pregnant, or if he does know, he might not be able to reach me.
Women do that—we make excuses for our men… it blunts the pain.
Because the more likely scenario is Duncan left the country to get away from me.
September 23, Friday
IT’S BEEN A WHILE since Sidney came to visit by herself. I’m happy to hear her jabber on about the Coma Girl brand, but I’m really excited that she’s painting my nails again. I know Dr. Tyson and Dr. Jarvis are worried I’m losing ground, and I want to prove to myself I still have working connections to the tips of my fingers and toes.
“Peacock blue for your fingers,” Sid says. “And sunshine yellow for your toes.” She yawned noisily. “Ack, I need a nap.”
She does seem tired today, but I know she’s been working nonstop on building a support system for Coma Girl fans and followers.
“Do you know that some newspapers are offering a bounty for the name of your baby’s father?”
No, I hadn’t heard. That’s… weird.
“Everyone wants to know who is the father of the Coma Girl baby.”
She was blowing, I assume on my nails to dry them faster.
“I’m curious, too. I mean, you’ve never really had a serious boyfriend.”
That she knows of.
“And no one has come forward to say it’s his. I’m thinking it was just a one-night stand—at least that’s what I hope.”
She hopes?
“I mean, I hope it wasn’t an attack or something.”
Ah. No, thank goodness.
“There are all kinds of conspiracy theories floating around out there.”
There are?
“Some people are saying the baby belongs to Keith Young, and when he found out about the baby, he put you in a coma.”
Okay, that’s… impossible.
“And some people are saying it’s an alien baby.”
Okay, that’s… more impossible.
She yawned again. “And some people are saying it was immaculate conception and you’re carrying a messiah.”
Okay, who are these people and are they wearing white jackets with sleeves that tie in back?
The gonging ringtone sounded, stopping me mid-thought. By the time Sidney removed the phone from her bag, it had rung five times. Long enough to echo in my head again… and again… and again.
“Hello? Yes. I told you the project is done, but I can’t give it to you all at once. Did you get the first part? Well, it’s going to have to do until I can make arrangements to get another segment to you. What?” She pushed up from the chair and walked toward the window, turning her back. “Don’t you dare threaten me.”
Threaten? That sounds a bit extreme for a class project. On the other hand, we’re talking about lawyering. She might be working on a project for a firm where a lot of money is at stake.
“Are you crazy? You can’t come here. You’ll ruin everything. No, don’t—hello? Hello? ”
Sidney cursed, then cursed again. She strode back to my bed, then started slamming things into her purse. “I have to go, Marigold. Mom and Dad are visiting tomorrow—good luck with that.”
Good luck with that… Good luck with that… Good luck with that…
Why was the phrase oddly familiar… and at the same time, repulsive? And strangely, I sensed it had something to do with the gonging sound.
September 24, Saturday
“SO CATCH ME UP,” Alex said. “Marigold is pregnant ?”
“I’m afraid so,” my mom said, somehow managing to marinate all three words with disapproval, condemnation, and dismay.
“She doesn’t look pregnant from here.”
“Really? Her cheeks don’t look puffy?”
Thanks, Mom.
“No, she looks great. Who’s the lucky guy?”
“Nobody seems to know, except Marigold, and she isn’t talking. I don’t suppose she mentioned a boyfriend to you?”
“No. She mentioned a guy in the Peace Corps a couple of times, but she said they were just friends.”
“Do you remember his name?” Mom asked.
“No, but I’ll look back through the letters I got from her and see if she mentioned a
Women do that—we make excuses for our men… it blunts the pain.
Because the more likely scenario is Duncan left the country to get away from me.
September 23, Friday
IT’S BEEN A WHILE since Sidney came to visit by herself. I’m happy to hear her jabber on about the Coma Girl brand, but I’m really excited that she’s painting my nails again. I know Dr. Tyson and Dr. Jarvis are worried I’m losing ground, and I want to prove to myself I still have working connections to the tips of my fingers and toes.
“Peacock blue for your fingers,” Sid says. “And sunshine yellow for your toes.” She yawned noisily. “Ack, I need a nap.”
She does seem tired today, but I know she’s been working nonstop on building a support system for Coma Girl fans and followers.
“Do you know that some newspapers are offering a bounty for the name of your baby’s father?”
No, I hadn’t heard. That’s… weird.
“Everyone wants to know who is the father of the Coma Girl baby.”
She was blowing, I assume on my nails to dry them faster.
“I’m curious, too. I mean, you’ve never really had a serious boyfriend.”
That she knows of.
“And no one has come forward to say it’s his. I’m thinking it was just a one-night stand—at least that’s what I hope.”
She hopes?
“I mean, I hope it wasn’t an attack or something.”
Ah. No, thank goodness.
“There are all kinds of conspiracy theories floating around out there.”
There are?
“Some people are saying the baby belongs to Keith Young, and when he found out about the baby, he put you in a coma.”
Okay, that’s… impossible.
“And some people are saying it’s an alien baby.”
Okay, that’s… more impossible.
She yawned again. “And some people are saying it was immaculate conception and you’re carrying a messiah.”
Okay, who are these people and are they wearing white jackets with sleeves that tie in back?
The gonging ringtone sounded, stopping me mid-thought. By the time Sidney removed the phone from her bag, it had rung five times. Long enough to echo in my head again… and again… and again.
“Hello? Yes. I told you the project is done, but I can’t give it to you all at once. Did you get the first part? Well, it’s going to have to do until I can make arrangements to get another segment to you. What?” She pushed up from the chair and walked toward the window, turning her back. “Don’t you dare threaten me.”
Threaten? That sounds a bit extreme for a class project. On the other hand, we’re talking about lawyering. She might be working on a project for a firm where a lot of money is at stake.
“Are you crazy? You can’t come here. You’ll ruin everything. No, don’t—hello? Hello? ”
Sidney cursed, then cursed again. She strode back to my bed, then started slamming things into her purse. “I have to go, Marigold. Mom and Dad are visiting tomorrow—good luck with that.”
Good luck with that… Good luck with that… Good luck with that…
Why was the phrase oddly familiar… and at the same time, repulsive? And strangely, I sensed it had something to do with the gonging sound.
September 24, Saturday
“SO CATCH ME UP,” Alex said. “Marigold is pregnant ?”
“I’m afraid so,” my mom said, somehow managing to marinate all three words with disapproval, condemnation, and dismay.
“She doesn’t look pregnant from here.”
“Really? Her cheeks don’t look puffy?”
Thanks, Mom.
“No, she looks great. Who’s the lucky guy?”
“Nobody seems to know, except Marigold, and she isn’t talking. I don’t suppose she mentioned a boyfriend to you?”
“No. She mentioned a guy in the Peace Corps a couple of times, but she said they were just friends.”
“Do you remember his name?” Mom asked.
“No, but I’ll look back through the letters I got from her and see if she mentioned a
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