question: whom had he gone with?
It was silly, she thought. There was a logical explanation. Sure there was. He'd taken a client to a movie. Right . Way across town for a drek picture? Hold it, she told herself. Stop right there, before you get crazy. There's nothing to this. Two ticket stubs. So what?
So… why had Doug not told her?
Laura turned on the dishwasher. It was fairly new, and made no noise but for a deep, quiet throbbing. She picked up Burn This Book , intending to go to the den and finish reading the philosophies and opinions of Mark Treggs. Somehow, though, she found herself at the telephone again. Nasty things, telephones were. They beckoned and whispered things that were better left unheard. But she wanted to know about the tickets. The tickets were as big as double Mt. Everests in her mind, and she couldn't see anything but their ragged edges. She had to know. She dialed the number of Doug's office.
Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Five times. Ten times. Then, on the fourteenth ring: "Hello?"
"Hello, this is Laura Clayborne. Is Doug there yet, please?"
"Who?"
"Doug Clayborne. Is he there yet?"
"Nobody's here, ma'am. Just us."
"Who are you?"
"I'm Wilbur," the man said. "Just us janitors here."
"Mr. Parker must be there."
"Who?"
"Eric Parker." Irritation flared. "Don't you know who works in that office?"
"There's nobody here but us, ma'am. We're just cleanin' up, that's all."
This was crazy! she thought. Even if Doug hadn't had time to get to the office yet, Eric Parker must be there! He'd called from the office, hadn't he? "When Doug Clayborne comes in," she said, "would you have him call his wife?"
"Yes ma'am, sure will," the janitor answered, and Laura said thank you and hung up.
She took Burn This Book into the den, put on a tape of Mozart chamber music, and sat down in a comfortable chair. Ten minutes later she was still staring at the same page, pretending to read but thinking Canterbury Six two tickets Dougs hould be at the office by now why hasn't he called where is he ?
Another five minutes crept past. Then ten more, an eternity. Doug's hurt! she thought. He might've had an accident in the rain! As she stood up, she felt David twitch in her belly, as if sharing her anxiety. In the kitchen, she phoned the office again.
It rang and rang and rang, and this time there was no answer.
Laura walked into the den and back into the kitchen in an aimless circle. She tried the office once more, and let the thing ring off the hook. No one picked up. She looked at the clock. Maybe Doug and Eric had gone out for a drink. But why would they do that if there was so much work to be done? Well, whatever was going on, Doug would tell her about it when he got home.
Just like he'd told her about the tickets?
Laura spun the Rolodex, and found Eric Parker's home number.
She was going to feel very dumb about this tomorrow, when Doug told her he and Eric had gone out to meet a client, or that they'd simply decided not to answer the phones while they were working. She was going to feel like crawling into a hole, for thinking — even minutely — that Doug might not be telling her the truth.
She was afraid to make the call. The gnawing little fear rose up and gripped her by the throat. She picked up the telephone, punched the first four numbers, and then put it down again. She phoned the office a third time; no answer, after at least twenty rings.
The moment of truth had arrived.
Laura took a deep breath and phoned Eric Parker's house.
On the third ring, a woman said, "Hello?"
"Hi. Marcy? It's Laura Clayborne."
"Oh, hi, Laura. I understand the time's growing near."
"Yes, it is. About two weeks, more or less. We've got the nursery all ready, so now all we're doing is waiting."
"Listen, enjoy the wait. After the baby comes, your life won't ever be the same."
"That's what I've heard." Laura hesitated; she had to go on, but it was tough. "Marcy, I'm trying to get in touch with Doug. Do you know if they went
It was silly, she thought. There was a logical explanation. Sure there was. He'd taken a client to a movie. Right . Way across town for a drek picture? Hold it, she told herself. Stop right there, before you get crazy. There's nothing to this. Two ticket stubs. So what?
So… why had Doug not told her?
Laura turned on the dishwasher. It was fairly new, and made no noise but for a deep, quiet throbbing. She picked up Burn This Book , intending to go to the den and finish reading the philosophies and opinions of Mark Treggs. Somehow, though, she found herself at the telephone again. Nasty things, telephones were. They beckoned and whispered things that were better left unheard. But she wanted to know about the tickets. The tickets were as big as double Mt. Everests in her mind, and she couldn't see anything but their ragged edges. She had to know. She dialed the number of Doug's office.
Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Five times. Ten times. Then, on the fourteenth ring: "Hello?"
"Hello, this is Laura Clayborne. Is Doug there yet, please?"
"Who?"
"Doug Clayborne. Is he there yet?"
"Nobody's here, ma'am. Just us."
"Who are you?"
"I'm Wilbur," the man said. "Just us janitors here."
"Mr. Parker must be there."
"Who?"
"Eric Parker." Irritation flared. "Don't you know who works in that office?"
"There's nobody here but us, ma'am. We're just cleanin' up, that's all."
This was crazy! she thought. Even if Doug hadn't had time to get to the office yet, Eric Parker must be there! He'd called from the office, hadn't he? "When Doug Clayborne comes in," she said, "would you have him call his wife?"
"Yes ma'am, sure will," the janitor answered, and Laura said thank you and hung up.
She took Burn This Book into the den, put on a tape of Mozart chamber music, and sat down in a comfortable chair. Ten minutes later she was still staring at the same page, pretending to read but thinking Canterbury Six two tickets Dougs hould be at the office by now why hasn't he called where is he ?
Another five minutes crept past. Then ten more, an eternity. Doug's hurt! she thought. He might've had an accident in the rain! As she stood up, she felt David twitch in her belly, as if sharing her anxiety. In the kitchen, she phoned the office again.
It rang and rang and rang, and this time there was no answer.
Laura walked into the den and back into the kitchen in an aimless circle. She tried the office once more, and let the thing ring off the hook. No one picked up. She looked at the clock. Maybe Doug and Eric had gone out for a drink. But why would they do that if there was so much work to be done? Well, whatever was going on, Doug would tell her about it when he got home.
Just like he'd told her about the tickets?
Laura spun the Rolodex, and found Eric Parker's home number.
She was going to feel very dumb about this tomorrow, when Doug told her he and Eric had gone out to meet a client, or that they'd simply decided not to answer the phones while they were working. She was going to feel like crawling into a hole, for thinking — even minutely — that Doug might not be telling her the truth.
She was afraid to make the call. The gnawing little fear rose up and gripped her by the throat. She picked up the telephone, punched the first four numbers, and then put it down again. She phoned the office a third time; no answer, after at least twenty rings.
The moment of truth had arrived.
Laura took a deep breath and phoned Eric Parker's house.
On the third ring, a woman said, "Hello?"
"Hi. Marcy? It's Laura Clayborne."
"Oh, hi, Laura. I understand the time's growing near."
"Yes, it is. About two weeks, more or less. We've got the nursery all ready, so now all we're doing is waiting."
"Listen, enjoy the wait. After the baby comes, your life won't ever be the same."
"That's what I've heard." Laura hesitated; she had to go on, but it was tough. "Marcy, I'm trying to get in touch with Doug. Do you know if they went
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