There were no romantic dreams this time; I had a child, another would come, and meanwhile I cared for Elliott and carried Katie as obliviously as a kangaroo with its young in a pouch. I think that at the time both Stephen and I wanted this second child for Elliott more than for ourselves. Not that we didn’t want a second; but we did think of it as a companion for Elliott, a sort of second-string team.

Somewhere in my memory was the pain of Elliott’s birth; I could not summon up the reality of it, but I remembered the thoughts, the blinding hysteria, and I did not want to think of going through it again. I sighed; it seemed inevitable and cruel.

But it wasn’t that way at all; Katie came easily, swiftly, and there was pain but it didn’t go on forever the way Elliott’s had, it was over soon and easily forgotten, and I was smug with satisfaction.

She looked as Elliott had, like a baby, no resemblance to anyone. I fell in love with her as soon as I saw her, was grateful that we had decided, for whatever reason, to have another child. But the wonder I’d felt seeing Elliott for the first time was not there; she was a baby, beautiful, and she was mine and Stephen’s and we had created her, but it seemed natural now. Elliott had been a miracle; Katie was a child.

We named her after my grandmother, Kathleen, but we never called her that. Most often she was Katie, sometimes Kate, without any particular reason for the difference.

She smiled easily, laughed early, went without hesitation to new people, and I watched her and was proud. I felt none of the compulsive protectiveness I had with Elliott; I was pleased that people were attracted to her, that they wanted to touch her and hold her, and that Stephen was enchanted by her and would help take care of her; time was short for me now, there were two babies, and I appreciated whatever he could do.

Elliott was resentful of her for a long time; perhaps still. We had told him there would be another baby, but of course he couldn’t have understood what that would mean, any more than we could. He was shy, and it pained him to see how she met people with joy and they accepted her in the same spirit, because it was something he could not do. I watched with my own pain as his face grew more and more shut. I held him and told him softly that I loved him, and he knew that that was true, but it couldn’t make up for the fact that everyone else seemed to love Katie.