Lullaby and Goodnight Read Online Free PDF Page A

soaked in seconds.
    Terrific. What if she gets a cold?
    Normally, the possibility wouldn’t faze her, but she no longer has just her own health to consider.
    If she gets sick, her baby might be harmed.
    Isn’t that a little dramatic? an inner voice scoffs. A cold never killed anyone.
    Has it?
    Riddled with uncertainty, she wonders if she’s about to become the kind of woman who worries about everything—every sniffle, every hangnail, every bowel movement or lack thereof. A phobic-ridden woman like her own mother, who raised her only child alone, every maternal decision permeated by uncertainty. It’s a wonder Peyton didn’t turn out to be a fretful, frightened person as well.
    No, she’s just the opposite.
    Her mother hated being alone, hated not having anyone to lean on. It’s why she clung so desperately to Douglas when she met him—and why she clung to her daughter after he died. Even decades after she was widowed, Beth Somerset was profoundly distressed over Peyton’s plans to move halfway across the country.
    â€œWhat if you need me?” she kept asking, and Peyton knew that what she really meant was What if I need you?
    â€œI’ll be fine, Mom,” Peyton said. And you’ll be fine, too.
    She is, now. Most of the time. But it’s taken her a long time to get used to taking care of herself.
    I will never become my mother, Peyton vows grimly, skirting around a deep puddle. Not even when I am a mother .
    Which reminds her . . . she’ll call Mom when she gets home, to tell her about the baby. She wasn’t thrilled when Peyton told her she was going through artificial insemination with plans to be a single mother, but she’ll be excited to hear the news. Any child-loving, prospective grandmother would be.
    Pausing to gaze longingly at the garland-bedecked display in the maternity shop’s window, she pictures herself wearing that adorable blue empire-waist dress at Kaplan and Kline’s annual spring outing.
    If there weren’t a CLOSED sign on the door, she’d be tempted to go in and try it on. Maybe tomorrow, during her lunch hour.
    But then she might be tempted to buy it, and she probably shouldn’t tote maternity boutique shopping bags back to the office until she’s made an official announcement.
    Despite her giddiness over the pregnancy confirmation today, she couldn’t have spilled her news to Tara or her coworkers even if she were prepared to. They were simply too busy preparing a client presentation—and so, of course, was she. Too busy to chat, or answer the phones, or even grab coffee or a snack.
    But that has to change, Peyton tells herself sternly, suddenly conscious of her empty stomach. She’ll have to start eating regular meals, something she hasn’t done in years. She’ll have to take better care of herself.
    Don’t worry, little one, she silently croons to the child in her womb. From here on in, it’s all about you.
    As she turns away from the store window and heads west past Madison Square Park, deserted in this icy deluge, her thoughts are consumed by all the things she will do differently from her mother as she raises her own child.
    She barely notices the raw, wet weather.
    Nor does she notice the figure that slips out of the shadows and falls into step behind her, trailing her all the way home.
    Â 
    Compared to the last one, years ago, and the donor just selected last month, this new one is going to be a piece of cake.
    She lives alone; doesn’t even live in one of those fancy doorman buildings you’d expect.
    No, she disappeared into a four-story brownstone, and if the lights that came on moments later are any indication, she resides on the ground floor.
    The ground floor. In this neighborhood.
    Doesn’t she realize that a single woman with enough money to afford a designer coat, shoes, and bag shouldn’t leave herself so vulnerable?
    There are bars on the street-level