it," Oliver said. "You're back nice and early."

"We had a big breakfast around nine. I left right after. What do you
think of 'Emma' as a name?"

"No!" Jennifer's face fell. "Not another one! Get him out of there!"

"Oliver . . ."

"Yes--Emma," he said. "I like it. Why Emma?"

"My grandmother's name was Emma." Jennifer was smiling again.

"Sure," Oliver said, "I like it. What if it's a boy?"

"I don't know," she said. "My father's name is Gene."

"How about Frisco?"

"Frisco? But that's a place, not a person . . ."

"Nakano. Nakano Prescott, now there's a name."

"I don't know." Jennifer's hands went protectively to her belly. "Nak?
Naky?"

Oliver raised his voice. "Nakano Prescott stretches, _makes_ the grab,
takes a big hit and holds on! The Patriots got something when they
signed this guy." He patted her. "Just trying it out--I'm not real
strong on Gene."

"Well, we have four months," Jennifer said.

In April, early on the morning of the 26th, two months after they were
married in City Hall and had their celebratory dinner at F. Parker
Reidy's, Jennifer felt the first serious contraction. Six hours later,
Emma Dior Prescott wrinkled her nose, squinted, made two
fists--triumphantly, according to Oliver--and went back to sleep,
breathing on her own. Jennifer was thrilled and tired. Oliver felt a
new kind of pang when he saw Emma. She had dark hair and seemed to be
clutching part of his heart with her tiny hands, as though she had
moved from one support system to another.

Deweys was barely open when he got there. "One for me and one more for
my baby," he said to Sam. "Jenn had a little girl."

"No shit! Congratulations. Hey, the Guinness is on the house, man;
you're going to need your strength."

Oliver drank and relaxed. The winter had passed in a blur. Each day had
been filled with work and things to do at home; the months had slipped
past scarcely noticed. Jennifer's growing weight had defined the season
that mattered.

"I have responsibilities," he announced after his second pint. "I must
call the grandparents."

He walked home and talked to his mother and to Jennifer's father. Gene
was particularly pleased. "I had my order in," he said. "Does she look
like Jenny?"

"More like me, actually."

Gene was quick. "Sweet thing! You're a lucky man, Oliver."

Oliver was supposed to say, "Thank you, Sir," or some such. "It was an
easy birth," he said. "I'm going to pick them up tomorrow."