Not Quite Perfect

“Thinking about it makes me glad I’m a man.”

“I bet.”

Once again, Walt popped his head from the locked delivery wing. “Monica!”

The two embraced as old friends did.

“How is she doing?” Monica wasted no time in asking.

“Good. Baby is fine. No decels. Looks good for a normal delivery.”

Glen leaned close and whispered in Mary’s ear. “What’s a decel?”

Mary shrugged. “Must be doctor-nurse talk.”

“How is Dakota’s blood pressure?”

“Within her normal limits.” Walt placed a hand on Monica’s arm. “We’re watching it closely.”

Dakota had had early pregnancy blood pressure problems that caused some worry in her first trimester. Mary knew that there was always a possibility of her having more issues during delivery. While the risk sat in the back of her head, Mary hadn’t really thought much about it until Monica brought it up.

Walt glanced over and noticed Glen.

Glen stood and they did the man handshake thing. “How does it feel?” he asked.

Walt shook his head. “I’ve delivered dozens of babies, but it’s a hell of a lot harder watching your wife laboring with your own.”

Monica patted him on the back. “You’ll be fine.”

“I should get back,” he told them.

It was Mary’s turn to make her way to his side. “Here.” She thrust the brown paper bag full of candy in his hands.

He glanced inside, grinned, and kissed her cheek. “You’re a godsend.”

She smiled, glanced at Glen with a smirk, then returned her attention to Walt. “If you need more, just ask.”

He waved the bag in the air and disappeared behind the door.

Chapter Four

Walt’s parents arrived just after nine, and Dakota’s parents weren’t going to leave the East Coast until the morning.

The only other person Mary had been instructed to call once Junior was born was Dakota’s agent. Only Desi didn’t want a late night wake-up call unless something went wrong. “No one calls at two a.m. with good news. Call me in the morning,” she’d told Mary.

A few other families had filtered into the waiting room and out again once their new member of the family had been born.

Monica had curled up in one of the chairs and fallen fast asleep.

Mary made small talk with Walt’s parents for a couple of hours, but the day started to wear on her. She leaned the back of her head on the wall and closed her eyes.

Glen sat beside her quietly thumbing through a magazine. He had to be exhausted. His internal clock was three hours ahead of hers, and she was shot.

Instead of asking, she allowed her mind to drift.

He smelled good. Like he’d just splashed aftershave over his skin. And not the perfumey sweet smelling stuff, but the musky, sexy smelling stuff.

She pictured his cocky grin and striking eyes and smiled as she lost her fight with sleep.

“Mary.” His voice was a soft whisper in her dreams. Even though her back hurt from the stiff bed she must be lying on, his breath on her ear made it all right as he whispered her name. “Mary?”

She snuggled closer, not wanting to break from the dream she knew she must be having. “I’m sleeping,” she heard herself mutter.

She heard his quiet laughter. “But you need to wake up, sweetheart.”

She shook her head.

“Mary?”

Other voices mixed with Glen’s and had her opening her eyes.

It all came back.

Dakota.

Maternity waiting room.

Babies.

Someone was pushed up against her cheek.

No, scratch that, she was all but collapsed on someone’s shoulder.

Crisp white shirt, stripes on the sleeves.

Glen.

“Are you awake now?”

“Oh, God.”

She felt moisture out of the corner of her mouth. Mortified, she glanced down and noticed a wet spot on his shirt.

“Well?”

Her horror at finding herself leaning on Glen quickly faded when she noticed Walt standing in the doorway, his eyes bright and shiny, his face illuminated despite the late hour.

“We have a son.”

Mary felt the tired snap away with his words.

Questions ran through the room. How was Dakota? When could they see her and the baby? How was the delivery?

Mary just stood beside them lost in thought.

A nephew . . . well, as close to a nephew as she’d ever have.

Walt led them back to the suite where he’d spent his entire day.

Lying in a bed, her long dark hair pulled back, her swollen cheeks flushed from what had to be a grueling experience, Dakota smiled as they all filed inside the room.

In her arms was a quiet little bundle wrapped in a tiny blanket with a blue little cap on his head.

Mary felt her eyes swell with unshed tears. It took a lot for Mary to cry. In fact, she never cried.

There were oohs, and plenty of aahs. And though Walt’s father was a cardiologist, he asked about Dakota’s splinted leg poking out from under the sheets.

“Well, that just adds to the stories you can tell over cocktails later in life,” Dr. Eddy said as he pointed to her leg.

The older Dr. Eddy leaned over and kissed Dakota’s cheek before smiling down at his grandson.

“Have you picked out a name?” Monica asked.

“We have. And no, it’s not Walter the Fourth.”

Mary had already heard that Junior and Walter were off the potential list. There were three generations of doctors with Walter Eddy’s name, and forcing the newest Eddy to carry the burden of being a doctor, or carry the burden of breaking the trend, wasn’t something Dakota and Walt wanted to do.