Instead of running—a response that was both wrong and cowardly—he stayed where he was and waited.

Dena gave him a relaxed smile. “I wanted to let you know that Harrison’s idea was chosen for our holiday project. I’ll tell the students on Friday. All the third graders will be using circular looms to knit scarves and hats for children in need. We’ll start work the Monday after Thanksgiving, and we have three weeks to get them done and delivered.”

“That’s not a lot of time.”

“I know. A problem we face every year. We’ve talked about starting the projects in early November, but that never seems to happen.” She smiled. “We’ll need to work hard to ensure we can get a lot of hats and scarves made between now and then.”

“I was planning to volunteer to help on whatever project was picked.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Her gaze settled on his face. “But there might be a complication.”

“Which is?”

She looked away, then back at him. “I’m sorry. This is going to fall under the category of too much information, but I felt you had the right to know because, well, because of Reggie.”

He frowned. “Your sister?”

She smiled. “How many other Reggies do you know in your life?”

“She’s the only one, but I haven’t seen her in years.” At least ten. No, twelve, he thought. Not since he’d taken off near the end of his high school senior year. “I heard she lives in Seattle.”

“She does, but she’s coming back for the holidays.” Dena waved her hand. “My mom normally shepherds the holiday charity project through to completion, but my parents are renewing their vows with a big wedding and reception, so she doesn’t have the time this year.” Dena offered him a cautious smile. “Reggie’s going to be taking charge instead.”

Toby didn’t know how to react to that nugget of information, but was saved from having to figure it out when Dena turned green again. She grabbed her desk and audibly panted.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She shook her head and continued to breathe heavily. Just as suddenly as her color had changed, it returned to normal and she sagged back in her chair.

“That was a bad one,” she murmured. “I thought I was going to throw up for sure.” She looked at him. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You’re sick.”

“Not exactly.” She paused. “I’m pregnant.”

“You’re...”

Dena chuckled. “Wow, the look on your face. Yes. I had artificial insemination a couple of months ago.”

She’d done that? He knew the procedure existed, but he’d never known anyone who had done it. Or used it. Or however he was supposed to think of it. “And now you’re sick?”