Chapter 6: The Weight of a Stranger

The months folded into each other like the tides—high, low, high again—until Eric stopped counting. The sun rose, the sun set. Tina’s belly swelled. That was the calendar now.

She stood at the kitchen island on a Tuesday morning, eight months heavy, eating mango slices with her fingers. Juice ran down her chin. Her breasts—fuller now, darker at the nipples—strained against a thin cotton shift that had once been loose. Keith came up behind her and pressed his palms flat to the underside of her bump, lifting the weight.

“She’s kicking,” he said.

“She’s always kicking.” Tina slapped his hand away, but she was smiling. “Get me more mango.”

Eric watched from the doorway, coffee cooling in his grip. Pregnant, she was something else—riper, rounder, her skin holding a glow that had nothing to do with the tropical sun. And Keith couldn’t keep his hands off her. Couldn’t keep his cock out of her, either, despite the midwife’s gentle suggestions.

“She’s fine,” Tina had said. “Women fuck while pregnant. It’s not a new concept.”

So they did. Slow and careful at first, then less careful as the weeks wore on. Eric learned the geometry of her body anew—how to enter her from behind without crushing the bump, how to brace her hips and let Keith take her mouth. The baby kicked through most of it, a third presence in the room.

The night Lori arrived, a squall hammered the island. Rain sluiced down the windows in sheets. The midwife—an iron-haired woman named Delphine who arrived by supply boat once a month—had been stranded in the guest wing for three days, waiting. She delivered the baby on the big bed in the Emperor Suite while Eric held Tina’s hand and Keith cut the cord.