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He lifts the bag. “Your mother called because apparently you packed for a weekend with six diapers and no toothbrush.”

Emma laughs from the bed.

Theo sets the bag beside the chair. “I’ve got chargers, toiletries, Emma’s robe, clean clothes for you, and the folder you left on the island.”

I take the coffee he offers me. “You went to the penthouse?”

“Mara let me in and gave me a list, which is how I learned that your emergency organization system becomes completely useless when you panic.”

I give him a look.

He raises both hands. “I’m helping.”

Emma shifts again, and Theo’s expression changes when he sees the tension return to her face.

“How are you doing?” he asks.

She grips my hand and waits until the contraction eases before answering. “Ask me after the drugs.”

Theo nods. “Fair.”

He takes one look at me and moves toward the door. “I’ll be outside before either of you starts blaming me for this.”

“You had nothing to do with it,” Emma says.

Theo glances back. “I’m protecting myself early.”

He leaves, and I barely have time to sit before Mom arrives with the girls.

Babs spots Emma first and tries to run until Mom catches her by the shoulder.

“Walking,” Mom reminds her.

Babs switches to an exaggerated fast walk and reaches the bed with Biddy close behind.

“Are the babies coming?” Babs asks, staring at Emma’s stomach.

“They’re trying,” Emma tells her.

Biddy’s eyes widen. “Do they know how?”

Emma smiles. “The doctors are helping.”

Biddy accepts that and holds out a folded sheet of paper. “I made them this.”

Emma opens the picture and Biddy climbs onto the chair beside her. Four stick figures stand around two much smaller figures beneath a purple rainbow that covers half the page.

“That’s me and Babs,” Biddy explains, tapping the paper. “That’s you and Daddy, and those are the babies because they’re very little.”

Babs leans against the bed. “Mine got chewed.”

I look at her. “By Sprout?”

“He thought the blue paper was food.”

“Paper doesn’t smell like food.”

Babs shrugs with the certainty only a six-year-old can manage. “He eats crayons too.”