It was a scenario beyond the wildest imaginings of a pulp writer, and would have been laughable were the impending consequences not so dire, things at this point limited only by the imagination. He was aware that both the Dennings were reluctant participants in the lustful goings-on, though it was a sure thing that they would be the ones to suffer the most. Though Clete would probably go madly violent at seeing that Mark had sowed his seed in the sheriff's field, he had been aware of one only incidence of sex between the two of them. Nancy was so young, and her family was far from white trash, but Clete would feel triumphant at the knowledge that he had fathered DesirЋe's son. The political and social consequences for Mark would be incalculable.
As he walked into the nursery to put the ID wrist bracelets on the neonates, Hemmings wracked his brains for some obscure, technical excuse he might offer, but could come up with nothing really plausible. To coin a very apt and vulgar phrase, the shit had hit the fan with great force in Pickford's Meadows.
Hemmings quietly closed the door on Clete and Nancy Anderson and shuffled in to where DesirЋe was slowly coming awake. Mark was coming shortly and the doctor had kept the dear girl conveniently sedated. He had begun bringing her out when Clete arrived, and now she was opening her eyes. They were soft and vulnerable, and the doctor smiled as he saw color coming back into her pale cheeks. He loved her and nothing could be allowed to hurt her. Sitting on the bed, he stroked her forehead and pressed her hands in his.
"How was your sleep, little mother?" he asked tenderly.
Her throat was dry, and she had trouble getting her first words out. "How-how's my baby?"
Hemmings had some difficulty finding the words. "Just fine, DesirЋe. Just fine." He heard footsteps in the hall and kissed her cheek. "Mark's here. Are you ready to see him?"
DesirЋe gave a little nod and smiled. "Oh, yes!"
Mark knocked, then came in, hurrying to his young wife's side, kissing her warmly. It was obvious that their former marital problems of the year past were all patched – he had never learned of her experiences with Clete – and there was a long moment of tender affection displayed between them. While they made him jealous with their loving and touching, Hemmings went into the nursery.
"Oh, Mark, I wanted you with me for the birth," DesirЋe cooed. "It would have been so perfect."
"I know, baby," he returned in the same velvety intonation. "I was in an important high-level meeting and my secretary was blocking all calls. I'm so sorry."
The girl sniffed and kissed him. "But you're here now, and that's all that matters."
"You know something, darling?" Mark said. "I feel a powerful urge to make love to you right now."
She laughed weakly. "I think we should wait at least until after dinner."
Mark chuckled, and then turned as the door opened. Hemmings was standing there cradling a bundle of white fabric. He came over and gave it into DesirЋe's eager, open arms. Tears of joy were streaking his face and Mark looked up.
"Thank you, Doctor," the young father said. "Thanks for everything."
DesirЋe moved the blanket from the baby's face and sobbed. "Oh, baby, look!"
Mark moved the folds aside and looked down at the tiny body. "It's a girl!"
The young mother cried, "Oh, yes, Mark, and she's got your eyes!" She pressed her cheek to the baby's face and began to sing.
A slight look of puzzlement on his face, Mark looked up at the doctor and met his cryptic gaze. From the scans Hemmings had told them to expect a boy, but then he supposed those things, like politics and love and a great many other things, were not completely reliable.
Nothing's perfect, he thought, and turned back to his wife and child, his happy family.