flipped the file shut.

"I'd be a damn fool if I said no." John stood, and Margaret let out a heavy breath, a broad smile brightening her whole face. "You can start today. Those need to be shredded," John pointed. "Those need refiling. These blue ones need a second pair of eyes. Williams can do that before you deal with them. And that whole mess needs sorting."

Margaret nodded only half paying attention. He said yes. First to Bess and now this. Before she could stop herself Margaret slipped her arms around him, burying her face in his shirt, so pleased she could cry.

It was all she had to give him, and he'd said yes.

"Thank you."


Friday: June 22, 2007

"You've got a visitor, Master," Williams called. "She's in your office."

"She?" John's head snapped up. Margaret wasn't supposed to come in until tomorrow. When he stepped into his officer a sharp wave of disappointment washed over him as he stared at his sister. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you."

"Get out of my chair."

"It's the most comfortable one."

"Out." John grabbed the back of the chair and tipped her out of his seat, his temper making his voice too sharp. He shoved away his irritation and started sorting through the stacks of paper on his desk.

"John, stop working for two seconds—"

"Next time, pick up the damn phone and tell me you're coming." He growled. "I don't have time—"

"You never have time," Fanny retorted, rolling her eyes. "What are these?" She was rifling through a stack of purple sticky notes. "Are these love notes, John-John?"

"Get out," John snatched the stack of paper from her.

Margaret had left a note every time she made him lunch for the last month. It was stupid to save them, but he couldn't throw them away. He paper-clipped them together and set the stack down by the pictures on his desk.

"What do you want, Fan?"

"I'm throwing you a baby shower in two weeks." Fanny handed him a thick piece of card stock. It was white, with blue and red stripes, with silver lettering.

John glanced over the invitation and tossed it back at her, "Good for you."

"I want it to be a surprise for Margaret—"

"Maggie won't like it."

"How would you know?" Fanny crossed her arms, matching his stubborn look.

"I'm her husband."

"You've been married three measly months—"

"Four months." John interrupted. It was four months today. He wondered if Margaret even remembered. "Maggie likes to plan shit, Fan. She hates surprises."

Margaret always had her planner nearby, and she liked to know the form each day was going to take. It was why John left her notes in the morning. Well, one reason, anyway.

"So plan to take her out for the Fourth of July and bring her to the baby shower. It's perfect."

"I'm not going to your stupid baby shower."

"But it's a couple's shower, John." Fanny pointed to a line of text on the invitation. "You have to come. Besides, you're half the reason there's a baby on the way—"

"I'm not going," John tossed his hat on his desk. "And neither is Maggie. We've got plans that week."

"What plans?"

John blinked as Fanny glared at him. He didn't actually have plans—at least he hadn't until the words popped out of his mouth.

"For the Fourth." John's mind scrambled for an answer keeping his face placid. And then the solution hit him smack in the face. John looked up at Fanny with a lopsided grin. "We never had a proper honeymoon so I'm taking Maggie to Blanding for the week."

"You're taking Margaret on a honeymoon?"

"Yes."

"If you're making this up to avoid my baby shower—"

"Mr. Bell wants to meet her."

"You hate Mr. Bell."

"You can't shit on me for taking my pregnant wife on a honeymoon, Fan."

"Blanding, John? What kind of a lame-ass honeymoon is that?"

"I like Blanding."

"Mrs. Hamper and Mrs. Watson will be so disappointed about the shower. Can't you reschedule?"

"No."

"Sometimes I really hate you," Fanny huffed. She glanced at his desk calendar and ran a finger over the red circle around September 23rd. "Aren't you nervous?"

"About what?"

Fanny looked up. "You've only got three more months before the baby comes."

John shifted, glancing at the ultrasound propped up against the desk lamp. A new weight of worry settled on his shoulders as his sister's words hung between them.

He hadn't really thought about Margaret's labor and delivery of their baby until this moment. If he was being honest, John didn't really want to think about it all. Not until he absolutely had to.

"Have you two picked a name yet?"

"No." He flipped open a file and began making notes in the margins.

"Do you and Margaret ever talk about anything important, John? You do realize you're running out of time—"

"Go, Fanny," John grumbled, shoving away the sting of her words. "Please."

"Fine," Fanny sighed. "Asshole."

The office door closed and John sighed.

He leaned forward, studying the Polaroid of Margaret in silence. John didn't know what the hell he was going to do when it was time for Margaret to actually delivery their baby. But the idea of not being able to help her when she needed it the most made John feel sick to his stomach.

He shoved aside his worry, stuffed the baby shower invitation in a drawer, and picked up the phone. He slowly punched in Adam Bell's phone number, steeling himself for the coming conversation.

John had a honeymoon to plan.


AN : I wrote six (SIX!) different versions of this chapter and I hope it's come together right. Sorry about the wait, but I think I've finally turned a corner in this story. Thanks to everyone still reading and still reviewing. They really keep me going. Tell me what you think and happy Saturday. Cheers.