Conspiracy

15

“Oh, how precious — a onesie with a matching rattle.” Lia DeFrancesca tried very hard not to roll her eyes as the guest of honor continued to gush over her baby shower pres-ents. The very pregnant guest happened to be Lia’s best friend from high school, Tina Ricco, now Tina Ricco Kelly, well into the eighth month of pregnancy. Besides a healthy glow and a constant need to pee, Tina’s condition had apparently short-circuited several parts of her brain, causing her to use the word “precious” at least twenty times an hour and to speak of herself in the plural, as in, “We just think that’s adorable,” and, “We’ll have that drink super-sized.” Visiting Tina and her husband in their new home in North Carolina for a few days had seemed liked a good idea when Tina invited Lia. She envisioned long afternoons by the shore, sipping a cool drink from a tall glass. She might even get in a little shopping.

But the weather had turned out to be on the cool side, and Tina was generally too tired to spend more than fifteen minutes on her feet at a time. She was also too busy to go out — Lia’s arrival had come in the midst of a relentless stream of relatives and other friends, who dropped by nearly around the clock to “chat” and offer encouragement. Tina had made the mistake of saying that she planned on having the baby without painkillers, and her visitors felt obligated to let her know how foolish she was. They did this with war stories about their own excruciating times in labor, stories so vivid that even Lia got sympathy pains.

Fortunately, the pains of labor were no longer the topic of choice at the shower. Unfortunately, it was replaced by non-stop horror stories of babies with colic, babies who never slept, babies who never kept food in their stomachs. The odd thing was that the stories were told in the most cheerful way imaginable, and generally capped off with words to the effect of “You’ll love being a parent.” Lia resorted to vodka-spiked lemonade to remain calm.

If I ever have a baby, she thought, I’m going to keep it a secret until he’s eighteen.

Lia’s cell phone rang just as Tina unwrapped her third Diaper Genie. She jumped up to take the call, so thankful for the diversion that she would have bought storm windows from the most obnoxious telemarketer.

“Lia, this is Chris Farlekas. Can you talk?”

“Almost,” she said, walking out into the hallway.

“We need you here by eight a.m. tomorrow for a briefing.

I know it’s Sunday, I know you’re off, but—”

“Not a problem.”

“We’ll book a commercial flight from Raleigh-Durham. When do you want to leave?”

A burst of high-pitched giggling cascaded down the hall.

“I’m calling a cab for the airport right now.”