“How does she do that?” I asked, now confused.
“Oh, people just talk, Miss.”
“How? Tell me what they say, Teresa. I should know.”
“It’s just talk.”
“Tell me,” I insisted, stepping toward her.
“It’s rumored that sometimes she behaves as if she’s the one in labor. I’m sure it’s all an exaggeration,” she added quickly. “What people, other pregnant women, mean to say is that she takes it all so personally and seriously, she acts as if she is the one having the baby. She does follow the same diet, avoiding the foods she tells her patients to avoid.”
“And she’s doing that here?”
“Yes, but it’s not a bad diet to follow, so that doesn’t necessarily mean anything sinister, Miss.”
I could see she was still holding back.
“What else, Teresa?”
“I did hear that she was let go once. The pregnant woman insisted that she was pandering to her husband.”
“What did that mean?”
“Oh, you know, coming on to him, but pregnant women can get paranoid about that sort of thing, being in that condition, you know. Mrs. Newell threatened to sue her and her husband if they spread any stories, so no one knows exactly why she was let go.”
She paused and shook her head.
“Now, look at you, look at what you’ve made me go and do. I’m just behaving like some pantry gossip. Nothing I’ve said has a tinkle of truth to it, I’m sure.”
“No, no, it’s okay. Nothing you’ve told me changes anything. I’ve never been comfortable with her from day one. I’m glad to hear others have felt that way about her.”
“If you go to Mr. Bovio with any of this, I’m a goner, Miss. I’m out in the street. That I am.”
“I promised you it wouldn’t leave this room, and it won’t. I wouldn’t tell anyone anything I didn’t know firsthand, Teresa. I’ve been the victim of gossip so much here. I can appreciate how it poisons your life.”
“Yes, it does, Miss. That it does. As I said, everything told to me about her could very well be just that, nasty exaggerations. She might just be what you see, a stern, professional nurse who takes her work too personally. You don’t have to be her best friend or anything, and, as you say, once you give birth, she’s gone on to another job, and you would probably never see her again.”
“Okay, Teresa, thank you. Thank you for trusting me.”
She smiled. “You’ll be fine, Miss. Everything will be just fine, I’m sure.”
I nodded and left her working, but despite what I had told her, I was upset. I just had to control it. Going to Fani Cordova’s hacienda and finally seeing Edward again was just the medicine I needed at this point. Now I was happy I had let her talk me into it.
In fact, I was impatient with the remaining time. It couldn’t go fast enough for me. I distracted myself with reading and television and my walks. I no longer swam, even though the pool was heated for me. My pregnancy seemed to be maturing at a geometric rate every passing day. Every day, I studied myself, measured my waist and my breasts, and saw how quickly I was growing. I did begin to have some small milk leakage, too. It put me into a little panic. To her credit, Mrs. Newell saw that and reassured me that I was textbook perfect and nothing that was happening was unusual. Of course, she never failed to imply or even come right out and say that it was a result in a large part of her care and supervision.
On Saturday morning, I was almost too nervous and excited to eat any breakfast. I did the best I could to appear nonchalant about my day with Fani. Just before Fani arrived, Mrs. Newell repeated her list of warnings.
“Spicy food and alcoholic beverages are out. Don’t be too active. Don’t let them talk you into riding in some all-terrain vehicle or going on a motorcycle.”
“I would never do such a thing, Mrs. Newell.”
“I’ve seen young, pregnant girls do things as stupid, believe me. If people are smoking around you, ask them to stop or move far away. As you know, you’ll be urinating more frequently, so don’t go far from a bathroom. Now, what are you wearing?” she asked, and reviewed my choices. She made sure I put some pads in my bra.
“Just in case,” she said.
I expected Señor Bovio to behave like the worrywart Dr. Denardo had playfully called him, too, but to my surprise, he had already left the estate for a meeting. There would be no last-minute admonitions from him. Mrs. Newell was right beside me, however, when Fani appeared, bursting in with her characteristically explosive energy.
She wore a red tank top and dark yellow short-shorts with a tie-dyed bandanna around her forehead and a pair of ridiculously long red shell earrings. The fingers of both hands were filled with a variety of colored stone rings, and both wrists were wrapped in turquoise Indian bracelets. She looked like a rainbow gone wild.