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.
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