“Catherine had her baby?” I asked for the sake of clarification, even though the truth was pretty damn clear. “But…that isn’t possible. She isn’t due for a week.”
Davida chuckled, and so did a few of the assistants behind her. When I scanned their faces, they had all suddenly become really fucking serious with other things to look at, like the ceiling and walls.
“That’s only an estimated date,” Davida explained slowly, like I was an imbecile. “The baby is definitely here. I was there when she came into the world.”
Raymond waved his cigar around. “As was I.”
There were many, many questions on the tip of my tongue, most having to do with why the hell Davida and Raymond had been at the birth.
“She had the baby?” That was all I’d managed to shove from my brain, confirming Davida’s assessment. I really was an imbecile.
“She did. Our Kit was a goddess.” Davida waved her cigar around. “The little bugger came out plump and cute.”
“True,” Raymond agreed. “Our baby is not like other girls. She’s got round cheeks and a flawless hairline, even if she was gooey when she first entered the world.”
I blinked hard. “When did this happen?”
“Yesterday morning,” Davida answered.
“Ten hours of labor.” Raymond took off his glasses and wiped them on his tie. “By the end, I was asking her to share her epidural with me. That experience was not for the faint of heart.”
Davida elbowed him. “You weren’t required to be there.”
Raymond slid his glasses back on. “Of course I had to be there. Kit’s all alone. She needed me.”
I needed more information, not their bickering. Raymond’s words had hooked in the back of my mind, and I wondered why the hell she’d been alone. Who would have left her to fend for herself?
This wasn’t the time to ask those questions, though. There were more pressing matters.
“Is she okay? Are they okay?”
“They are. Absolute perfection, the both of them.” Davida smiled almost dreamily. “They’re going home tomorrow.”
According to the reading I’d done, this was standard, but it didn’t seem like nearly enough time. She’d brought a human into the world, and they were sending her on her way in forty-eight hours?
“Good. That’s good. I’ll send her a gift.” I rolled the pink cigar between my fingers. “I’ll need the baby’s name so I can put it on the card.”
“Josephine,” Davida answered. “She’s calling her Joey.”
“Ah.” I had no idea why, but that made sense. Of course Catherine had named her baby Josephine. “Do you”—I lowered my voice, so I wasn’t overheard by the nosy, gossipy assistants—“have a picture you can share?”
Raymond snorted. “Davida has a whole album.”
In the time Davida had worked at LD, I hadn’t known her to be soft or anything but professional. Right now, her cheeks pinkened, and she smiled like a proud grandma or something. The change was disarming.
“I can send you the link if you’d like,” Davida offered.
Yes was almost out of my mouth when I hesitated. “If you think Catherine would be okay with it, please.”
Surely, pictures of her child were precious. I didn’t imagine Catherine as one of those social media types who spread their personal life far and wide, but I could have been wrong. She might’ve plastered her every meal, thought, medical dilemma, and everything in between on the World Wide Web.
Even as I thought it, I instinctively knew that wasn’t who she was.
“She wouldn’t mind me showing them to you.” Davida tapped on her phone a few times then looked up. “The link is in your inbox.”
“Thank you.” I held up the cigar. “Enjoy your celebration, everyone, but make it short. There’s work to be done.”
Once I returned to my desk, I made myself wait to open the email and went through my morning routine, minus Catherine’s handwritten schedule and our standard meeting. I was already thrown off balance, and the absence of my daily habits skewed me even further.
I forced myself to stay focused on returning emails, including one to the temp agency, letting them know Daniel Nussbaum would be needed immediately.
Once those tasks were completed, I clicked the link. There were fifty-two photos, and I went through each one.
The first was Catherine in a hospital bed, machines around her, looking small despite the basketball she was carrying around in her middle. And maybe I was reading too much into her expression, but she also looked afraid.