Dottie shuffled over to Margaret and leaned against her as if she needed the support. It was nearly imperceptible; no doubt she didn’t want to alarm George and invite questions she wouldn’t want to answer. Margaret put her arm around Dottie’s waist and was grateful that such gestures were commonplace among her and her friends. Her hands lay against Dottie’s thin back, separated only by her cotton blouse. It worried Margaret. Dottie should be gaining weight. But she felt alarmingly skinny.

Margaret made excuses for their hasty goodbye. “Thanks again, George. You’re one in a million. We have to get back to work.”

He put his hands in his coat pockets and rocked on his heels. “I’ll see you both on Monday.”

“Bye, George,” added Dottie. Though Margaret could tell that it took effort for her to push the words out.

When George had walked far enough away so as not to overhear them, she turned to Dottie.

“We need to get you out of here. You look terrible.”

Dottie smiled wanly. “You sure know how to make a girl’s heart flutter.”

Margaret wrinkled her brows. “I mean it. I don’t have any experience with this, but I don’t think you’re supposed to look like death warmed over. Aren’t pregnant women supposed to have some kind of glow about them?”

They started walking back, Dottie clinging to Margaret.

“I think it’s a myth. I don’t know who profits from it, but there is absolutely nothing glamorous about spending the morning losing everything you forced yourself to eat for breakfast.”

“Oh, Dot. Is it really as bad as that?” Margaret felt distinctly helpless.

Dottie nodded. “It’s amazing that something the size of a pea can upend your entire body.”

Margaret paused and pulled Dottie in for a hug. “Well, I’ll bet that sweet pea is going to be worth every second. She’s going to have your eyes and your disposition and John’s chin and his good sense of humor.”

Dottie pulled her head back. “What makes you so sure that it’s a girl?”

Margaret grinned. “She has to be. Back when we used to play with dolls, they were girl dolls. You can have as many boys as you want with my brother. Just give me one little niece to dote on first. Ribbons and lace and frills. The works.”

“Ugh, I can’t imagine ever going through this again.”

“Oh, dear. Is there nothing I can do to make this easier?”

“Just be my friend, Margaret. Like you always are. I’m not going to be able to do this without you.”

They both welcomed the warmth of the stuffy sewing room when they returned. Margaret stayed by Dottie’s side until she was sitting at her station. Perhaps too solicitously, but her worries hadn’t abated.