Gates Janet was expecting. Joy coursed through her swollen belly and thick ankles—which were currently propped up on the arm of her sofa. Soon, she’d be holding her new baby. She couldn’t remember ever being this happy. In truth, she’d been expecting all her life. Her earliest memories were of playing mommy to a gaggle of dolls and stuffed animals. Her mother claimed she never showed an interest in blocks or cars and became hysterical if any of her babies went astray. At the age of three, she had peppered her mother with detailed questions about her aunt’s pregnancy. Later, Janet had crouched low on her heels, as only a toddler can, grunting at periodic intervals. When her mother had asked what was wrong, she’d said she was delivering a baby. That incident gained an honoured and amusing spot in the Anderson family lore, trotted out for clan celebrations or on those rare occasions when Janet brought a boy to the house more than twice. She’d loved being the shepherd to her flock of younger cousins.
