Jared had heard those same rumors. Thinking the baby would be born any second, he had let the prospect that a half-American baby would ease Tam’s way out of Saigon delay their exit, despite the directive that nonessential American personnel get the hell out of the country. He couldn’t think of anyone more nonessential than an American architect and a college sophomore. Nevertheless, neither he nor R.J.-as beautiful and combative as ever-would leave without Tam. And the baby was Tam’s ticket out.

Still, if Tam had been able to travel safely, he and R.J. might have gotten her out sooner-somehow. Tam had no special status to get her evacuated from the country, but they’d have tried to find a way.

The problem was, the Republic of Vietnam was falling fast. The American ambassador, Graham Martin, didn’t have the time or the resources to evacuate all the Vietnamese who’d likely face reprisals under a communist government. And the Americans still in the country were his first priority. It was a tightrope act: if the general population got the idea the Americans were cutting and running-which they were-there could be panic… Vietnamese fighting Americans and each other for scarce space on planes and helicopters out…tramplings, drownings, shootings, crushed babies…Vietnamese soldiers killing and maiming the people they were sworn to protect to save their own skins. In a word, panic.

It had all happened just a month ago in Danang.

Jared promised the nun he would do everything he could to help Tam. They signed papers for the baby, and she went out into the humid, sweet-smelling night, unafraid of the curfew or the prospect of more shelling.

The apartment suddenly seemed too quiet and isolated, and Jared wished R.J. would hurry up. She was canvassing the building for food and whatever else of use she could find. Most of the other residents were American, and except for a writer-diplomat couple on the top floor, had already left the country, giving ever-resourceful Rebecca Blackburn permission to raid their cupboards. She’d produced snowy-white towels for Tam’s labor, and even a tattered Raggedy Ann for the baby.

Jared tiptoed into the bedroom, but Tam was awake. Her eyelids were swollen and heavy, her skin pallid, but her haunting beauty was still there, beneath the ravages of recent childbirth, fear, exhaustion. In her gaunt face, her magnificent eyes seemed huge and so sad, even as they filled with love and tenderness at the sight of her sleeping child.

“R.J.’s out scrounging,” Jared said. “How do you feel?”

She managed to smile. “Tired and sore.”

He didn’t doubt that. Witnessing his first childbirth had given him a new perspective on the strength and endurance of women. R.J.’s only comment was she couldn’t believe her mother had gone through this torture six times. But of course, Mai made all the difference. Jared couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked Tam.

“Just water.”

He had a pitcher ready and filled two glasses. Tam winced as she sat up, but didn’t complain. She sipped the water gratefully.

“What’s the situation?” she asked.

He knew what she meant. “Bad. ‘Big’ Minh was sworn in as the new president while you were in labor. A few diehards think he can still negotiate a settlement with Hanoi, but I doubt it. In cowboys’ parlance, they’ve got us surrounded. About all Minh can do is hand over the keys to the city and forestall a bloodbath.” At Tam’s increased paleness, Jared regretted his blunt words. “Maybe ‘liberation’ won’t be that bad. Most of the dying so far’s been the result of panic, not communist atrocities.”

Of course, the memory of communist atrocities during the Tet Offensive in 1968-the killing of three thousand civilians in Hue -had helped spark the hysteria that swept Danang. But Jared didn’t need to tell Tam that; this was her country. Like so many others, her family had been decimated: killed, tortured, exiled and scattered by the decades of strife. Since her popular father’s death in the 1963 scandal that brought down Thomas Blackburn, a familiar figure to many South Vietnamese, Tam had tried to live a quiet life. She had a small income from the life insurance policy Thomas had insisted Quang Tai take out on himself before returning home in 1959, and after school, used her language skills to land a string of jobs with various French, Australian and American firms. She hadn’t done anything to ensure her the special friendship or enmity of either the Americans or the North Vietnamese.

Tam looked away from Jared, touching her tiny daughter on her smooth, red cheek. “I’d have written a different ending for my country,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry.” Jared didn’t know what else to say. “Tam, we’ll get you and the baby out-”

She turned to him and smiled. “I’m not worried, Jared. Quentin will take care of me.”

“Giap and his gang will be hanging posters of Ho Chi Minh all over Saigon before you finally realize Quentin’s not coming back and he’s not getting you out of this country. I’m sorry to be hard on you at a time like this, but you’ve got to face reality.” He broke off, sweating and exhausted himself. “Quentin would have to go up against his mother to have a Vietnamese woman in his life, and he’s not going to do that.”

“Everything will work out,” Tam said with maddening confidence, but she sank back down on the mattress, and Jared could see she was too tired to argue. It’d all be moot soon enough. With the baby born, they’d get out of the country as fast as possible.

And from what he could gather of the situation, it wouldn’t be a moment too soon.

Right now he took Sister Joan’s advice and let Tam rest. She’d need her strength for the long trip to the U.S. After almost eleven months in Vietnam, he was anxious to get home himself. He’d rent an apartment in Boston, get a job there, talk R.J. into moving off-campus and living with him. She drove him nuts half the time and there was still a lot of the world he wanted to see, but there’d be time for that-when R.J. was out of school and signed up with the state department or whoever. Maybe they’d send her someplace interesting. He didn’t care. The future would take care of itself. First things first: she had two years of Boston University and umpteen of graduate school left.

No, he amended silently, the first thing was for them all to get safely out of Saigon. Now.

He was glad when Rebecca burst into the hot, close apartment, still reeking with the disinfectant Sister Joan had used to clean up after delivery. Rebecca’s hair was pulled back in a braid and perspiration shone on her face, but six weeks in Vietnam still had left her with more energy than most. Just two days in Saigon had made her understand why the people there dressed as they did. She herself had opted for linen shorts, a camp shirt, long bare legs and canvas shoes.

She dumped her paper bag of goodies on the table in Jared’s combination living room-kitchen. “I’ve got a couple of dried-up croissants, some orange juice, some of that chao tom stuff and look-a jar of instant coffee.”

Jared laughed. “You were born for this life, R.J.”

“Blackburns have always been good at making do. It’s making money that trips them up. How’s Tam?”

“Fine,” Tam said, wobbling in the doorway.

Jared turned to her, concerned. “Should you be up?”

“If we’re to leave in the morning, I’d better get steady on my feet,” she said. “I don’t want to be more of a burden than I already am.”

Rebecca looked shocked and sorrowful. “Tam, you’re not a burden-don’t think like that.” Then she grinned, obviously trying to maintain her own courage. “Come on, our midnight snack is served.”

Rebecca had arrived in Saigon in mid-March as Ban Me Thuot, in what the Americans called the Central Highlands, was falling to the first North Vietnamese offensive since 1972, effectively splitting South Vietnam in half. Vietnam had been exorcised from world headlines since the American military withdrawal two years earlier, and the fall of a grubby village didn’t draw much attention. Popular opinion held that Nguyen Van Thieu, the incompetent, intransigent president of the Republic of Vietnam, would launch his own counteroffensive and recapture the village. He’d broken the terms of the cease-fire often enough himself.