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until eight, then head for the hospital to cuddle the two crack babies for three hours, then she was to meet her sister for lunch.
    A shiver slid down her back. Should she tell Katie about the pregnancy? Yes. It would become self-evident in a short time, so there was no need for secrecy, especially with her family.
    Not that her father or mother would notice until she hit them over the head with it, so to speak. Jack and his second wife, Toni, once his assistant at the office, hung out with the retired golf-and-country-club set. Sheila, Ivy’s mother, had her own crowd and spent part of the year in Palm Springs. She often returned to Portland with a new youthful look, thanks to spas and the skill of the plastic surgeons in southern California.
    When she got home, Ivy poured a glass of low-fat milk and ate a banana before heading for bed. She figured she should start eating regularly instead of forgetting herself in work. Also, she should eat healthier foods and cut back on the jalapeño peppers she loved. Probably they were bad for the baby.
    For a moment, she experienced a lowering of her spirits as she realized just how little she knew about babies and prenatal care.
    A baby. Oh, heavens!
    Max, where are you when I need you?
    â€œMax Hughes,” she said aloud. “That’s the man I mean, not the prince.”
    But, she realized, that man—Max Hughes, the wonderful companion-friend-lover—had never existed.
    No matter. She had her siblings, Katie and Trent, Danny, too, although their younger brother was mostly a recluse in Hawaii. She had friends such asEmma and her new husband. All these would provide family and role models for her child.
    Her spirits rebounded a bit.
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    â€œI just hate for babies to be hurt,” Nancy Allen said when Ivy entered the nursery the next morning promptly at nine. The E.R. nurse held two tiny, squalling tots, one on her shoulder and the other lying prone in her lap. Her short brown hair swung out around her face as she shook her head in disgust.
    Ivy took the baby from the other woman’s lap and, crooning softly, settled in a rocking chair and cuddled it close as she rocked and hummed to it. After fifteen minutes, the baby girl settled down. When she tried to get her fist to her mouth, Ivy helped her get it in place. The child sucked contentedly and dozed off.
    Nancy got the baby she held to sleep, laid him in the rolling bassinet and lifted a ten-month-old baby who was staring fretfully at the ceiling. Like Ivy, she cuddled the infant and hummed, then played patty-cake and other games to engage the youngster’s interest and get it to interact with people.
    â€œI read that there seems to be a link between autism and allergies to wheat and/or dairy products,” Nancy said in a low tone when both babies were asleep.
    Ivy nodded. “I saw the article, too. Also that some immunization shots might be a factor.”
    â€œI know that some people are against any geneticalterations, but if we could identify and correct these problems before the child spends a lifetime in misery, wouldn’t that be better?”
    â€œIt would seem so,” Ivy said honestly. “It seems a shame not to help those we can. But what do you do with parents who want their child to be a genius or tall enough to be a basketball player?”
    â€œThat’s where the problem comes in,” Nancy agreed. “Where do we draw the line?”
    The door to the nursery opened and Everett Baker came in, looking a bit sheepish. “Uh, I thought I would see if I could, uh, help.” He brushed the stubborn lock off his forehead and looked as if he might bolt at a harsh word.
    â€œOf course you can,” Nancy told him. “Sit right here. I’ll get you a baby.” She went into the adjacent room.
    Ivy smiled warmly as Everett took the rocking chair. He smiled back, then looked at the floor. Bashful. Poor guy.
    â€œHere you are.” Nancy bustled in with