Kevin O'Brien - Disturbed

Up ahead, Chris noticed a handsome, blond-haired college guy strutting down the corridor, wearing a sports jacket, denim shirt, and an expensive-looking scarf. A gawky version of him, probably a kid brother going through puberty, tagged alongside him. Mr. Handsome College Guy was carrying a small poinsettia plant. His eyes seemed to lock on Courtney for a moment, and he grimaced a little before averting his gaze.

After they passed by, Chris could hear the kid brother whisper: “God, did you see her face?”

Courtney kept walking a few more paces. In the silence, Chris listened once more to the squeaking wheels of her IV holder. Then Courtney stopped. “I think that’s enough exercise for one day,” she murmured. “I’d like to go back to my room.”

“Sure,” Chris said, putting his hand on her back.

“What were we talking about anyway?”

“Mrs. Corson,” he muttered.

She nodded. “You were asking if it upset me to have Mrs. Corson so close — after everything she did to me.”

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

“I don’t mind.” Courtney gave a blasé shrug. “It won’t be for much longer. I hear they’re transferring her to a prison hospital by the end of the week. And besides, I really don’t think about her all that much.”

Chris could tell she was lying. He wasn’t sure why.

Maybe it was just something she’d picked up from her mother.

There was a Picasso print in her ob-gyn’s ultrasound examining room — right above a magazine bin that hung on the wall. An issue of Vanity Fair was face out at the front of the stack. Lying on the table, Molly stared at the cover photo of Cate Blanchett while Dr. Lantz applied the cold gel to her lower abdomen. The magazine reminded her that in three months, the Vanity Fair Hollywood issue would be released — featuring a two-page cola ad with her party illustration. She’d been able to fix the painting. She’d seen the ad mock-up, too, and been impressed: Quenching Thirsts for 90 Years! Molly was already fielding a slew of other job offers.

By the time that issue of Vanity Fair hit the stands, she’d be five months along — if all went well. Right now, she really didn’t look pregnant — just a bit overweight in the midriff. Molly hated this dumpy stage. She couldn’t wait to be really showing , without-a-doubt-pregnant. Then maybe she’d stop worrying and feel more confident about the baby’s health.

“I’ve got news for you,” Dr. Lantz had told her. “From now on, even after the baby’s born, you’ll never stop worrying.”

She’d just had an ultrasound three weeks before, immediately following Jenna Corson’s capture. Molly had wanted to make sure the awful pills and peppermints Jenna had given her hadn’t hurt the baby. Lantz had said from the sonogram and his examination, everything looked fine.

But Molly needed to be reassured again. She’d asked for another ultrasound. Lantz had agreed to squeeze her in for an appointment. She’d also asked about Jenna’s baby, if there was any chance it had survived. There had been no mention of Jenna’s pregnancy in any of the articles Molly had read. None of the cops or reporters she’d spoken with knew about it. That was Jeff’s child Jenna had been carrying. Molly needed to know what had happened to it. So she’d asked Dr. Lantz if he could find out for her.

Molly liked Dr. Lantz. In fact, with his light brown hair, brown eyes, and boy-next-door looks, he reminded her of Chris O’Donnell, whom she’d been crazy about in high school. Dr. Lantz was happily married with three daughters, so Molly figured it was safe to have a harmless little crush on him. They couldn’t possibly get involved.

She wasn’t ready to get involved with anyone. Chet Blazevich had paid her another unofficial visit at home last week. “Just checking in,” he’d said. Molly had appreciated knowing he was looking out for her. And she liked him a hell of a lot.

But when he’d asked to take her out for dinner sometime, Molly had told the handsome cop it was just too soon.

“I can wait,” he’d told her.

“Well, that’s the true test,” she’d replied. “Will you still like me when I’m not fat and hormonal and pregnant with someone else’s baby?”

“I’ll still like you,” he’d promised. He’d also promised to check in on her and the kids from time to time — if she didn’t mind.

Molly didn’t mind one bit.

Moving the ultrasound scanner over her gel-smeared, slightly expanded lower abdomen, Dr. Lantz studied the sonogram and announced, “We’re looking good here, Molly. Everything is as normal as normal can be.”

Molly studied the sonogram monitor and the little oblong cloud that was supposed to be her child. It still didn’t seem real.

“By the way,” Dr. Lantz said. “This is strictly off the record, but I talked to Jenna Corson’s doctor for you a few days ago. Mrs. Corson wasn’t pregnant. She thought she was — and refused to believe she wasn’t. Anyway, sounds like a hysterical pregnancy.”

Molly actually found herself pitying Jenna — until she thought about all the tainted pills and peppermints Jenna had given her.

“Are you sure everything looks okay with the baby?” Molly pressed.

Dr. Lantz nodded, and moved the scanner a bit. “Do you want to know the sex?”

Molly hesitated. She hadn’t wanted to before, but somehow it mattered now. She didn’t want to think of this baby as it anymore. She nodded. “Tell me. . ”

“It’s a boy,” he said.

Molly gazed at the cloud on the sonogram, and smiled. She was looking at her son. “Are you — are you sure he’s okay?” she asked. “I mean, after all, he’s been through a lot. . ”

“So have you,” the doctor said. “But I guess he’s a real survivor, just like his mom.”

Molly kept staring at the screen. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

“I hate these stinking lights,” Chris announced.

He’d assembled the fake Christmas tree in the family room and carefully arranged three of the four white light strings on the branches. But one string in the middle had just gone out. Now he was testing each bulb to find which son-of-a-bitch light was screwing up the whole son-of-a-bitch string.

He didn’t even want Christmas this year, but he was putting up the tree to make Molly and Erin happy. They were in the kitchen, baking Christmas cookies for Erin’s class tomorrow. Erin sat on a step stool on the other side of the counter, frosting the cookies. The sweet, homey smell filled the house — as did the sound of Johnny Mathis singing “Winter Wonderland” on Molly’s iPod Christmas mix.

“I want to put the star on top of the tree!” Erin declared.

“You did it last year,” Chris said. “It’s Molly’s turn. She hasn’t had a chance to put the star up yet.”

“But I want to,” Erin whined.

“Oh, it really doesn’t matter that much to me,” Molly sighed.

She’d said the same thing last year when his dad had suggested she do the tree-topping honors. Erin had wanted to do it then, too. And Molly — obviously still trying to win them over — had insisted that Erin have her way. But Chris remembered his dad hadn’t been pleased. He’d told them later that it would have been a nice gesture to let Molly put the star on the tree — to acknowledge she was part of the family.

That was last year. Chris really didn’t have time for all this Christmas tradition now. He still had schoolwork to catch up on from the two weeks he’d missed when first his mom and then his dad had been killed. He also had to start looking for colleges that might offer swimming scholarships. It was the kind of thing his dad might have helped him with.