'M-mi-' He caught himself. He'd been about to say, Mine? A reflex. Of course it was his. 'We're having a baby?'
Gia nodded again and now her lower lip was trembling as the tears started to slip down her cheeks.
Jack slipped across the seat and folded her into his arms. She sobbed as she pressed against him and buried her face against his neck.
'Oh, Jack, I didn't mean for this to happen. Don't be mad. It was an accident.'
'Mad? Jeez, Gia, why would I be mad? Shocked, yes, baffled too, but mad is the last thing. It's not even on the map.'
'Thank God! I-'
'How long have you known about this?'
'Since this morning.'
'And we rode all the way out here together and you didn't say a word? How come?'
'I meant to, but...'
'But what?'
'I didn't know how you'd react.'
This was a new shock. 'What did you think I'd do? Walk out? Why on earth-?'
'Because of all the changes you'll have to make if you stay on.'
'Hey.' He held her tighter. 'I'm not going anywhere. And I can handle any changes. But let's just say I did stomp out, what would you do? Would you... end the pregnancy?'
She jerked back to stare at him with red-rimmed eyes. 'Have an abortion? Never! That's my baby!'
'Mine too.' He couldn't bear the thought of anyone killing their baby. He hugged her again. 'I'm gonna be a daddy. Me. I can't believe it. You're sure you're pregnant?'
She nodded. 'Beth-Israel sure.'
'Wow.' The word popped out of his mouth. He laughed. 'Hey, am I articulate, or what? But really... wow! A little somebody made with part of me, walking and talking and growing up.'
A piece of him moving beyond him, heading toward infinity. Wonder filled him, buoyed him.
The beep of a horn brought him back to earth. He looked around.
A big guy in a little Kia pointed to Jack's parking space and called, 'You stayin' or goin'?'
Jack waved, started the Crown Vic, and pulled away.
'What do you think little Jack will be like?' he said.
''Little Jack'? What makes you think it will be a boy?'
'If it's a girl it'll mean you've been fooling around with somebody else.'
'Oh, really? How's that work, pray tell?'
Jack puffed out his chest. 'Well, I'm so manly I produce only Y sperm.'
She smiled. 'No kidding?'
'Yep. Never told you before because I didn't think it mattered. But now I feel you deserve to know the truth.'
'I've got news for you, buddy. It's a girl. My Amazon ova castrate Y sperms.'
Jack laughed. 'Ouch!'
With Gia snuggled against him they drove and talked about when it could have happened and what sex it might be and began throwing out girls' names and boys' names and Jack cruised through a changed world, brighter and more full of hope and promise and possibility than he'd ever imagined.
5
Lyle was standing in the kitchen, tossing out the aluminum foil that had wrapped the leftover pizza slices he and Charlie had finished for dinner, when he heard the voice.
He froze and listened. Definitely not Charlie's voice. No... a child's. A little girl's. And it sounded as if she was singing.
A little girl... Gia had seen a little girl this afternoon. Was she back?
Lyle eased toward the center hall, where the sound seemed to be coming from. No doubt about it. A little girl was singing. The melody was tantalizingly familiar.
As he moved into the hall her voice became clearer, echoing from beyond the closed door at the end of the hall, from the waiting room.
And the words...
'I think we're alone now...'
Wasn't that from the sixties? Tommy somebody?
He slowed his pace. Something odd about the voice, its timbre, the way it echoed. It sounded far away, as if it were coming from the bottom of a well. A very deep well.
At the door, Lyle hesitated, then grabbed the knob and yanked it open. The voice was loud now, almost as if the child were shouting. The words bounced off the walls, seeming to come from all directions. But where was the child?
Lyle stood in an empty room.
He stepped over to the couch and looked behind it, but found nothing but a couple of dust bunnies.
And now the sound was moving away... down the hall he'd just passed through. Lyle moved back to the door but saw no one in the hall. And still the sound kept moving away. He followed it.
'Charlie!' he called as he passed the stairs. He told himself he wanted a witness, but deeper down he knew he didn't want to be alone with this. 'Charlie, get down here. Quick!'
But Charlie didn't respond-no voice asking, Whussup? No footsteps in the upper hallway. Probably holed up in his room with his head stuck in a pair of headphones listening to Gospel music while he read the Bible. How many times was he going to read that book?
Lyle followed the voice, still singing the same song, into the kitchen. But once he reached there, the voice seemed to be coming from the cellar.
Lyle paused at the top of the stairs, staring into the well of blackness below. He didn't want to go down there, not alone. Not even with someone else, if the truth be known. Not after last night.
He wondered if this delicate little voice was part of whatever had written on the bathroom mirror before smashing it. Or was the house haunted by multiple entities?
'Charlie!'
But again, no response.
Lyle and Charlie had spent most of the morning talking about whether or not they were really haunted. In the warm light of day, with the shock and the fear of the night before dissipated, Lyle had found it hard to believe in such a possibility. But one look in the bathroom at the maniacally shattered mirror was enough to make him a convert.
The big question was, what could they do about it? They couldn't exactly call Ghostbusters. And even if such a group existed, think of the publicity: Psychic afraid of ghosts! Calls for help! A PR nightmare.
The voice was fading now. Where could it go from the basement?
Lyle took a deep breath. He had to go down there. Curiosity, a need to know, pushed him for an answer. Because knowing was better than not knowing. At least he hoped so.
Flicking the light switch he took the stairs down in a rush-no sense dragging this out-and found himself in the familiar but empty basement with its orange-painted floor, pecan paneling, and too-bright fluorescents. He could still hear the singing, though. Very faintly. Coming from the center of the room... from the crack that ran the width of the floor.
No... couldn't be.
Lyle edged closer and gingerly crouched near the opening. No question about it. The voice was echoing from down there, in the earthquake crevasse under his house.
He bent his head and rubbed his eyes. Why? This house was fifty-some years old. Why couldn't this have happened to the last owner?
Wait, the last owner was dead.
All right, the next owner, then. Why me? Why now?
