Baby, Baby. Roz Denny Fox

palms of his big hands. Both pairs of baby eyes were wide-open. Faith was near enough to see their mouths working. Oh, they looked like perfect little dolls.

      Fuzzy dark hair spilled from beneath Nicholas’s blue stocking cap. Abigail’s wispy curls glinted pale gold in the artificial light.

      Faith’s gaze shifted to Michael’s face. Her stomach knotted and her knees felt watery. There was no mistaking the tears that tracked down his cheeks. An involuntary protest rose in Faith’s throat, blocking the breath she tried desperately to suck into her lungs. She didn’t want to empathize with Lacy’s ex. Throwing out a hand, she clutched the privacy screen to keep from falling.

      Michael heard the sound. His rapt gaze left the twins. “Faith.” He said her name softly. “I know I’ve been here beyond the time you set, but…but they’re incredible. I’ve never been so humbled. Since Lacy risked everything for them I really hope that somehow she knows how perfect they are.”

      Faith watched him transfer his attention to a tiny hand that had worked free of its gown and felt the blood drain from her face.

      With one gloved finger, he captured the baby’s waving fist. “Fielding said they’re labeled Babies A and B Hyatt. I stopped in finance to pay Lacy’s bill and discovered she’d never legally changed her name after the divorce. Officially the babies are Camerons. As they should be,” he said sternly, his eyes lifting in time to witness Faith’s retreat. Michael called her to come back, to no avail.

      Hands over her ears, Faith stumbled into the hall. She needed to get home and call Lacy’s lawyer. Maybe the custody papers, which plainly stated Lacy wanted the babies to go by the name of Hyatt, were flawed. She took the time, however, to detour by the nursing station to retrieve the birth certificate forms she’d filled out incorrectly.

      What was in a name, anyway? Michael had admitted the divorce was final. And she certainly hadn’t asked him to pay Lacy’s hospital bill. Maybe he was being thoughtful. Then again, he might have an ulterior motive. At any rate, Faith felt disloyal to Lacy as she crossed out Hyatt on the forms and wrote Cameron. As she dropped her gown, mask and bootees in the laundry, she mentally rearranged her budget to include attorney’s fees. If Fielding and Cameron expected her to fade quietly into the woodwork, they’d better think again. She intended to be a devoted mom to her sister’s babies. The kind she’d never had time to be for Lacy. She’d been too young then and stretched too thin in caring for their ailing mother. Still, the thought of so many lawyers getting involved made Faith almost sick to her stomach.

      CHAPTER THREE

      ATTENDING LACY’S FUNERAL was even harder than Faith had imagined. She was touched by the number of people from the hospital who came out of respect for her. Likewise, by the number of Lacy’s old friends from high school and college who’d shown up. Faith made a mental note to catch Abigail Moore after the service so that she could tell her about her namesake.

      A few acquaintances had sent flowers and cards. Including Kipp Fielding III. His was an ostentatious arrangement of red and white roses. They dwarfed Michael’s small white basket of violets. The violets brought tears to Faith’s eyes; they were Lacy’s favorite flower and Michael must have gone to a great deal of trouble to find a florist to provide them at this time of year.

      More surprising than his thoughtful gesture, however, was seeing the man himself walk into the chapel. He paused at a back row and greeted two couples who’d arrived earlier. People Faith had never met. Now it was obvious they’d known Lacy through Michael.

      He didn’t tarry long with his friends. Head bent, he walked slowly down the center aisle and knelt in front of the closed casket. Faith had thought her tears were all cried out until she watched his jaw ripple with emotion several times before he leaned forward to kiss the oak-grained lid. There was a decided sheen to his eyes when he rose. Or maybe she was watching him through her own tears.

      She couldn’t think of a thing to say when he sank onto the bench beside her. Even if she’d thought of something, she didn’t trust her voice not to break.

      “I swung past the apartment to pick you up,” he murmured. “You’d already gone. You must not have listened to the messages on your answering machine. The last one I left said I’d booked a car service for us. I know you don’t own a vehicle.”

      Faith clasped and unclasped her hands. The truth was, she had listened to the message. But Lacy’s lawyer ordered her to have as little contact as possible with either of the two men. The attorney, David Reed, had been quite adamant, in fact.

      Fortunately, Faith was saved from answering Michael when the minister stepped up to the pulpit. She’d asked Reverend Wilson to keep the service short in deference to the people who had taken time off work. However, his opening prayer droned on and on.

      Ending at last, the minister segued into a poem by Helen Steiner Rice. The words celebrated life, and Lacy had been particularly fond of them. Anyone who’d ever received a note from her would recognize the piece, as she’d had it reprinted on the front of her monogrammed note cards.

      Next, a singer—a woman Faith had selected from a generic pool on file at the funeral home—had half the people in the chapel sniffing and wiping their eyes with her rendition of “The Rose.” Faith chose the song because Lacy had worn out two CD copies of it. Too bad if anyone thought the lyrics inappropriate for a funeral. Faith wanted the service to epitomize Lacy’s life.

      Her own cheeks remained wet as the minister delivered a tribute she’d written yesterday. The words hadn’t come easily, but Faith wanted people to know that her sister wasn’t shallow and vain, as some might remember her from high school and college. For one thing, Lacy had artistic talents. Before her debilitating illness, she’d dreamed of becoming an interior designer. If the media chose to cover the funeral, Faith also wanted them to report how selfless Lacy had been, giving her life in exchange for healthy babies. But it was all she could do to listen to the eulogy. The tears coursed down her cheeks and plopped on the lapels of her new navy suit.

      Before Reverend Wilson brought the service to a close, Michael turned to Faith and whispered, “May I say a few words?”

      “Of c-course,” she stammered. When he stood, she was shocked to discover her right hand had been tightly entwined in his. Faith immediately pulled away, but she missed the warmth of his hand as Michael stepped to the pulpit and faced the small gathering.

      “Lacy Ellen Hyatt Cameron passed through our lives at warp speed,” he began in an unsteady voice. “Her sojourn with us was much too brief.” He paused to clear his throat, and Faith saw his fingers tremble. She lowered her gaze to the floor and sucked her upper lip between her teeth, biting down hard to hold off a new bout of tears.

      However, Michael didn’t dwell on Lacy’s death. He invited everyone to remember the woman who’d lived life full-tilt. “The Lacy we all knew brightened a room just by being in it. She hated sitting still. She loved to go and do. She loved to argue and debate.” His voice cracked a little, but a semblance of a smile curved his lips as he suggested she was probably even now testing St. Peter’s mettle. “It’s that Lacy who’ll live on in my heart and I hope in yours as well.”

      People were dabbing at their eyes as he sat down again. Faith felt as if a weight had been lifted. She’d blotted away her tears while the minister offered a final prayer. “Thank you, Michael,” she managed to say once everyone began to mill about. “Lacy kept things to herself this last year. I…we…stopped communicating.” Faith licked a salty tear off her upper lip while twisting a tissue into bits. “If I hadn’t been so wrapped up in work, I keep thinking she might have confided in me more. I’m afraid I gave up too easily, trying to reach her at the beach house. When she didn’t return my calls, I…” Faith didn’t finish the statement.

      “I’m more at fault than you are, Faith,” Michael said, his hazel eyes dark and troubled. “I let our lawyers act as go-betweens after she filed for divorce. I should have sat down with her when I returned from Norway. I can’t tell you how sorry I am that she ended