I’d never seen Holly at the conference, she’d laughingly told me later, because she’d gone off to hike the Flatirons, a set of peaks that erupt at a steep angle west of the flat plain of Boulder. She, too, had become pregnant at the conference, she’d said, blushing. But she and George had made love because she’d felt so guilty about not going to a single presentation. George, studious and dedicated, had gone to all of them.
And then the dark shadow flashed again. I had knowledge from Med Wives 101. That was where the insight had come from. I knew, or suspected, something.
Yet even a suspicion had to be confirmed. Telling Marla I had to stretch my legs, I walked over to the computer Tom used for the Internet.
From the notes I’d already taken, I remembered that Holly and I had talked abou
