won't hurt. Come on."
"No, really. You go ahead."
Doug opened the refrigerator, took the half bottle of Stag's Leap chablts out, and poured himself a gobletful. He swirled it around the glass, sipped at it, and then he got the salad plates down from their shelf. "So how was Carol today?"
"Fine. She filled me in on the latest trials and tribulations. The usual."
"Did you see Tim Scanlon there? He was taking a client for lunch."
"No, I didn't see anybody. Oh… I saw Ann Abernathy. She was there with somebody from her office."
"I wish I could take two-hour lunches." His right hand continued to spin the wine around and around the glass. "We're having a great year, but I'm telling you: Parker's got to hire another associate. I swear to God, I've got so much work on my desk it'll be August before I can get down to my blotter." Doug reached out and placed his left hand against Laura's belly. "How's he doing?"
"Kicking. Carol says he ought to be a good soccer player."
"I don't doubt it." His fingers touched here and there on her belly, seeking the infant's shape. "Can you see me being a soccer daddy? Going around town to all the games with a little rug rat? And softball in the summer. That T-ball stuff, I mean. I swear, I never pictured myself sitting in the bleachers cheering a little kid on." A frown worked itself onto Doug's face. "What if he doesn't like sports? What if he's a computer nerd? Probably make more money that way, though. Come up with a computer that teaches itself, how about that?" His frown broke, and a smile flooded back. "Hey, I think I felt him move! Did you feel that?"
"At real close range," Laura said, and she pressed Doug's hand firmly against her belly so he could feel David twitching in the dark.
They ate dinner in the dining room, where a picture window looked toward the postage-stamp-size plot of woods in back. Laura lit candles, but Doug said he couldn't see what he was eating and he turned the lights back on. The rain was still coming down outside, alternately hard and misty. They talked about the news of the day, how bad the traffic was getting on the freeways, and how the building spurt had to slow down sooner or later. Their conversation turned, as it usually did, toward Doug's work. Laura noted that his voice got tighter. She approached the idea of a vacation again, sometime in the autumn, and Doug promised he'd think about it. She had long since realized that they were not living for today any longer; they were living for a mythical tomorrow, where Doug's workload would be lighter and the pressures of the marketplace eased, their days relaxedly constructive and their nights a time of communion. She had also long since realized that it would never happen. Sometimes she had a nightmare in which they were both running on treadmills, with a machine that had teeth at their backs. They could not stop, could not slow down, or they would fall back into the teeth. It was a terrible dream because there was reality in it. Over the years she'd watched Doug climb from a junior position at his firm to a position of real responsibility. He was indispensable there. His term: indispensable. The work he brought home and the time he spent on the telephone proved it. They used to go out to dinner and the movies every weekend. They used to go dancing, and on vacations to places like the Bahamas and Aspen. Now they were lucky to get a day alone at home, and if they saw a movie it was on the VCR. The paychecks were more, yes: both his and hers had grown, but when did they have time to enjoy the fruits of their labors? She'd watched Doug age worrying about other people's portfolios, about whether they had enough long-term investments, or that international politics would drive down the dollar. He lived on a tightrope of quick decisions, above a sea of fluctuations. The success of his career was based on the worth of paper, of lists of numbers that could change dramatically overnight. The success of her own career
"No, really. You go ahead."
Doug opened the refrigerator, took the half bottle of Stag's Leap chablts out, and poured himself a gobletful. He swirled it around the glass, sipped at it, and then he got the salad plates down from their shelf. "So how was Carol today?"
"Fine. She filled me in on the latest trials and tribulations. The usual."
"Did you see Tim Scanlon there? He was taking a client for lunch."
"No, I didn't see anybody. Oh… I saw Ann Abernathy. She was there with somebody from her office."
"I wish I could take two-hour lunches." His right hand continued to spin the wine around and around the glass. "We're having a great year, but I'm telling you: Parker's got to hire another associate. I swear to God, I've got so much work on my desk it'll be August before I can get down to my blotter." Doug reached out and placed his left hand against Laura's belly. "How's he doing?"
"Kicking. Carol says he ought to be a good soccer player."
"I don't doubt it." His fingers touched here and there on her belly, seeking the infant's shape. "Can you see me being a soccer daddy? Going around town to all the games with a little rug rat? And softball in the summer. That T-ball stuff, I mean. I swear, I never pictured myself sitting in the bleachers cheering a little kid on." A frown worked itself onto Doug's face. "What if he doesn't like sports? What if he's a computer nerd? Probably make more money that way, though. Come up with a computer that teaches itself, how about that?" His frown broke, and a smile flooded back. "Hey, I think I felt him move! Did you feel that?"
"At real close range," Laura said, and she pressed Doug's hand firmly against her belly so he could feel David twitching in the dark.
They ate dinner in the dining room, where a picture window looked toward the postage-stamp-size plot of woods in back. Laura lit candles, but Doug said he couldn't see what he was eating and he turned the lights back on. The rain was still coming down outside, alternately hard and misty. They talked about the news of the day, how bad the traffic was getting on the freeways, and how the building spurt had to slow down sooner or later. Their conversation turned, as it usually did, toward Doug's work. Laura noted that his voice got tighter. She approached the idea of a vacation again, sometime in the autumn, and Doug promised he'd think about it. She had long since realized that they were not living for today any longer; they were living for a mythical tomorrow, where Doug's workload would be lighter and the pressures of the marketplace eased, their days relaxedly constructive and their nights a time of communion. She had also long since realized that it would never happen. Sometimes she had a nightmare in which they were both running on treadmills, with a machine that had teeth at their backs. They could not stop, could not slow down, or they would fall back into the teeth. It was a terrible dream because there was reality in it. Over the years she'd watched Doug climb from a junior position at his firm to a position of real responsibility. He was indispensable there. His term: indispensable. The work he brought home and the time he spent on the telephone proved it. They used to go out to dinner and the movies every weekend. They used to go dancing, and on vacations to places like the Bahamas and Aspen. Now they were lucky to get a day alone at home, and if they saw a movie it was on the VCR. The paychecks were more, yes: both his and hers had grown, but when did they have time to enjoy the fruits of their labors? She'd watched Doug age worrying about other people's portfolios, about whether they had enough long-term investments, or that international politics would drive down the dollar. He lived on a tightrope of quick decisions, above a sea of fluctuations. The success of his career was based on the worth of paper, of lists of numbers that could change dramatically overnight. The success of her own career
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