More Stories from the Twilight Zone by Carol Serling Page A

the bed and brought up another platter laden with delicate pink shrimp and golden slivers of papaya. And chocolates.
    â€œYou’re a lifesaver,” she murmured, as he began to feed her.
    Â 
    â€œYes, I really do still have a cold,” she told Kevin, blowing her nose as if to make a point. It had been a week. She looked down at the pile of tissues beside the couch, and wondered why on earth he hadn’t thrown them away himself. He was back at work, which got the daytime TV off, thank God.
    The hallway was littered with dirty clothes and there was a paper towel roll outside the bathroom. The kids had been making do since the toilet paper ran out. Kevin kept apologizing for forgetting to get some at the store on his way home from the strip of fast-food restaurants he had begun to frequent. Sarah wasn’t talking to Deb; she had forgotten to do the carpool and everyone had been late for school.
Twice.
She felt a twinge. Slight, but present.
    She heard someone crying in Sarah’s room.
    â€œI don’t know what’s wrong with her, Andy,” Sarah said. “Maybe she’s got a fever and she’s delirious.”
    â€œBut I
have
to bring the cupcakes to the Scout party. It’s my responsibility!” Andy ground out.
    â€œMaybe Dad can buy you some,” Sarah ventured.
    Deb stepped around the hallway clutter and went into the bedroom. And there he was, lying in bed, sipping rum and eating a banana. Sun-streaked highlights gleamed in his hair. When he saw her, he beamed with joy and held out the cup to her.
    â€œWhere have you been, my beauty?”
he demanded hotly.
“The hours have dragged like years.”
    She climbed onto the bed. “I don’t suppose you know how to make cupcakes.”
    He slid his arms around her.
“No, but I know how to make you happy.”
    Sighing, she picked up the goblet and swallowed down the rum. He kissed her. Again. And again. He ran his fingers through her hair and marveled aloud at how exquisitely, achingly beautiful she was. He wept with joy that they had found each other at last.
    â€œWhat about the cupcakes? I have to make cupcakes. I’m supposed to take them to Ellen’s after drop-off tomorrow.”
    He eased her onto her back and gazed with limpid desire into her eyes.
    â€œForget them,”
he urged her in his deep, barrel-chested voice.
“There’s nothing but you . . . and me. Nothing in the world but our passion.”
    Â 
    He was almost right about that. But Andy’s tears echoed in her mind as she slumbered beside Aidan. She tossed and turned. Then at four A.M. , she got up and started making the batter. She’d bought all the makings the first day she’d read Aidan into her life. While digging for the extra package of butter in the freezer, she discovered a treasure trove of microwave meals and frozen vegetables. Kevin and the kids didn’t have to eat so much fast food. They’d had food in the house all along. But no one hadlooked for it. No one else seemed to be able to cook. And why was that?
    In the next room on the couch, Kevin snored on.
    Yawning, exhausted, Deb made chocolate cupcakes with orange frosting, each one topped with a gumdrop spider and legs of black licorice. Four dozen. Her eyes were bloodshot and lined with sandpaper by the time she finished, just as the sun came up. And as she awakened her son with the wonderful news, he just stared at her in horror.
    â€œFour dozen? You were supposed to make
six
dozen,” he said.
    She realized with dawning horror that he was right. She’d miscounted. She’d been too distracted—too tired, and too eager to get back in bed with Aidan.
    â€œEllen, hi, I’m sorry,” she said, calling Ellen on her cell phone. “I hit a snag,” she said. “I’ll bring the cupcakes over a little later today.”
    â€œOh,” Ellen said, sounding surprised. “All right.”
    Andy