“We already did that.”
“Hotel rooms don’t count,” Quent said.
“You’re not going outside in your bathrobe!” She giggled at the thought.
“I had a different threshold in mind,” said her husband.
She understood perfectly a minute later when they crossed into Amy’s bedroom and closed the door behind them.
THE JANUARY SKY darkened early over the ocean. On the beach, coals glowed in the barbecue pits and the scent of roasting chickens drifted through the salty air.
“Time to wash up,” Amy told the children, although the best she would be able to do with premoistened towels was to scrub their faces and hands. Sand clung to their feet and legs, drifted through the folds of their clothing and even, she suspected, infiltrated their hair. “Oh, dear. I’m barely going to make a dent.”
“What’s a beach party without sand in the food?” asked Natalie, setting out picnic supplies by the light of a hurricane lamp.
“Let’s see how long your laissez-faire attitude holds up once you give birth.” Heather removed containers of potato salad and coleslaw from a cooler, although the night air was growing so nippy that the food hadn’t needed chilling.
After glancing around to make sure none of their other friends could overhear, Amy said, “You’re not too old to give birth again yourself, you know.”
“Don’t mention it! It’s a jinx!” Heather cried in mock horror. “I’d need a husband, which I assure you I don’t remotely want.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Amy said.
In the fading light, she had trouble checking the children’s faces and hands for stubborn dirt. “Quent!” she called. “If you want them operating-room clean, you’re going to have to finish the job yourself.”
Her husband waved from beside the barbecue, where he, Patrick and Rob were moving chicken and steaks onto platters. He cupped his hand to his ear to indicate he’d missed most of what she said, no doubt thanks to the rumble of the surf. Amy waved to indicate it didn’t matter.
“Clueless,” Heather said. “Like most guys. Of course, he’s cute, which makes up for a lot.”
“Your tongue is sharp tonight.” Amy released the children, who scampered across the beach to their father. “What gives?”
“My daughter tells me her fiancé’s returning from overseas duty in March,” Heather said. “She and Ginger will move out as soon as he finds a place. No mention of wedding bells yet, but I hope that will follow.”
“And you’re going to miss them,” Natalie finished for her. “So you’re making grouchy comments about Quent on his birthday.”
“His thirtieth birthday,” Amy added, “which is traumatic enough, as I recall from my own experience.”
“Piffle.” Mrs. McLanahan joined them. Her date, Hugo, the distinguished-looking but shy jeweler, hung back to watch a boat passing out to sea. “Turning thirty isn’t traumatic. Turning seventy, that’s another story.”
“I’ll bet the ninety-year-olds aren’t impressed,” joked Heather.
“Nor should they be.” Noreen patted Amy’s hand. “You know, the years don’t matter if you’re following your dreams. I assure you, your husband will never wish he had his twenties back. He’s much better off now.”
“I don’t doubt that.” Amy beamed at the woman. “It looks like you’ve got a romance of your own.”
“Hugo’s a sweetheart,” said her friend. “We’ll see where it leads. One thing I’ve learned is to live in the moment and let the future take care of itself.”
“Good advice.” Natalie put the heel of her hand to her extended abdomen. “Wow! That was quite a kick.”
“Let me know if you change your mind about learning the sex,” Heather said.
“We prefer to find out the old-fashioned way,” Natalie told her. “Here comes the main course!”
The men arrived bearing platters. Quent, who seemed to possess infinite patience with the children, sank onto a blanket with Tara in his lap and started shredding a piece of chicken for her. Amy helped Greg pile his plate. She was beginning to know his preferences by heart.
The small group of friends settled around them on folding chairs. Noreen and her new boyfriend. Natalie and Patrick. Heather, Rob, Kitty and Aunt Mary.
It had been Amy’s idea to hold a birthday party for Quent on the sand and, although the weather was iffy this time of year, everyone had liked the idea. Fortunately, they’d had a mild day, although she’d put jackets on the children as evening came.
Despite the crisp air, she felt surrounded by warmth. No need to ask why. All she had to do was glance at Quent.
Since Christmas Day, they’d drawn closer, sharing their thoughts, laughing together, resolving their differences with a loving spirit. It was going to be wonderful, she thought, to spend the rest of her life with a friend who was also her true love.
A boom! from offshore nearly sent her flying out of her seat. “What was that?”
“Look, Mommy!” Greg pointed at the darkness above the ocean. “Sky flowers.”
A fountain of white sparks pierced the deep blue expanse. An instant later, a series of bangs heralded an explosion of reds and blues.
“Fireworks!” she said. “Look, Greg, aren’t we lucky?”
“Luck had nothing to do with it.” Hoisting Tara onto his hip, Quent moved closer.
“You arranged this?” she asked in disbelief, as colors splashed the sky. “What an enormous undertaking!”
“I’ve always wanted fireworks on my birthday,” he said. “Besides, this is the one-month anniversary of our wedding. These are for you, too.”
“Thank you! I love it.”
Their friends chorused their appreciation. “My baby’s really jumping now.” Natalie patted her bulge. “He or she can hear the whole thing.”
Greg climbed onto Amy’s lap, and Quent took the chair beside her, holding their daughter. The children stared upward, too enchanted to speak. As a palette of light blossomed above them, Amy felt as if she were floating among stars.
Close to her ear, Quent said, “It’s only a token, Amy. This is nothing compared to the enchantment you bring to my life.”
He slipped one arm around her. Safely enfolded in her husband’s love, Amy rested her head on his shoulder and watched the fireworks paint the sky with magic.
The author wishes to thank Marcia Holman for her encouragement and her expert advice.
ISBN: 978-1-4603-6870-1
PRESCRIPTION: MARRY HER IMMEDIATELY
Copyright © 2003 by Jackie Hyman.
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* The Babies of Doctors Circle
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Prescription: Marry Her Immediately Page 21
