The phone rang, and Morelli answered. “Yes, Mrs. Plum,” he said.
I jumped out of my chair and started to run for the front door. I was halfway through the dining room when Morelli snagged me by the back of my shirt and stopped my progress with a sharp yank that had me pressed against his chest.
“Your mother,” he said, handing me the phone.
“Stephanie,” my mother said. “What is this I hear about your being pregnant?”
“I'm not pregnant. This is a living arrangement, not a marriage.”
“Everybody's talking. Everybody thinks you're pregnant. What should I tell Mrs. Crandle?”
“Tell her I'm not pregnant.”
“Your father wants to talk to you.”
I could hear the phone being transferred and then some breathing.
“Dad?”
“Yeah,” he said. “How's the Buick running? You gotta give it high test, you know.”
“Don't worry. I always give it high test.” I never gave it high test. It didn't deserve high test. It was ugly.
He gave the phone back to my mother, and I could hear my mother rolling her eyes at him.
“I have a nice pot roast on the stove,” she said. “With peas and mashed potatoes.”
“Okay,” I said. “I'll come for dinner.”
“And Joseph.”
“No. He can't make it.”
“Yes, I can,” Joe said.
I gave a big sigh. “He'll come, too.”
I disconnected and gave him the phone. “You'll be sorry.”
* * * * *
“NOTHING LIKE BEING PREGNANT to give a woman a glow,” Grandma said.
“I may be glowing, but I'm not pregnant.”
Grandma looked down at my stomach. “You look pregnant.”
It was all that damn Italian food. “It's cake,” I said.
“You might want to get rid of that cake before the wedding,” Grandma said. “Or you're going to have to buy one of them empire gowns that don't have a waist.”
“I'm not getting married,” I said. “There's no wedding.”
Grandma sat up straighter. “What about the hall?”
“What hall?”
“We figured you'd hold your reception at the Polish National Hall. It's the best place for it, and Edna Majewski said they had a cancellation, but you'd have to act fast.”