“Good question, since she’s barely mentioned you—not that first day or any other time.”

I struggle to take it in. “Well … what did she want then?”

He shrugs. “First, she wanted to have coffee. Then she suggested lunch. Each time I agreed because I wanted to know how you were doing. But she never told me much about you, other than that you were happy with your new boyfriend. Then … yesterday, she told me you were pregnant.”

I don’t understand. Why would Rose say that after making me promise I wouldn’t tell him?

“She said she’s been on the fence about whether to say anything, because you’d made her swear to keep it a secret. But now that you’re in financial trouble, she said she had to reach out.”

I open my eyes. Financial trouble?

My head is spinning. Wally watches me closely, his eyes on my face, as if he’d expected my surprise. But I still don’t understand. It feels like everyone is in on a secret, except me.

“Wally, I’m not in financial trouble.”

“Rose said you’d say that. She said you’re too proud to admit it.”

“Well, I’m not.”

He takes a few deep breaths. “How far along are you?”

“Nearly eight months.” It’s a miracle that I’m able to fudge the date, given the amount of noise in my head. Wally is here, standing right in front of me. It feels like a dream.

He sneaks a look at me. “And … you and … the new guy … are okay?”

I almost say, “What new guy?” Then I remember. He’s talking about the father. The fictional father of my baby.

I manage a nod. But I’m thinking of that phone conversation Rose and I had, after she found out Wally had founded Shout! I remember the excitement in her voice. A hundred million dollars, she’d said.

“I’m sorry.” Wally reaches out and touches my shoulder. “I’ve upset you.”

“I’m just confused. I don’t know why Rose came to you.”

“She came to me,” he says, “because she knows I care about you. She knows that I’d give you the money in a heartbeat if you needed it.” Wally clears his throat. “And she used that information to try to get money for herself, Fern, not for you.”

I shake my head. “No. That can’t be right.”

“Look, Fern, I know you’ve met someone else. But Rose is right, I do still care about you. And as someone who cares about you, I feel a responsibility to tell you that I think something is very wrong with your sister. Very, very wrong.”

I shake my head. I don’t want to believe it, but deep down I have a horrible feeling that he is right.

I think something is very wrong with your sister.

An hour after Wally leaves the library, I’m still ruminating on that. Is he right? And if he is, why am I the last to know about it? Is it one of those things I don’t notice? Like people communicating with their facial expressions? Is it possible that, because of the way I see things, I’ve been missing an entire side of Rose? I think, suddenly, of Mum. She’d always worried so much about Rose. Was that because something was wrong with her?

I slide my phone out of my pocket and stare at it a moment, thinking. After hearing about Rose contacting Wally—asking him for money—I’m questioning everything. Finally, I redial the number for Sun Meadows. The same receptionist answers and I ask to speak to Onnab.

“Hello again, Fern,” Onnab says. “Is there something else I can help you with?”

“Yes. I’d like to know who the last person was to see Mum alive.”

A pause. “Well, let’s see … it would have been whichever nurse was on night duty. I can check the schedule. She would have checked on everyone during night rounds.”

“Would that have been before or after Rose visited Mum?”

“Hmm,” she says. “Actually, I’m not sure.”

“Rose hadn’t seen Mum for a long time. It was her first visit in ten years,” I say suddenly. I’m not sure why. Perhaps I want assurance that this, combined with Mum’s unexpected death, doesn’t mean anything.

Onnab is quiet for a long time but I can hear her breathing, so I know she’s still there. “Fern, as far as I know, the death isn’t being treated as suspicious. Is there any reason you think it should be?”

I repeat the question in my head.

“Fern?” she says again.

I want to respond, as she has asked a question. It’s just that I don’t know the answer.

* * *

The afternoon passes in a blur. I serve people, restack books, do all the things I’m supposed to do, but my mind is anywhere but the library.

The Braxton-Hicks kick in around 2:00 P.M. I time them on a notepad as I go about my business at the library. Some people get all panicky about Braxton-Hicks, but I’ve read the books, I know they are only real when contractions are increasing in frequency and intensity. I get some relief from my thoughts and my pains by getting lost in my work—helping an elderly man find a selection of reading material about the Titanic to prepare for a talk he is giving at his Rotary Club. (“No romances,” he’d said, pointing a finger at me accusingly. “Nothing with Leo DiCaprio or people getting steamy as the ship begins to sink.”) I provide toiletries to a young homeless woman (and even give her my own sandwich for lunch, as after my interaction with Wally I’m not feeling especially hungry). Then I go to tidy the children’s section, which is looking a bit worse for wear after the toddler drawing class that morning.

By 3:30 P.M., my Braxton-Hicks are getting more consistent in timing—around ten minutes apart for almost an hour. And while the pain is not debilitating, I’m starting to find it difficult to concentrate on my work.…

“Are you all right, Fern?” Carmel says when she finds me in the archive area, breathing quietly through a cramp.

“Fine,” I say. “I’m fine.”

She watches me closely. “Why don’t you go home early today? You look a little tired.”

I am taken aback at the suggestion. I’ve only taken two sick days in my entire working career and have only left early once for an emergency dental appointment. But with Carmel offering, and after the day I’ve had, I find myself nodding. “All right,” I say. “Thanks, Carmel.”