Jennifer Lindenthwaite was
standing there, dripping.
"Hi, Oliver."
"Jennifer!"
"Aren't you going to ask me in?"
"Sure. Come in and dry off. I got soaked, too. Just got home." He led
her upstairs and into the apartment. "What's happening?"
"Oh, nothing," she said. "Rupert threw me out . . . I'm pregnant."
13.
"Gaaaagh . . . Jennifer, that's terrible! That's great. I
mean--here's a towel." Oliver whipped in and out of the bathroom and
handed her a maroon towel. "Do you want to take a shower? How about a
cup of tea?"
"Tea would be lovely. I _will_ take a shower." She closed the bathroom
door behind her, and Oliver rushed to fill the tea kettle. The shower
started. Milk? Sugar? Honey?
"Verdi," he called, "Jennifer is here for tea." The words echoed. Verdi
was nowhere to be seen; probably he had taken refuge upstairs. Oliver
paced back and forth from the stove to the fireplace. Why had she come
to him? He felt the future looming, threatening to sweep away the
controlled life that he complained about but that suddenly seemed more
attractive.
The shower stopped. Jennifer stepped out a few minutes later wearing
his Navy blue bathrobe.
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