Steve began pacing in his living room at eight. By nine o’clock he’d called the state police and three hospitals. Daisy wasn’t in her town house, she wasn’t with Elsie, and she definitely wasn’t with him. He sank into a club chair and absentmindedly fondled Bob’s head. Daisy had been so despondent when she’d left in the morning. He should have driven her in to work and insisted on going to the doctor with her, he thought. The damn woman was too independent for her own good. She was sick, and she needed help—his help. That’s what love and marriage were all about. Marriage wasn’t just the good times and the sexy nights; it was making chicken soup for your wife when she had a cold and sharing a box of Kleenex when Mrs. Nielson wasn’t making any progress.

Last month Daisy had been the picture of health. She was a woman in love, and she was ready to get married. Something had happened in the interim to change all that. One day she’d been laughing with him over a pizza, then the next morning she’d burst into tears when he’d told her Bob was going to have puppies. He looked down at the dog. It had never occurred to him to check the plumbing under all that shaggy fur.

“I made a mess of it,” he said to Bob. “Somewhere along the line we had a severe breakdown in communication. She just pulled away from me.”

He heard a car door slam, and he was on his feet. He had the door open before Daisy reached the porch. “Where have you been? It’s after nine. Are you okay?”

Her eyes were wide and filled with tears. “I don’t have PMS or low blood sugar or irregularity.”

He gripped her shoulders hard, not sure if he was supporting her or himself. “What is it?”

The tears spilled out and streaked down her face. “I’m…pregnant.” She sobbed. “We’re going to have a baby!”

He was speechless. Air refused to leave his lungs. Little black dots floated in front of his eyes. There was a loud roaring in his head. “Baby?” he said. Then he crashed to the floor in a dead faint.

He was soaking wet when he came around. He blinked his eyes and sputtered. “I’m sorry, Mom,” he said. “I promise not to swim out so far next time.”

“I’m not your mom,” Daisy said. “I’m Daisy.”

“Oh yeah. Why am I all wet?”

“You fainted, and I poured water on you. That’s what they do in the movies.”

“Are we really going to have a baby?”

“Yup. That’s why I’ve been sick and tired and weepy. My hormones haven’t got their act together yet.”

“But you were crying over it. You were sobbing.”