Page 20 of The Un-Apparent Heir

“I am starting nothing. And you’re right. They are differently challenging, I guess.”

“Mama,” Malcolm reached across the bed.

“No, you stay right there,” Lucy said. “Don’t get jealous of cousin Connor. Do you want to see the baby?”

“Maaaaaama.”

Brittany scooped the baby up. Jenn traded places with her as she sat by Lucy, letting Malcolm get a look at his tiny cousin.

“Nice hands,” Lucy said. “Nice hands.”

“He can love the dogs a little too much,” Winston explained. “We must work on that.”

“It’s a baby,” Lucy told Malcolm. “Baby.”

Malcolm waved. He was frustrated at the lack of response.

“Babies can’t wave,” Winston said, patiently.

Dwight waved at Malcolm, satisfying him. Malcolm said in his sweet baby voice, “Hello.”

It was one of his five words. The others being dog, food, dada, and mama—picked up in that order.

“Oh, he has an accent,” Brittany cooed.

“Well, he’s British and lives in Britain, Mom,” Francine laughed.

“He’s Scottish, but lives in England, thus the posh southern accent,” Winston said.

“He’s Scottish?” Dwight looked confused.

“Born in Scotland. He’s a Scot,” Winston insisted.

“Don’t try to understand it. You won’t, Dad,” Lucy said. “They’re all very territorial. He will be Duke of Lauderdale which is a Scottish title.”

“That little guy will be a duke?” Dwight chuckled. “Hard to believe.”

“I know,” Lucy said.

Her father wasn’t combative and didn’t slur. If he’d been sober would her childhood have been different? Would they have a relationship? Would he have been a good father? It broke her heart. She knew Winston, also the child of an alcoholic, worried about these things. Still, Winston’s father was functional while Dwight hadn’t been since Lucy left for university at seventeen. Since she’d lived in the UK, he’d been unable to spend even a few hours stone-cold-sober. Now, he was just Dwight. It was troubling, but Lucy felt better about choosing to bring Malcolm. He was safe in her mother’s lap.

Things were far from perfect. Lucy would never have the rosy view of childhood she hoped Malcolm would. She’d never have those memories to fall back on. She’d have the trauma of her parents perpetually broke, her father’s rages, and the way she was smacked around for standing up for her little sister. Still, she hoped her father would have peace, as would her mother, who was also a victim. She knew she was a better parent to Malcolm. The thing she wanted more than anything—that Winston wanted, too—was for their children to grow up loved and secure in that love. Neither wanted them to want for anything.

Natalie woke, doubled over in pain. It only got worse. She climbed out of bed to empty her bladder and see if that helped. Her body was swollen from fertility drugs. They were a few days away from their retrieval and she was in the thick of it. However, this pain was especially bad.

She began to cry. She cringed and held the vanity for stability, struggling to wash her hands.

“Ed! Winslow! Edwin!” She called, slowly lowering herself.

Ed came running. “What is it, Natalie?”

He was frightened and half-awake.

“I’m going to pass out. I think.”

“What? How can I help, baby? What can I do?”

“I am…” Natalie crawled to the toilet, vomiting violently.

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