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by Tracy Roberts.......copywritten 1999 by Tracy Roberts

At two thirty in the morning on a Sunday night the phone rings. Bad news always starts with the phone ringing. Alton had just stepped through the door from 12 hours of backbreaking work down at the moving company. With a quick sniff of his arm pits and a funny face directed at me he places the receiver to his ear.
As the seconds changed his face grew more serious. Alton wiped the popping sweat from his forehead with the work shirt laying over his shoulder. His eyes never found mine.
"Oh, really." He repeated in an even tone. I kept watch over his demeanor. "Well, I don't know. Let me see about that."
His look was slow. Quiet and concentrated. "There's a lady on the phone that says she found this number on a slip of paper on top of her husband's dresser. She wants to know how it got there."
I had no answer. "I don't know."
Alton, turned back to the phone. I pressed my hands to my stomach. Either the baby was kicking again or my insides were churning like butter. I couldn't tell. Once I could have promised you that I saw the baby's fist and feet kick out at the same time. It looked like a scene from Alien.
I heard the receiver click against the cradle of the telephone. Alton said nothing and walked out of the room. I didn't know what to say.
Chapter Two (I know..about time :)

The next morning ran along as usual. Breakfast at seven, baby kicks, morning kiss.
"Hey sweet." Alton's face appeared in the doorway. "Could you wash out my shirt?"
"Yeah, sure." Suddenly, I no longer felt a need to roll my eyes and harp on his lack of consideration at his late request. Othertimes, I make such a fuss that he would give up, write an i.o.u. to his laundry and choose the cleanest shirt from the dirty pile. I just hoped that my agreeableness wasn't to obvious.

"Bye, I'll call you." The "angel" shut the front door of our apartment and drove away. Right about now, Alton could make an flower feel guilty for blooming.
I watched his Mazda disappear around the corner. My first mission was to get a cup of after dinner coffee. Irish creme. It was eight thirty in the morning. I don't even sip mimosa at brunch but this was an exception.

My heart increased with every button I pressed.
"Yell-oh." The groggy voice was familiar.
"It's me."
"Serena? What's up? That was a close call last night, wasn't it?"
"A close call? Lance, that almost stuck a fork in my marriage!"
"Baby, it seems pretty funny to me that you're worried over the health of your marriage now. You know-."
"First, I never introduced myself as Baby. Next, don't believe for a hot second that I have to give up on mine because you have on that so-called marriage."
Lance chuckled lightly, "Yeah, you're right, I don't care about this, this wreck I'm living in. A marriage, it is not. Ole girl has squeezed out of me all that she will squeeze. It's no fun sleeeping next to a block of ice, you know." He paused. "now, what's up? why you calling so early?"
"Oh, nothing. I just wanted to know if you were up."
Serena went on and the script flipped."And how you could be so stupid and let your wife find my number. Of all numbers to find, she had to find mine."
Serena absentmindedly paced about the cherry wood and burgundy drenched living room.
"I'm sorry about that. She went out to my truck for some squares and used her big nose to get into my business."
"Whateva." Serena wanted to unleash every hateful word into the phone that she had ever learn and more. "I have an appointment on the 17th for another check up."
"You want me to come?"
"No, thanks. Alton's taking a half day."
"What's the doctor going to do when you say, 'Oh, him, doc? This is posible father number two.'?"
Serena whipped her hand back and flung the black cordless into the pink wall infront of her. Missing an Augatti crystal whale by centimeters.

Stay tuned....For the Next Thrilling Chatper of....Blurry!

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