Page 54 of The Lookback

The usually unflappable Helen looks well and truly horrified.

“This is my friend,” I say. “The one I was trying to tell you about. He was coming to visit in a few days, but he surprised me and came early.”

Helen lowers her purse, slowly, but she still looks unimpressed. “You’re not staying here, are you?” Her nose is scrunched up more than Jed the pig’s is, and that’s saying something. He’s been captivated by something on Helen’s pants.

“Who’s having a baby?” Tommy picks up Abby’s ultrasound photo and peers at it. “What a cute little gummy bear.”

“I thought it looked more like an otter,” Helen says. “But gummy bear works.”

“No one’s having a baby,” I explain. “That’s an old image from Abby—she’s making a baby book for her little guy, who’s almost nine months old now.”

Tommy’s eyebrow arches. “Plenty of things in life confuse me. It happens often enough that it’s almost a state of being for me at this age. But after forty years in medical equipment sales, I do know that this photo was taken by a Phillips Epiq 5, and with that model, the date’s always stamped right here.” He taps the top of the image. “Unless I’ve completely lost my mind, this photo was taken today, so it’s not the ultrasound photo for a nine-month-old baby.”

I turn slowly toward Helen. “You don’t say.”

She crosses the room and snatches the photo out of Tommy’s hand. “How wonderful that you came early.” Then she stomps to her room and closes the door.

“She’s a lot scarier than bedbugs,” he says. But then he walks past me and slowly turns right in front of the door. “And it’s still not enough to scare me away, Amanda. I’ll come back to see you in the morning.”

14

HELEN

Ican move like a cat when I want to—not making a single sound.

I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted to leave without being noticed quite so badly in my life. With her friend there, Mandy was too uncomfortable to drill me about the ultrasound, and I reciprocated by not asking her more questions about said friend.

But this morning, all bets are off.

I’ve nearly made it out the door, no coffee, because the smell might wake the old bird, when I stupidly step on the slightly-lighter-than-the-others floorboard that squeaks.

I cringe, but I don’t hear anything. Maybe it wasn’t loud enough. I’m just closing the front door when I hear the bellow.

“Helen Fisher, you stop right there.”

I close my eyes and exhale, wondering whether I might be able to sprint to my car and close the door without her catching me. Heart condition or not, she’s in good shape. I’m not confident I can make it in these heels, and they’re all I have until I meet my assistant later today.

And if I try and fail, it’ll be worse, because she’ll know I ran.

I inhale and exhale once, channeling all my breezy, no-stress vibes, and then I step back inside. “Good morning, Mandy.” I force a smile. “I didn’t realize you were awake. I’m in a bit of a rush, since I’ve got a meeting with?—”

“I don’t care if your meeting is with God himself.” She points at the sofa. “You’ve got a meeting with me first, and God’s patient. He’ll wait.” She drops her hands on her hips. “I won’t.”

So much for breezy. “The thing is?—”

She steps toward me, one bushy grey eyebrow arching imperiously. “Thethingis that you’re pregnant, and you got an ultrasound when you could’ve just gotten an abortion, and you had the proof in your purse instead of tossing it in the trash, and so you’re going to tell me whatever kind of rubbish is rolling around in your misguided brain, and then I’m going to tell you what to do about it.” She points again. “Now,sit.”

The best defense has always been a good offense. I drop my briefcase and put my hands on my hips. “I’ll sit as soon as you tell me why you filled your house with bizarre, tacky, disjointed decor and then tried sneaking some hottie with a smolder in here right under everyone’s nose.” I can arch my eyebrow and glare with the best of them. “God probably also wants to know what you’re doing, but he’ll have to wait in line.”

She glares at me for about ten seconds.

And then she bursts out laughing. She drops onto the edge of the sofa she was pointing at. “Fine.” She huffs. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

I exhale gustily and step around the edge of the sofa. “You already saw mine.”

“But you lied and said it was Abby’s baby. Please tell me you’re not going to hide and dispose of that child like you could do with an ultrasound photo.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s not even achildyet. It’s a gummy bear.”

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