"Okay, now push, girl," Mavis said.

Darla knelt and laid the towels at the foot of the pool.

Helen smoothed Laura's damp hair.

Geraldine clasped Laura's left hand in both of hers.

Laura's tormented wail rattled the plates on the mantle. Her teeth gritted. Sweat pooled on her knitted brow.

The miracle of childbirth, Sheila thought. Count me out.

"Push, mama!" Mavis cried.

"You can do it, Laura," Darla said.

Mavis flashed her a look so malevolent Darla's whole body rocked from the sting of it. She backed away until her calves bumped into the accent chair, where she stood clasping her hands against her breasts, her brown eyes wide with muted terror.

Laura screamed as if her entire body was splitting in two. Helen kept smoothing her hair but Sheila caught the look she shot at Geraldine, whose gloved hands were squeezed so tightly it made the tendons visible in her neck. The look was brief but anxious.

"The baby is breeched," Ethel said.

She stood several feet from the pool and couldn't possibly have known unless she somehow recognized something in the new mother's cry.

"She's right," Helen said gruffly. "I see her little bum presenting."

She said presenting, not crowning, Sheila thought, anxiety tightening her stomach.

Delivering a breeched baby could be incredibly dangerous—to the baby and the mother. Any doctor worth their salt would recommend a cesarean birth. She knew that from four years of med school prior to her masters in forensic psychology.

"Let's get her out of there," Mavis said. "Quickly, ladies."

"No," Laura moaned. "No, no, no, no...."

"Hush, girl. Just breathe. You're doing fine. Breathe and push."

"I think we should call a doctor," Sheila said.

Laura's tear-filled eyes looked in her direction. She nodded vehemently. "Yes! I need a doctor! I need an epidural!"

"It's too late for that, sweetie," Helen grunted.

Mavis turned a cold glare on Sheila. "Just who do you think you are, sister? Do you have any idea how long we've been delivering children?"

"I have medical training—"

"Well, la-di-freaking-dah. Why don't you make yourself useful? Brew up some strong chamomile."

"Tea? She needs to go to the hospital—"

"Get her out of here," Mavis snarled at Darla and Dianne. Double-D snapped to attention and took Sheila by the arms. She didn't fight. It would have only further enraged Mavis, and now more than ever she wanted to be here, to see this through.

Did any of these women have medical training? The young mothers, Darla and Dianne, were both housewives, though they called themselves "homemakers." Sheila let them drag her past the pool toward the kitchen, Darla giving her an apologetic look with her pageant-blonde curls bouncing on her shoulders as they hustled Sheila along.

Feeling like the outsider she was, an interloper ousted to the sidelines, Sheila watched the rest of the proceedings from the kitchen, wondering why Laura had invited her to stay in the first place.

Before dinner the women had been asking all sorts of personal questions about her and Martin. How long had they been together? Had they ever talked about having children? Had she ever considered it? Martin had such good genes. He was so good-looking. And smart. Imagine the superbabies the two of them could have.