four.
"Pregnant?" His voice was soft and shy, the word an unsavory taste to his tongue. "As in, there's a little me inside of you pregnant?"
In spite of her blossoming terpidation, Jane laughed. "That's the only kind of pregnant I know of, Marvin."
"Are you sure?"
"Uness I'm told the two little lines mean something else."
"Jane."
"Rose and I are going to see an OB after work. Don't worry yourself too much, I can handle this."
"I know you can. I just wish I could be there with you."
Jane glanced vaguely at a photograph of Marvin perched comfortably on the nightstand. His eyes were large and glowing, arms tucked conservatively into his front pockets, lips pursed kissably. Above his head were the wary clouds of Liverpool, splayed elegantly in soft wisps over the glittering spectacle of Albert Dock. His hair lay strewn waywardly, pushed with the sporadic breeze as it came.
She smiled. "You're not too far." Her voice was tight and soft as a feather, the words wrapping around her, embracing her. Her smile soon fell into a lowly frown.
"What?" Marvin asked cautiously.
"What?"
"Is everything alright?"
Jane sighed. How does he know something's wrong?
"I can see right through this little facade you're putting on, Jane. What's going on?"
Breathing slowly, Jane mentally played with her options, suddenly unable to perfect her words.
"Everything's fi—"
"You know just as well as I do that that is not true," he growled, a restless tremor lingering his deep voice.
"What do you want me to say?" Jane asked carefully, her teeth sinking miserably into her lip.
Marvin snorted. "I'd like for you to tell me what's going on, Mrs. Sparks."
She weighed her options closely, wanting not to burden him any more than his nightmare job already had with her issues while knowing in exasperation that he would not surrender the subject for anything.
"Marvin," she whispered.
"Jane," he countered, his voice arctic and full of warning. "Tell me what's wrong."
She breathed and breathed until slowly her fears were peeling off her like dead skin and finally she spilled.
"Did you send me flowers?"
He hesitated, surely not expecting those words to leave her lips. But they did and he was slightly relieved.
"No," he murmured. "Maybe they were a wedding gift from your Great Aunt Florence. You know she's one of those primitive naturists."
In spite of herself, Jane made a wry sound and smiled. "That's not funny," she murmured. "There was a note attached."
"What'd it say?"
She divulged the context of the note; with each word came a tinge of apprehension. She swallowed a mouthful of air and combed her fingers through her hair, glaring down at her invisible bump. This isn't good for you, she thought. Mommy shouldn't be so worried.
"Who do you think sent it?"
Suddenly Jane felt a cold quiver drift down her spine, as though someone had set an ice cube at her nape and let it melt against her skin. The stale, idling butterflies in her stomach stretched their wings and fluttered softly. She yanked her head to and fro, refusing to subject her wayward thoughts to that wretched, infernal region in her mind's eye.
