then gasps sounded.
“ Aggggg —it went up my nose!”
“You threw it in my eyes!”
Fits of sneezing ensued, and much slapping of clothes. I waited until Lucy and Ethel composed themselves.
“Okay, Marigold, can you meet me halfway?” Faridee asked.
Sure. Let me coma right over there.
“I’m coming toward you,” she said. “Closer… closer…”
The thing is, I’m still not sure how to play this because with Faridee’s hit or miss “powers,” she might interpret Duncan Wheeler as Dunkin’ Donuts. Then some poor shmuck at the corner shop would be assaulted by these two loons.
“There you are, Marigold. Congratulations on being a mother! Now, what can you tell me about the father of your child?”
I try to blank my mind or think about something else, but my mind keeps bouncing back to Duncan and the night he crashed at my apartment.
“I’m getting something,” Faridee said.
“What is it?” Winnie whispered. “What is she telling you?”
“Wait for it... Wait for it…. Yes… He’s a cowboy.”
Oh, brother.
“Hm, that doesn’t seem like Marigold’s type. Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m going to snort Stevia more often because this is the clearest signal I’ve ever received. No question—I see spurs.”
Sigh. Spurs… as in San Antonio Spurs.
September 22, Thursday
“I CAN’T STAY LONG,” Roberta said. “Just came by to read you some mail—it is flooding in again. I guess everyone and their neighbor saw your story on television.”
She tore open the first envelope. “Dear Coma Girl, You’re going to burn in a pit of hellfire—wait, that one’s not very nice.”
A thick ripping sound filled the air.
“Goodbye, Creepy Jesus Freak,” she sang.
She tore open another envelope. “Let’s see, Coma Girl, ba, ba, ba… illegitimate devil spawn… okay, goodbye .”
Another hearty rip sounded.
“What is wrong with people?”
She tore open a third one. “Okay, here’s a sane person… Dear Coma Girl, I saw your story on The Doctors , and… no, wait—this lady wants to buy your baby for three hundred dollars. Goodbye . Oh, wait—she sent a ten dollar deposit. That, we will keep.” She heaved a sigh. “I don’t like opening your mail, Marigold, but maybe I should go through them at home and weed out the perverts, lunatics, and devil worshippers. What do you think?”
I think that sounds good.
“By the way, I’ve started my detective work. I called your office and told your boss I found a man’s San Antonio Spurs hat at the apartment and did it belong to anyone there? I have to say, I was very relieved when Mr. Palmer didn’t lay claim to it. He said he’d ask around the office and call me back.”
Then she cleared her throat. “Actually, Marigold, it crossed my mind that it could be Duncan, although to my knowledge, you two never did the nasty. But just in case, this morning I looked up his phone number from the cake order and called.”
I’m in agony. I want to know what he said, but I don’t want to know what he said. I need closure, but I don’t want it.
“Anyway, his fiancée answered. Duncan left the States over a month ago to work in refugee camps and won’t be back until the wedding. I made up some lame excuse about the order. But while I had her on the phone, I told her someone had left a San Antonio Spurs hat at the bakery, and I wondered if it belongs to Duncan. She said no, that Duncan is notorious for dissing professional basketball.”
It’s true, he prefers college basketball. He’d told me there was a story behind the hat, but he never got around to telling me, was too busy impregnating me.
“So that’s that, Duncan is not the father of your child.” She sighed. “Pity though, I bet the two of you would have decent-looking kids. Not gorgeous, mind you, but really decent-looking. And sturdy.”
Aww. I hope she’s right.
So Duncan is traveling overseas. Which means he might not know I’m
“ Aggggg —it went up my nose!”
“You threw it in my eyes!”
Fits of sneezing ensued, and much slapping of clothes. I waited until Lucy and Ethel composed themselves.
“Okay, Marigold, can you meet me halfway?” Faridee asked.
Sure. Let me coma right over there.
“I’m coming toward you,” she said. “Closer… closer…”
The thing is, I’m still not sure how to play this because with Faridee’s hit or miss “powers,” she might interpret Duncan Wheeler as Dunkin’ Donuts. Then some poor shmuck at the corner shop would be assaulted by these two loons.
“There you are, Marigold. Congratulations on being a mother! Now, what can you tell me about the father of your child?”
I try to blank my mind or think about something else, but my mind keeps bouncing back to Duncan and the night he crashed at my apartment.
“I’m getting something,” Faridee said.
“What is it?” Winnie whispered. “What is she telling you?”
“Wait for it... Wait for it…. Yes… He’s a cowboy.”
Oh, brother.
“Hm, that doesn’t seem like Marigold’s type. Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m going to snort Stevia more often because this is the clearest signal I’ve ever received. No question—I see spurs.”
Sigh. Spurs… as in San Antonio Spurs.
September 22, Thursday
“I CAN’T STAY LONG,” Roberta said. “Just came by to read you some mail—it is flooding in again. I guess everyone and their neighbor saw your story on television.”
She tore open the first envelope. “Dear Coma Girl, You’re going to burn in a pit of hellfire—wait, that one’s not very nice.”
A thick ripping sound filled the air.
“Goodbye, Creepy Jesus Freak,” she sang.
She tore open another envelope. “Let’s see, Coma Girl, ba, ba, ba… illegitimate devil spawn… okay, goodbye .”
Another hearty rip sounded.
“What is wrong with people?”
She tore open a third one. “Okay, here’s a sane person… Dear Coma Girl, I saw your story on The Doctors , and… no, wait—this lady wants to buy your baby for three hundred dollars. Goodbye . Oh, wait—she sent a ten dollar deposit. That, we will keep.” She heaved a sigh. “I don’t like opening your mail, Marigold, but maybe I should go through them at home and weed out the perverts, lunatics, and devil worshippers. What do you think?”
I think that sounds good.
“By the way, I’ve started my detective work. I called your office and told your boss I found a man’s San Antonio Spurs hat at the apartment and did it belong to anyone there? I have to say, I was very relieved when Mr. Palmer didn’t lay claim to it. He said he’d ask around the office and call me back.”
Then she cleared her throat. “Actually, Marigold, it crossed my mind that it could be Duncan, although to my knowledge, you two never did the nasty. But just in case, this morning I looked up his phone number from the cake order and called.”
I’m in agony. I want to know what he said, but I don’t want to know what he said. I need closure, but I don’t want it.
“Anyway, his fiancée answered. Duncan left the States over a month ago to work in refugee camps and won’t be back until the wedding. I made up some lame excuse about the order. But while I had her on the phone, I told her someone had left a San Antonio Spurs hat at the bakery, and I wondered if it belongs to Duncan. She said no, that Duncan is notorious for dissing professional basketball.”
It’s true, he prefers college basketball. He’d told me there was a story behind the hat, but he never got around to telling me, was too busy impregnating me.
“So that’s that, Duncan is not the father of your child.” She sighed. “Pity though, I bet the two of you would have decent-looking kids. Not gorgeous, mind you, but really decent-looking. And sturdy.”
Aww. I hope she’s right.
So Duncan is traveling overseas. Which means he might not know I’m
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