“Oh, no, you didn’t do
“I didn’t call you at work today. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yes you did.”
“I did not!”
“Well, then I suppose
Annie glanced at the baby, then looked back at Neal. “What on earth are you talking about? What message?”
“‘I love you,’” Neal said sarcastically. “Signed, Baby Natasha. Cute, Annie. Very cute.”
“Baby Natasha?” Annie laughed. “You’re kidding.”
“No,” Neal said firmly, but he was beginning to feel off balance. “It’s not funny, Annie. It almost cost me my job.”
Annie opened her mouth to say something, but shut it and just stared at him. There was a sad look in her eyes.
“What?” Neal said.
“I’m worried about you.”
He let out a short, nervous laugh. “What do you think, I’m imagining it?”
Annie broke eye contact with him. “Five month old babies can’t talk, Neal. I looked in my books today and— “
“Your goddamn books don’t mean a thing! Can’t you ever think for yourself?”
“Shhh! You’re scaring her!”
Natasha had stopped moving and was looking at Neal with her strange, reptilian eyes, her mouth half open. The expression on her face seemed to be a combination of confusion, fear, and curiosity. Annie hugged her against her shoulder, turning the baby’s face away from him.
Neal said, “You act like that damn baby is made of china. She’s not going to break into a million pieces just because somebody raises their voice.”
“You’re not just raising your voice, Neal. You’re yelling.”
“Well, so what if I am! People have been yelling for millions of years, and I haven’t ever heard of a baby dying from it.”
“Maybe not dying, but getting messed up from it later.”
Neal looked at Annie for a moment, then shook his head. “I’m getting a beer.”
“Good. Maybe it’ll calm you down.”
“I am calm,” Neal said over his shoulder. He opened the refrigerator and tore a can of beer from a half-used six pack. “I’m surprised you don’t keep the beer in a paper bag, so Natasha can’t see it. No telling what it might do to her later on.”
“What?” Annie called.
“Nothing,” Neal muttered. He popped the top and guzzled a few cold swallows, then noticed a bent up fork that was lying beside the sink. He picked it up and shook his head. She couldn’t even load the goddamn dishwasher right! At least half of the cheap silverware they had bought at Wal-Mart had fallen down to the bottom of it and been bent all to hell by the spray rotor. But that didn’t matter, not to Annie. If it wasn’t directly connected to Natasha in some way, it was of no importance.
Neal took another swig of beer and sat down in one of the dinette chairs. When he did so, it gave another one of its annoying squeaks—he only weighed 170 pounds, but it would barely support him. All the furniture in the apartment was nothing but cheap rubbish, rented at exorbitant prices from one of those companies that prey on young people who have no cash or credit. The only decent thing in the place was Neal’s trophy case, which was in the bedroom. He had moved it down from Louisville, from his
