Dottie’s mouth opened in protest, but she closed it before she’d uttered a sound. Margaret noticed the flush of her cheeks. Dottie’s face revealed what her words wouldn’t—she enjoyed his company very much.

Margaret wanted to tell her that she didn’t mind. That John would want her to be happy. That five months since the terrible news and four more since they’d last seen him was a very long time. Dottie was young and beautiful and vibrant, and she had a wonderful man who cherished her as she deserved. How could Margaret stand in the way of that?

Now, back at work, she wondered if she should tell Dottie that she would have her blessing.

“Margaret!”

Dottie’s scream pierced through the quiet engraving room and startled Margaret out of her thoughts.

She left her sandwich, pickle slices spilling onto the work counter, and hurried over to Dottie.

“What’s the matter?”

Dottie wrapped her arms around her belly and rocked back and forth on her chair. “I think it’s happening.”

“The baby? Today?”

“Yes—today! Now!”

“But first babies are always late. That’s what I read!”

“Well, this baby didn’t read that book and I’m telling you, Margaret. This. Is. It!”

“Are you sure these are real contractions? I read that your body practices for the real thing before the big day.”

“Dammit, Margaret! I’ve already had plenty of those! I feel like there’s a watermelon that wants to get out of me this very minute!”

Dottie never cursed. This was serious. Margaret took a breath and collected herself, wiping away the sweat forming on her temples. “Right. Right. Right. Okay. George. Let’s go find George. And Gladys.”

“Owwwww! Hurry!”

Margaret started running for the door and looked back to see Dottie doubled over in the pain of the contraction.

“I’m hurrying! I’m hurrying!”

Margaret pushed open the heavy door of the engraving room and came upon the promenade, which was lit with the intensity of the noonday sun. Her pupils throbbed after languishing in the dim workroom for so many hours, and she shaded her eyes before taking another step.

It was the kind of day that might have otherwise tempted her and Dottie to play hooky in order to escape to the beach and pretend, even for a brief time, that the troubles of the world didn’t exist.

But the troubles were all too real. If not across the ocean, then right here in Brooklyn. Where Dottie was about to have her baby.

In the engraving room, if they didn’t act fast.