Morning sickness

"You've led a sheltered life, Clark," Witkowski says. "You've never seen morning sickness?"

"Come to think of it," I say. "I suppose not. But it's not exactly my idea of morning."

"If someone waves scrambled eggs and squid under my nose at 1 A.M., it's morning," she says.

"Phil's some kind of heel to leave you in the lurch while you're pregnant," I say.

"It was already water under the bridge," Tina says.

"It wasn't Phil?" I say.

Her face says that whoever it was, it wasn't good news all around. I begin sketching a paternity case in my mind.

I say, "Then whoever it is better tell his boss that he's about to have his wages garnished with a side of fries. What kind of rat could leave you high and dry?" And still be in one piece, I wondered to myself.

Witkowski just gives me that look again. "Clark, it's not that simple," she says.

I reach out and take her hand. She doesn't bat me away. It's warm and a little damp. "Tell me, Witkowski." I say.