“Could be. Or maybe he was just paranoid. Put these in to monitor his own house. I’ve seen stranger things. You wouldn’t believe what kind of electronics and lights and stuff people want rigged up in their homes.” He winked.

That would explain why we hadn’t found any cameras in the master bedroom. Instead of imagining the former owner of our house helplessly bleeding out on the bedroom floor, now I pictured him sitting there hunched over a monitor, watching every room in his own house from a central command station.

In the afternoon, I called our home security service, and over the phone they walked me through testing the system. When I armed it to “away” and waved my hand through the invisible beam against the back wall, the alarm sounded, a comforting wail.

So that red light on the wall wasn’t an eye to spy on us but a watchdog to keep us safe.

Sunday morning I woke up early again from a dream about a paper baby, all sharp folds and creases, made from fliers from the museum where I had worked but so delicate I couldn’t pick her up without crushing her.

Slipping from the bed, I tiptoed into the bathroom. With trembling hands, I opened the box and followed the directions, counting out the minutes second by second, until the symbol bloomed in the wand’s plastic window. Pregnant.

“Michael?” My voice wavered. I was on the edge of the precipice, the last moment before, when everything else would be after. And Elizabeth was still on my mind, her fear the proof that even a yes could become a no, that I might be on the brink of nine months of maybe. Maybe baby. Keeping this secret, holding it in, might be a way of protecting Michael from the uncertainty.

But I always told him everything.

“Michael?” Louder now, and I leaned out of the bathroom so I could see the bundle of covers under which he huddled. And suddenly I couldn’t wait, I wanted this bright future, and I ran to the bed to wake him with kisses.

That afternoon, instead of going to Sandy’s memorial service, Michael and I went over to Lena and Brady’s. I’d donated for a floral arrangement, but now death seemed far away, overcome by the joy of impending new life. This time we brought the food, a bag of tacos from our new favorite place. My nausea had risen in the morning, but unlike every other stomach upset I’d ever had, it subsided when I thought of food. Before Lena even brought out the margaritas, I’d already eaten two tacos, and I held up a hand. “Not for me, thanks. Just started a new medication.”

“Plain water, then, or fizzy?” Her tone was light, like this was no big deal, but her gaze had sharpened. Despite how laid-back Lena seemed, not much got past her.