LITMIR.BIZ

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wide, then she allowed her stiff shoulders to slump. “Probably. For the life of me, I can’t see where we went wrong. Mary had a proven pelvis. She was healthy and strong. Right up to the end, the baby was doing so well….”

      “Lydia, the situation was out of your control.”

      “It’s so difficult to accept. In all my years, I’ve never lost a baby and a mother. Poor Sammy!”

      Kim had no idea who Sammy was. Now didn’t seem the time to ask. If only she could say something, do something to help. Another person might put an arm around Lydia, murmur comforting words. But for Kim that wasn’t possible.

      “May I make you some tea, Lydia?”

      The older woman shook her head and pulled yet another tissue from the box. She blew her nose and wiped her eyes.

      “I’d love to help.” Kim felt hopelessly inadequate. If only Trish were here. The receptionist had such a gentle, caring way about her.

      “Oh, Kim, I wish…”

      Desperate to be of some assistance, Kim leaned forward. “Yes?”

      “I’d really like to talk to my granddaughter.”

      Kim drew in a breath. What? How? Then she realized that of course Lydia was referring to Devon Grant in Albuquerque. Devon was in the medical profession, too. And she’d recently joined the board at The Birth Place. In fact, she’d taken her grandmother’s position on the board. She would be able to understand Lydia’s pain so much better than Kim could.

      “Do you know her number? I’ll place the call if you’d like.”

      “Oh, it’s too late.”

      “I’m sure Devon wouldn’t mind.” In the other woman’s shoes, Kim knew she wouldn’t. She led Lydia back to the reception area, where she punched in the number Lydia gave her. The phone rang many times. But there was no answer and no message machine, either.

      “Devon must be on a night shift.”

      “Which hospital?” When Lydia told her, Kim dialed directory assistance and soon the line was ringing again.

      “May I speak to Devon Grant, please. Her grandmother, Lydia Kane, wishes to speak to her.” She passed the receiver to Lydia, then prepared to leave to give Lydia her privacy. Her hand was on the door leading back to the admin area, when she heard the older woman speak softly.

      “I see. Okay. I’ll try again later.”

      Kim turned. “What’s wrong?”

      “Apparently Devon is in the middle of a delivery. She wasn’t able to take my call.” Lydia was trembling now and struggling not to show it. She hung up the phone, avoiding the younger woman’s sympathetic gaze.

      “I’m sure she’ll call you back soon,” Kim said. But she couldn’t help wondering if Devon truly had been too busy to take this call. Kim hadn’t worked here long, but she was aware of the tension between the two women.

      The problem stretched back ten years, to a time when Hope Tanner—then a pregnant teenage girl—had sought refuge at The Birth Place. Hope and Devon had become friends. Then Hope had her baby and left town. Kim didn’t know what happened to her baby. Few people did, but Devon was one of them. And she clearly blamed Lydia for something.

      Up until that time, her grandmother had been Devon’s mentor and inspiration. But no longer. Devon had moved to Albuquerque and now the two women rarely spoke.

      Kim’s sympathies lay one-hundred percent with Lydia. If the older midwife had done something wrong, she must have had a darn good reason. Lydia would have made sure that baby went to a good home. A good family. If she’d bent a few rules to make that happen, so what?

      Devon wouldn’t be so quick to judge, Kim thought, if she knew what it was like to be a child who didn’t have a family. Or anyplace to call home.

      THE NEXT MORNING Lydia Kane resisted the urge to stay in bed. She’d dealt with pain, disappointment and loss many times in her seventy-three years. None had been a reason to neglect her work before and they weren’t now, either.

      She arrived at The Birth Place fifteen minutes before her appointment with a new couple who’d been referred by an ex-patient. This was their first baby, and Lydia didn’t know if she was up to dealing with their excitement, their enthusiasm…their naiveté.

      Bringing a new child into this world was a marvelous voyage. That was how Lydia normally felt. But after last night it seemed as if her heart had been replaced with a lead facsimile. The melancholy would fade, she knew from experience. The sense of having failed would not.

      She stopped by one of the many collages of photos on display at the birth center. So many tiny faces, proud parents, excited siblings. If only the Davidsons could be among them. Closing her eyes, she composed the picture. Steve standing at the back, a proud hand on Sammy’s shoulder, the other wrapped around his wife, who would be holding a bundled baby to her chest.

      That’s how last night should have ended.

      If only… If only…

      Lydia turned from the wall and continued to her office, to the sanctuary of her leather chair and old oak desk.

      Was there anything she could have done? Any sign she’d missed? It didn’t matter that she’d relived every step of the delivery a dozen times last night, and a dozen more this morning. Lydia knew it would take a while for her mind to accept this latest defeat.

      Losing a baby happened so rarely. But when the sad circumstance occurred, she was always reminded of the first time she’d lost a baby, her own baby, when she was only sixteen.

      She’d been so young…too young. Giving her daughter up for adoption had seemed the best option at the time—at least according to her father. Lydia’s mother had been dead by then. The child will be happier with a real family, her father had said. And Lydia had prayed for the baby’s sake that he was right.

      But in her heart, she’d known that she’d let her baby down. She’d devoted her life to mothers and babies ever since. But for all the good she knew that she’d done, cases like the Davidsons made her wonder if the sacrifices she’d made had been worth it after all.

      Especially when she considered her own children, the two she’d had after she’d married Ken. Her devotion to her profession had come at a cost, paid in part, she was afraid, by the son she never saw in New York City and the daughter in San Francisco who only visited sporadically.

      Then this past autumn, her second failure as a midwife had been exposed when Hope Tanner came back to town. And now Lydia no longer sat as a member of the board of the birth center she’d founded.

      She’d given up everything for The Birth Place. Now she was nothing but an employee. Life could be so ironic.

      Noticing Kim Sherman’s closed door, Lydia forgot her troubles for a moment. She had no doubt that the accountant had arrived at work at the usual time, despite the long hours she’d put in yesterday.

      Kim had been so kind last night. Lydia wondered why the young woman couldn’t show that side of her personality more often. It was no secret around here that most people found her abrasive. Her comments were usually brisk and often critical. No one could meet her expectations, it seemed. Even Parker Reynolds, the chief administrator, admitted she was hard to take. But he refused to let her go.

      “We need someone like her,” he’d told Lydia. “She’s renegotiated all our insurance contracts at much better terms. And she’s implementing incredible improvements to our billing system.”

      Lydia changed her trajectory and headed to that firmly closed door.

      “Come in.”

      Lydia was struck by how young Kim appeared, surrounded by the stacks of computer printouts on her desk. The petite woman was only twenty-five, unmarried and so pretty. She should be enjoying her youth, not spending

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