18 NoraThe thick carpet was cushy under Nora’s pumps. Sheer curtains over the tall window softened the light from outside and the setting sun gilded the leaves on the bamboo. The potted plant hadn’t grown in the ten days since her last visit to Channing.
Channing herself was still supported at back and knees by her ergonomic pillows. But the mother-to-be’s belly stretched from one side of the canopied bed to the other.
Or maybe the splayed law books, computer printouts, and yellow pads hiding the counterpane made Channing look as though she’d doubled in bulk.
Her laptop rose above the mess, perched beside her on a slatted teak breakfast-in-bed tray with legs sized for a person who had a lap.
Nora’s best friend stopped tapping long enough to wave and sat hi. Her supersized black-and-whi
