EMBRACE YOU Lone(liness Book Two)(2)

Tim and I give strained smiles. "We're The Lonely Lovers, actually, but you're right and that's her. She was probably just pissed that we refused to allow her back. We're still looking for a new studio, one that's a bit...safer. Officer, she has to stay behind bars because we don't know what she'll pull next time if she's released," Tim says.

The detective assures us that there is enough evidence to put Gemma behind bars and that he will stay in touch with us. We leave the station a bit relieved and ready to move on with our lives.



Marcus and I begin settling into our new married life and approaching parenthood. As we had planned, I give my landlady 30 days' notice and we get my move done with little fanfare. The most difficulty we have is in deciding what needs to be tossed into the rubbish bin, what has to be sold, and what will go with me. I'm limited to loading and taping boxes while the rest of the guys and my family do all the heavy work. In Marcus' flat, we've already decided what's going to go where, so it's actually pretty easy once we get everything upstairs.

I continue to see my midwife, Gwen Rochester, every month. She's a short, round lady of forty years with gray-flecked, curly locks of auburn that sink to her shoulders. Her brown eyes flick and flutter as she weighs me and measures my growing belly. At my next midwife visit, she smiles as she goes over our progress.

"You and your little one are moving along normally. She - or he - is developing perfectly, so far, with a normal weight. Do you feel the kicking yet?" Gwen asks.

"If, by 'kicking,' you mean that gentle, butterfly-like ticking on my insides, then yes! It feels so...odd, but I love it!"

Gwen laughs. "Enjoy that butterfly feeling while it lasts! Before long, your little one will be walloping you!"

My eyes widen. "Walloping? As in kicking hard?"

"Kicking, punching, head-butting...you will feel it. Your bladder will feel it. Your ribs will feel it."

"Oh, my God! Yes, I think I will enjoy this ticklish sensation while it lasts," I say. "Um. What about..."

"Making love?"

"Yes," I say with a blush.

"Just don't engage in anything too vigorous. Enjoy yourselves before the little one makes his or her presence into the world!" says Gwen with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

"Oh, definitely!" Marcus says.

I glance at him with a look of exhaustion. I hope I can just get the move over with, let alone make love. Movement is a little trickier these days, now that my middle is expanding so much. Still, I giggle at Marcus' excited face.

"As you progress further into your pregnancy, expect to feel those 'practice' contractions. They aren't the real thing. Your uterus is contracting, literally in practice for the real event," Gwen reminds me.

"Braxton-Hicks. I've been reading about them. Not sure I'm looking forward to them, actually," I say.

"D'you know how you can tell the difference? The contractions are irregular and they don't become any more intense than how they started. If you're not sure, time them. Call me if they become regular and get harder," she instructs.

"Got that," Marcus says. His face now grows even more serious as he contemplates childbirth.

After the appointment with Gwen, we head back to Marcus' flat and eat a quiet supper. I know Marcus' mind is spent on the childbirth as much as mine, which is to say quite a lot. After doing the dishes, Marcus sits on the couch next to me and asks if I'm scared about the whole ordeal.

"Not scared as much as just wondering. How intense can labor really be? And, will I ever see my feet again?" I respond, trying to make light of the otherwise serious situation.

Marcus begins laughing uproariously. "Yes, you will see your feet again. In the meantime, I don't mind tying your shoes for you."

I laugh with him, which stirs up the butterfly tickles in my belly. "Oh, hon, see if you can feel that!" I grab Marcus' hand and position it over the ticklish spot.

Marcus concentrates for several long seconds, but he feels nothing. "I don't think it's strong enough for me to feel it. From what Gwen was saying, we'll be able to feel the pummeling in a few weeks."

I don't know why, but I begin to feel a stir of dread forming in my mind. What if the baby kicks too much? What if the baby doesn't kick at all? I'd rather feel the baby, but I've heard stories of women suffering internal damage by an overactive baby. What if my diet affects how the baby behaves?

"What? What's wrong?" Marcus must have read the worry in my eyes.

I tell him my worries and that I'm jealous that he doesn't have to deal with my conditions. It was a thoughtless comment, and I immediately regret the implication.

"Its okay, Jo. You do get a lot of the responsibility of making sure our baby is well. Still, I worry every day about you, your health and about our little one here," he says. "You care for the baby, but I must care for you. Hell, I even quit eating and drinking things that you couldn't just so not to tempt you," he reminds me.

I think back to our U.S. tour. "You know, now that I think of it, I didn't see you eat the normal junk food you usually do," I say. "You really felt bad?"

"Oh, yeah! I'd have felt guilty if I continued drinking and eating junk when you couldn't. Hell, I even felt sick when you did."