A Mingled Yarn Read online

  A wave of relief flooded her body. “I appreciate that more than you know. Thank you.”

  “No thanks needed. Now, you make sure you’re getting plenty of rest. Because that’s gonna be in short supply once the baby comes.”

  She detected a note of glee in the advice. What was with people and all the gallows humor about having an infant? The saying ‘I slept like a baby’ had to come from somewhere, didn’t it?

  “Will do,” she assured him.

  “Give Leo my best,” he said before ending the call.

  She returned the phone to the receiver on her desk without turning away from the window. She sat for a long time, looking out the window.

  5

  Sasha tried to focus on the statement of material facts she was reviewing. The law required that every fact set forth in a summary judgment brief be supported by evidence in the record. Combing through the pages of attached deposition transcripts, contracts, and correspondence that served to support the facts could be tedious and time-consuming work. For some reason, she usually found it oddly soothing and immersive. She imagined its effect was similar to those little sand gardens with the rakes that some people keep on their desks.

  But not today. Today, her mind was wandering. She read the same force majeure clause four times before she realized it. Her thoughts kept returning to Nick Costopolous. Representing him several years back still ranked as her biggest lapse in judgment—professional and personal.

  She’d jeopardized her relationship with Connelly to represent a man accused of beating his pregnant wife to death with a hammer. And she’d secured his freedom.

  Only after it was too late, when her hands were tied by the rules of professional responsibility, had she learned the truth: Costopolous was guilty. He’d gotten away with murder, and she’d helped him. Her stomach churned at the memory.

  Stop it. She could almost hear Katrina’s voice, urging her to find a way to calm herself because her anxiety was also the baby’s anxiety. She closed her eyes and engaged in several minutes of deep breathing before returning to the summary judgment exhibits. It was no use. Her attention was shot.

  She stood, did some gentle yoga stretches, and followed up with a square of dark chocolate and mug of herbal tea. None of the midwife-approved stress relievers proved effective. And she was spinning her wheels on the statement of facts. She dropped her pen on her desk and packed up her laptop and the stack of papers.

  She had to do something, so she headed out of the office early to stop by Daniel’s studio on her way to her prenatal appointment.

  In the hallway, she bumped into Naya, who was directing an electronic discovery vendor to Will’s office. Naya waved the guy ahead and caught Sasha’s arm.

  “You okay?” the older woman asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you sure? You look pale.”

  “It’s a long story. What’s going on with the discovery vendor?”

  “Will called in from his client’s hair salon. The feds are going to back off if she can convince them that she wasn’t knowingly subverting the law. Will has a company out there cloning her drives. I guess we’ll be combing through financial records until our eyes glaze over.”

  “Ugh,” she commiserated. “I’m calling it an early day. I have an appointment with Katrina and then I’m hoping to sneak over to the new house. Call if you and Will need my help.”

  “We can handle this. You should take it easy.” Naya searched her face. “You know, not everyone’s feet grow.”

  Sasha blinked. The unsettling call from Detective Benson had pushed her worries about her extensive footwear collection right out of her mind. But she forced a short laugh. Better to let Naya think she was obsessing over her stilettos than have her spend her weekend worrying about Costopolous, too.

  “Have a good one.” She turned and started down the stairs, and Naya went off to direct the vendor.

  As she walked through the parking lot behind the building, her mind flashed back to the February night she and Connelly had found Java cowering under her car. The kitten had led them to the Dumpster, where they found Kathryn, one of Jake’s college-aged baristas, bloodied and battered by none other than Nick Costopolous.

  Her pulse ticked up and her heart went crazy, thumping in her chest.

  It’s broad daylight. And he’s in prison. She silently repeated the two sentences in a loop as she hurried to her car, turned the key with shaking hands and eased out into Shadyside traffic.

  The mantra was still running through her mind after the short drive up Forbes to Squirrel Hill. She found a spot in front of the laundromat across the street from the Krav Maga studio and waited for a break in traffic.

  She hauled herself into the studio, slightly breathless from both the midday heat and reliving memories of Costopolous and his brutality. Daniel and one of the advanced students were demonstrating a chokehold for a mountain of a man she didn’t recognize. Daniel caught her eye in the wall-to-wall mirror and nodded. She leaned against doorframe and waited for a break in the action.

  After he’d explained the maneuver again, he set the senior student and new guy up and told them to practice the move. He walked toward her, smiling.

  “This is a nice surprise,” he said as he let himself into the small office space carved into a corner of the room. He held the door for her. “Do you want a bottle of water?”

  “I’d love one. Who’s the new guy?”

  “George. His company relocated him from out West. He was taking some kind of mixed martial arts class. He’s strong, obviously, but he lacks finesse.” Daniel pulled two bottled waters from the mini-fridge under his desk and passed one to her. He twisted off his cap and took a long drink before continuing. “Once you’re back in fighting form, we’ll have to get you to show old George that size isn’t all that matters.”

  It was the perfect opening for her request. “Actually, Daniel, I’d be happy to spar now.” He opened his mouth to protest but she steamrolled ahead. “I know, I know. Nobody’s comfortable sparring with me. You can’t force the other students. I get it.”

  “Then what are you proposing?”

  “You could spar with me.”

  He blinked at her. His expression gave no hint of what he was thinking, but the sweat beading up on his hairline made it pretty clear he didn’t love the idea. “Uh—“

  “We’ve sparred hundreds of times,” she pointed out.

  “I know. But …” He stared meaningfully at her giant belly. “You look like a Weeble Wobble.”

  Her cheeks burned but she ignored the jab and focused on her argument. “Come on, Daniel. Please. I need to practice.”

  “Listen, that was a stupid joke. I’m sure it’s frustrating to be sidelined, but I don’t know the safest holds and falls for a pregnant woman. And I know you don’t want to hurt the baby.”

  “Right. I want to protect the baby. And myself. But I’m not sure I could if I had to because I also don’t know the safest holds and falls for a pregnant woman. You’re my instructor; you have to teach me.” She struggled to keep her mounting desperation out of her voice.

  “I’m also your friend. And this is crazy. You’re due next week, right? Take a few months after the baby comes to take it easy and get into a new routine and then come back to the studio.” He smiled and patted her arm.

  “I need to know that I can still protect myself,” she insisted.

  He leaned closer to her and peered at her face. “Listen, Chris would have my hide if he found out I let you spar. He’d probably also tell my mother. You’re pretty convincing, but Bertie has years of Jewish motherhood on her side. She’d kill me. I can’t do it. I’m sorry.” He gave her a sad smile.

  Tears pricked at her eyes. She stared at the wall over his left shoulder and took a long, slow breath. You will not cry, she instructed herself. After a moment, she looked back at Daniel. “Okay,” she said simply. What else was she going to say? She couldn’t make him spar with her.

  She stood
to leave.

  “Wait.”

  She turned back. “Yeah?” she said hopefully.

  “I forgot who I was talking to. Is there a specific threat you’re worried about?” His boyish face was drawn up, wrinkles creasing his forehead and his lips curving downward.

  “Yes. No. Maybe?”

  His expression of concern deepened. “That sounds ominous.”

  “I guess it is.” A sudden wave of tiredness washed over her. She didn’t want to get into a long discussion about it; especially if he wasn’t going to help her.

  “Let Leo handle it.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

  “Simmer down. You’re more than capable, I know. But very few people just happen to be married to a big, strapping federal agent with shadowy connections and deadly accurate aim with a handgun. Rely on your husband already. You don’t have to do everything the hard way.”

  She started to respond then thought the better of it. “Thanks for the water.”

  She headed out to the street, bracing herself for the oppressive heat and humidity that was about to smack her in the face.

  6

  Katrina and Connelly were waiting for her on the worn velvet couch when she walked through the birthing center’s front door. A paddle fan rotated lazily on the ceiling, providing a hint of a breeze.

  “Am I late?” she asked.

  “No, Leo got here a few minutes early, so we decided to chat out here,” the midwife assured her with a broad smile. “Now that you’re here, let’s head up to an exam room and you can tell me how you’ve been feeling.”

  Connelly stood and greeted Sasha with a quick kiss. She laced her fingers through his, and they trailed Katrina through the lobby and up the narrow stairs to the second-floor examination rooms. Katrina passed by the old-fashioned scale that sat in the hallway without even slowing. Sasha smiled in gratitude, and Connelly shook his head. They stopped in front of the second door on the left and waited while Katrina opened the door to the tidy room. It felt more like a small home library than an exam room. Three walls were covered with bookshelves; sun streamed in through the window; and a vase of fresh cut flowers from Katrina’s garden was centered on the desk. There was nothing clinical or sterile about the space, save the metal table under the window.

  Sasha headed toward the table, but Katrina stopped her. “Let’s just talk for a while first,” she suggested, gesturing toward the pair of armchairs positioned across from the desk.

  That suited Sasha just fine. She sunk into the closer of the chairs and let her heavy briefcase fall to the hardwood floor with a deep thud. Connelly took the chair beside her. He looked down at her feet with a quizzical expression.

  “New shoes?” he stage whispered.

  “Long story,” she whispered back.

  Katrina glanced up from the notes in Sasha’s chart and took in the footwear. “Feel free to switch to sensible shoes any day now,” she deadpanned.

  “Why change now? My due date’s just five days away,” Sasha shot back with a grin.

  The midwife pushed her glasses up to the top of her head and leaned across the desk. “It is. But remember, babies don’t have calendars. That little one doesn’t know about your EDD—and the important part is it’s an estimated due date. Your baby will come when he or she’s ready, okay?”

  Sasha heard the words but refused to believe that her pregnancy would extend one day past her estimated due date. Despite Katrina’s frequent reminders, despite her sisters-in-law’s stories about her own nieces and nephews who came days, even weeks, after their due dates, despite the pile of “You’re Having a Baby” books she’d thumbed through over the past several months, she just knew her baby was going to come on time.

  “Right,” she finally said.

  Connelly looked meaningfully at Sasha’s swollen belly. “It could come early, too, though, right? I mean, she can’t get much bigger, can she?”

  Katrina smiled understandingly. Sasha, with just a touch less understanding, aimed a sharp kick at his shin.

  “Ow!”

  “That’s true, Leo. But, to be honest, it’s unlikely. Statistically, a first-time mother is more likely to go past her due date than to deliver early. But, at this point, the baby’s pretty much done growing.”

  Connelly muttered something that sounded like ‘good thing’ under his breath, but Sasha couldn’t be sure so she decided not to kick him again.

  “So, how are you feeling?” Katrina asked.

  Sasha considered the question. “Excited. Emotional. Tired.”

  The midwife nodded as if that all sounded about right to her. “And you?” she asked Connelly.

  “Terrified.”

  Sasha and Katrina laughed, but he didn’t join in. Sasha stole a sidelong glance at her husband and realized he wasn’t joking. She patted his hand.

  “That’s normal,” Katrina reassured him. “Now, Sasha are you still having Braxton-Hicks contractions?”

  “Oh, definitely.”

  Katrina, who had grown accustomed to Sasha’s compulsive note-taking during the course of her pregnancy, said, “You’re probably going to want to jot this down.” She waited while Sasha dug her leather-bound journal and a pen from the depths of her bag and opened the notebook to a blank page. “Start paying close attention to the contractions. When they become regular and longer, stronger, and closer together, it’s game time. Time them from the start of one to the start of the next. When they’re five minutes apart and at least thirty seconds long, get yourself in the car and head over here. Call and let us know you’re coming, especially if it’s the middle of the night or something.”

  Sasha scribbled furiously, her heart racing. This was really it. Soon, very soon, they were going to have a baby.

  Connelly cleared his throat. “What should I do when Sasha’s having contractions? I know you told us to practice visualization, but she gets snappy when I tell her to relax.”

  Katrina nodded sympathetically. “Some women do. You need to find out from Sasha how to best support her. But one thing you can do is make sure all the details are taken care of—the carseat is installed, the bag is packed, arrangements are in place for the pets, that sort of …” she trailed off as Sasha and Connelly both burst into peals of laughter. “What?”

  Connelly wiped tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. “Sorry,” he said when he was able to breathe. “Sasha’s had that stuff done for weeks.”

  Sasha grinned then shrugged sheepishly. No one had ever accused her of being disorganized.

  “Okay, then. Well, I guess you two are in pretty good shape. Let’s measure that belly.” She removed a measuring tape from her top desk drawer while Connelly helped Sasha up onto the exam table. The act of moving must’ve woken the baby because Sasha was suddenly being pummeled from the inside. Katrina waited until the action settled down to measure.

  “Looks like you have a soccer player,” she observed.

  “Or an octopus,” Sasha said. “This baby is all over the place.”

  Katrina um-hummed absently in response, focusing on her measurement.

  Sasha and Connelly waited in silence. Katrina was staring at the number. Then she walked back to her desk and checked Sasha’s chart, still without speaking.

  Connelly and Sasha locked eyes in shared confusion. Katrina was usually irrepressibly chatty.

  Connelly smiled as if to reassure her, but his eyes reflected the fear that was rising in her. She smiled back with no real conviction.

  Another long moment passed. Sasha’s pulse started to gallop.

  “Katrina? Is something wrong?” she asked when she couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. Connelly squeezed her hand.

  The midwife raised her head. “Oh, no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. You’re just measuring large for date.” She glanced back down at the chart, knitting her eyebrows together and counting almost inaudibly.

  Sasha stared at Connelly. Do something, she urged him silently.


  “How large?” he asked.

  Katrina held up a finger as if to say ‘wait a second.’ Then she walked back over to Sasha. “Let me just try this again before we get worked up over nothing,” she said with a smile as she pulled her glasses down from the crown of her head. “May I?”

  “Sure,” Sasha said.

  Katrina positioned the tape just so and checked the number again. Then she gave a little shrug and rolled the tape into a tight spiral. “So, to answer your question, Leo, Sasha’s currently measuring 47 weeks.”

  “47 weeks?! Is that really even a thing?” Sasha didn’t even try to sound calm. She flicked her eyes toward Connelly, who looked a little green.

  Katrina patted the air with both hands in a ‘take it easy’ gesture. “Let’s not panic. You have been measuring big all along. This is …well, it’s a large jump, but it’s certainly not unheard of. This measurement is really just a ballpark. Women measure differently depending on where the baby’s positioned, how high or low they’re carrying, whether the baby’s dropped, and of course, their own body shape. You’re a very petite person, but Leo is a big guy, and you’ve mentioned that your brothers are tall and broad-shouldered, too, right?” Katrina spoke in a soothing tone.

  Sasha felt her anxiety subsiding. “That’s right.”

  “Great. I’m sure we don’t have anything to worry about, but, out of an abundance of caution, I’d like to check the baby’s heartbeat. Is that okay with you?”

  Sasha looked carefully at her midwife. Katrina’s demeanor, voice, and body language betrayed nothing. But the atmosphere in the room had definitely turned more serious. She swallowed hard. “Of course, sure.”

  Connelly perched beside her on the table and stroked her hair. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

  She appreciated the effort, but the words were meaningless. Neither one of them had a basis for saying everything would be fine. Only Katrina could tell them that. She held her breath while Katrina untangled the tubing of her fetoscope and hung it around her neck. The device resembled a stethoscope, but in place of the smooth metal disk on the end there was a small horn. A vinyl pad was attached to the horn by a short metal bar. Katrina put the earbuds in her ears, and palpated Sasha’s belly.