Strange but True by John Searles Page B

next bit of faulty logic forming in his mind, before he asks, “Is that what you want? Money?”
    She takes another sip and wipes the dribble with her sleeve. “No.”
    â€œAre you sure?”
    â€œI’m sure,” she tells him.
    The truth is, Melissa hasn’t been able to work at either of her part-time jobs—answering phones at an insurance company and washing sheets at a motel in Conshohocken (both places where people don’t have to look at her face). The jobs became too difficult for her, given the countless mornings she spent with her head over the toilet, vomiting, and the confusion and anguish she suffered when she first realized what was happening to her. As a result, she is more than six months behind on rent. Still, money was the last thing on her mind when she came here tonight. So when Philip persists with his questions about whether this is some crazy scheme she cooked up for cash, Melissa cranes her neck around and tells him, “Look. I don’t want anything from you people, except for you to believe me. And if you don’t, then that’s your decision. I just thought you had a right to know, since Ronnie is going to be a father in a few more days.” At this, Philip’s mouth drops open the way it did earlier in the kitchen. But the expression does little to stop her. “So if you ever find yourself curious about your niece or nephew, I live right across town at 32 Monk’s Hill Road. You’re welcome to come see the baby for yourself.”
    When Melissa is finished, she feels breathless and bone tired. The compassion she’d seen, or thought she’d seen, in Philip’s eyes is gone. Now that she has resigned herself to the fact that he is not going to believe her, she wants him gone as well. Philip must sense what she’s thinking because he pulls on the door handle, bringing a rush of winter air into the car, washing over her hot skin like a salve. “I guess there’s nothing left to say then. Except good night.”
    â€œGood night,” she tells him.
    There is his cast and crutch to contend with, so it takes Philip a full minute to slide across the seat and gain firm footing on the icy ground. Once he’s finally standing, Philip looks back at her in the driver’s seat. “Actually, I do have one more thing to say. Maybe it’s not my place to tell you this, Missy. But I think you need some sort of professional help so you can get through this. Not just a doctor to deal with the pregnancy, but a counselor or someone you can talk to about grieving for Ronnie. It’s like, I don’t know, you’re stuck or something. And now that you’re having a baby, I think your mind is getting confused and all mixed-up about what’s happening to you.” Philip stops to take a breath. “The only thing I can think is that it’s like this biography I’m reading about Anne Sexton. When she got pregnant, it really screwed with her head.” Again, Philip pauses. When he speaks next, his voice drops lower. “Things only got worse for her instead of better. And I wouldn’t want the same to happen to you.”
    â€œAre you done?” she asks.
    â€œI’m done.”
    â€œGood. Well, thanks for the advice. Now close the door so I can leave.”
    Instead of the loud slam of an exit his mother made, Philip shuts the door so gently that there is nothing but the softest click. Melissa shifts the car into reverse, steps on the gas, and rolls out of the driveway so quickly that chunks of frozen gravel kick up from under her tires and spit at Philip as he hobbles toward the house. When he reaches the top step of the porch, he turns to wave, but Melissa looks away at the road before her, slams the car into drive, and takes off up the street.
    â€œI’m not crazy,” she says as the tears start again. “You believe what you want. But I know what is happening to me. I