Chapter 14: Two Heartbeats

Nobody in the container said anything for a second.

The two heartbeats kept galloping out of the scanner's tinny speaker.

Then Sable screamed so loud the medic dropped the wand.

"Out," the medic said. "Out, all of you, you're scaring my equipment."

Nobody went out.

I looked at the door.

Brand was holding on to the frame with both hands.

His face had gone completely blank.

Then it broke open.

He crossed the container in two steps and went down on his knees by the cot.

He put his big scaled hand flat on my stomach, over the gel, very carefully.

"There," the medic said, and moved the wand to show him. "That one. And that one."

"Two," he said.

"Two."

He looked up at me.

"A boy and a girl," he said. "You told me a boy and a girl."

He laughed, and his eyes were wet.

He laid his cheek on my stomach, gel and all.

Sable was crying into the medic's towel.

The medic sighed and wrote something on a card.

"Vitamins," she said. "Filtered water. No ladders."

"No ladders," Brand said into my stomach.

"I'm building a dome," I said.

"From the ground," the medic said. "Or I'll tell Gran."

Gran found out in about four minutes anyway.

By noon there were three pots of stew on our porch.

And a pair of tiny knitted socks, made for some other baby years ago.

That night I lay on the cot with my hand on my stomach and couldn't sleep.

Brand lay beside me awake too. He'd stopped pretending an hour ago.

"It's early," I said into the dark.

"Early how?"

"Last time it took months. Not our first week."

"Is that bad?"

"It's different. Everything's different this time." I swallowed. "I keep thinking that's good."

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