“We wanted to wait to tell people until I was well past my first trimester,” Wendy said. “You know, just in case. Turns out I’m a high-risk mom. But the doctor says everything is fine, and he’s just perfect!”

“He?” Drue looked at her father.

“Didn’t we already say that? It’s a boy! You’re going to have a baby brother.”

“You’re going to have a son,” Wendy said, kissing Brice’s cheek.

“I didn’t want to say anything to spook Wendy, but I was really crazy nervous waiting on those results,” Brice said. “I mean, I’m nearly seventy years old, for Chrissakes! I kept looking stuff up on the internet, trying to reassure myself. My God! A son, at my age!”

“Charlie Chaplin was seventy-three when his last child was born,” Wendy said. “Picasso was sixty-eight.”

“Same age as me,” Brice said. “Mick Jagger was seventy-four when he had a kid, and Ronnie Wood was seventy. And Billy Joel and Elton John were still fathering kids in their sixties,” Brice noted.

“Great!” Drue piped up. “Maybe you’ll take up the guitar and join a band … Just joking, Dad!”

Wendy cleared her throat. “You’re the first person we’ve told, Drue. Because we were hoping, or I was hoping, with the baby coming and all, you and I could bury the hatchet.”

Brice looked at her expectantly. “Can you do that? So we can all be a real family?”

Drue’s face felt hot. She pasted a smile on her face. “Sure. Of course. A family.”

She stood up, went over and kissed her father’s cheek. Wendy presented her own cheek, so Drue kissed that too.

“Guess I better get back to work,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. “Gotta rustle up some business so we can buy diapers for Baby Boy Campbell!”

Wendy moved over to her desk, smoothing her designer blouse as she took her customary seat. “He’ll be William Brice Campbell, Junior, of course. But we’ll call him Liam.”

“Cute name,” Drue said, her hand on the doorknob.

“Wait!” Brice leapt to his feet, holding out the T-shirt. “You didn’t even try it on.”

He looked so eager, so excited, she didn’t have the heart to refuse. Drue pulled the T-shirt on over the navy tank top she’d worn to work that day. It was uncomfortably snug across the chest. Too small, of course.

“I love it!” she exclaimed.

Ben was on the phone when she got back to her cubicle, but she saw him watching as she approached, raising one eyebrow as he regarded her new apparel. She grabbed her sweater and buttoned it.