Chapter 3

"How much longer should I work?"

"What's the regulation?"

"I don't think there is one. We're encouraged to take four months of maternity leave and I think we're permitted six months. A lot of the girls take four to six weeks before and four months after. The real crux seems to be whether you might not be able to do your job — which isn't a problem for me, as I'm not in surgery — or might harm the fetus — which isn't likely as I'm not in anaesthesia or contagious diseases."

"Well, do you want to spend a month or six weeks bored at home?"

"I've got lots to read."

"Right. Six or eight hours a day for six months — that would be well over 100 novels. Maybe 150."

"I hadn't done the math."

"Anyway, ask Michiko what she thinks. By the way, is the hospital throwing a shower?"

"Oh, God! I hadn't thought..."

"Ask Alice or Deb on Monday." It was Saturday morning. We were waiting for the Eyre trio to arrive.

"OK. Oof!"

"Are you OK?"

"Yes. Pat just decided my bladder was a football. I'll be back in a few." She went off to the toilet. It was things like this, more than Weena's shape, that made me sure she really was growing our baby in there.

The Eyres arrived. Rachel, now a year old, looked at me, took a step. "No Eena?"

"She'll be here in a minute, Rachel," I said. She nodded solemnly.

"Baby here?"

"Not yet. About a month more."

Rachel held up her battered rag doll by one foot. "Rachel gots baby."

"Yes you do. And a very nice one." I became aware that this conversation was no worse than the ones I'd had with university students ... or at SciTech.

"She must really like you," laughed Michiko. "She rarely has a conversation with anyone except us."

"Oh, Rachel and I are good friends, right?"

"Here Eena," she responded.

"Well, I know who's the important one!"

"OK, Rachel. Back into your seat."

Chaz buckled her in, I made sure that Weena had both cash and plastic, Michiko go behind the wheel, and they were gone.

"Come in and look at what I've done. If it's OK, we can get the first coat down before lunch."

Chaz looked. "You don't want to take the light fixture down?"

"No. We most likely will discard it. It certainly isn't a keeper, so it doesn't matter whether we get a bit of paint on it or not."

"OK. Let's start with the light blue. If a bit runs, the dark trim'll cover it. There's the door, the closet and the window. The other wall's solid. Let's start there. We'll see how the acrylic covers." While he spoke, Chaz pulled on a suit of painter's overalls. I was wearing an old shirt and older jeans.

It took us about 20 minutes. The longer wall, where the window was took only a bit longer. The short closet side was tougher, as I'd overlooked the space between the top of the lintel and the ceiling trim and had to search for a smaller brush.

"What do you want to do about the inside of the closet?"

"Hell! We never talked about it!"

"OK. Let's do the inside of the door. If there's enough left after the second coat, we can put a single on the interior."

"Wow! You sound like a pro!"

"I worked for a contractor two summers while I was a student. My dad thought it'd be good for me."

"Was it?"

"Yeah. I made a little money and learned how to do a lot of things. No plumbing, though."

"I worked, too. But it was always at home. Usually with the cattle or my mum's veggies."

"Not much of that when your dad's a history prof."

"Too true. What about the door handles?"

"Take 'em off after the first coat and we'll decide. Here, take this." Chaz handed me a bucket of paint. He'd been up on the ladder. I put it down on the floor, then reached up to take his brush. I tapped the lid onto the can and took his brush and my two into the kitchen. I had set up an old baking tin in the sink and put the brushes into it and then poured some denatured alcohol into it.