After Lally leaves, I sit there for a while. I suppose there's been almost as much thinking done in bathrooms as in any of the halls of learning, though probably of a more intimate nature than what’s discussed in class.

A baby. She thought I was having a baby. Dear lord, me, the maiden aunt, pregnant. What a concept. No, it just wasn't within the realm of possibilities. Even as I thought that, I realized how self delusional the concept was. Of course it was possible.

Unless either Jerry or I were infertile. Somehow I doubted Jerry would have that problem. But me? My eggs were forty years old, if I had any left. Hardly likely candidates for fertilization. But more and more women my age, and older, were having babies these days. Though they were usually trying desperately, with every help medical science could give them.

And if I did get pregnant, there was so much risk. Weren't late in life babies more at risk for health problems? More likely to be mentally handicapped? Premature? What would I do if I had a Mongoloid child?

Well, the answer to that was simple: I'd love it. I've known a number of Mongoloid children and adults. They were without exception sweet, loving people. They never lost their innocence.

I wondered who would have the greater fear of pregnancy and the responsibilities of parenthood: me, or an eighteen year old newlywed staring at an EPT wand six weeks after she got back from her honeymoon.

I sigh, and lift the lid of the toilet. Pulling down pants, and underwear, I sit again, and wait. In a moment there is the familiar warm gush, and a sense of at least physical relief. Stress always seems to make me need to use the restroom. I roll toilet tissue around my hands and attend to the hygienics of the process. I automatically glance down, not really hoping, then pause. Was that a pink streak? I discard the paper, and try again. With my luck, it's probably hemorrhoids.

But no. I'm careful where I pass the paper. This time when I examine it, there is a goodish red smear soaked into the tissue. I slump back against the commode, rolling my eyes up to heaven in a silent prayer of thanks.

Jerry's POV

Scribe has been in that bathroom for awhile, but Lally says that she just needs a little time to collect her thoughts. I guess she's right. The woman doesn't get much privacy, living like we do. I suppose I really should quit walking in on her in the bathroom, like she asked. It's just that it's so much fun watching her wash. And she seems to have gotten used to me sitting on the closed toilet with the shower curtains half open, watching her. Still, I suppose she should have one place where she can be alone. I'll quit doing that, for now, anyway.

She's feeling more self-conscious lately. She's put on a couple of pounds, and I think that bothers her. I could tell her that it doesn't matter to me. In fact, I don't mind at all. I love all of her.

Any way, the little extra flesh is part of a pattern I've been noticing, and I hope it means what I think it means. She's put on a little weight, she's retaining fluids, she has to potty more often, she's been eating some real strange stuff, and lots of it. Plus she... well, she just has a look about her. Something around her eyes.

She hasn't said anything to me yet, and I'm waiting. I'm waiting for her to tell me that she's having my baby.

God, I'm so fucking excited! My baby. Scribe's baby. Our baby. Boy or girl? I don't give a damn. Anything Scribe pops out will be exactly what I want. I'd kind of like to have one or two of each, down the line. That's not impossible. I hope we have more than one, cause that one would be spoiled totally rotten.

It's just so hard to predict how people reproduce. I mean, look at our family. Ron and Lally have been trying for years. Justine got knocked up when James looked at her. I don't know which one of them I'll take after. Before Scribe, I was always careful to use protection when I laid down with a woman.

Sure, I didn't want to catch anything, but most of all I didn't want them to catch pregnant. I was raised to believe that a man took care of his responsibilities, and a child was the biggest responsibility there was. That meant whether you were married to the mama or not, and I wasn't interested in marrying any of those others, so I always packaged myself when I fucked. I didn't have to do that with Scribe. It was the first time I'd gone in bareback, and it was a revelation.

I'm not sure she realizes I've been actively trying to get her pregnant. When we make love, I use positions that give the deepest penetration, the ones where the sperm is less likely to leak out. I stay inside her after we're done for several minutes. I don't let her wash right away, holding her tight and cuddling for several hours before I allow her to go to the shower. Ideally, I'll have exhausted her so that she doesn't want to move till morning.

I've been sprinkling my seed liberally. I must have pumped several gallons of warm, thick sperm into her by now. Some of it has to take root. That's how many billion wigglies? Come on, boys. You're slacking.

I'm on my second cup of coffee before the door finally opens a crack. She calls out, "Lally? Could you come here a minute?" Lally goes to the door, and there are whispers. Then Lally looks over at me. There is sadness in that look, and again I begin to worry. If there's something wrong with her, they'll tell me, won't they? I'm her husband. I need to know.

Lally goes into the pantry as James comes in. He stamps the snow off his feet on the rug provided for that, opening his coat. "Hey, Jer. Here without the little woman? Left her all by her lonesome?" I frown. James is entirely too interested in whether or not I'm leaving Scribe by herself these days.

I don't need to warn Scribe about James. She doesn't like him at all. Says he sets her teeth on edge, makes her tired. That's a nice way of putting it. He's an asshole, and he can get me from zero to pissed in about a half second. "She's in the smallest room."

"Hope she ain't gonna be long. I'd rather not have to go make yellow snow. It's so damn cold out there, I might end up having to break it off." He helps himself to coffee and sits beside me at the table. I resist the urge to move.

Lally comes back from the pantry, and throws another odd glance in my direction. I don't understand it till I see what she's carrying. It's a package of sanitary napkins.

I feel my heart drop. Son of a bitch. I'd half convinced myself I was on my way to being a daddy, now this. Right now I think that old fashioned name for it is pretty accurate. It really seems like a curse to me.

I guess my disappointment must show, because Ron pauses behind me and squeezes my shoulder. James is watching it all with lively interest. He watches as Scribe's hand snakes out to take the package, looks at Ron and Lally's somber faces, looks at me. And I know he's going to say something shitty. He doesn't prove me wrong. "Dodged the bullet again, huh, stud?" My face feels stiff, and I look away, not answering. It might be all right if he just shuts up now. I might be able to let it pass. But he can't pass up a chance like this to needle someone under the guise of simple, jovial comradery.

I swear, I don't know if it's stupidity or the belief that I won't do something, for Justine's sake, that makes him slide an arm over my shoulders in that condescending, conspiratorial manner. He seems to have forgotten that Just and the kids aren't here now. I won't feel too hesitant about laying a little hurting on him, if he deserves it.

His voice low, he says, "So, she's on the rag. So what? That ain't the only hole she has, huh, Jer? Hell, this'll give you an excuse to experiment, if you wanna. And if you haven't had that juicy ass yet, you really should, because I tell you that..."

He looks really surprised when I turn and knock him out of his chair. I don't know why. Anyone who knows me would have stopped talking the minute they got a look at my expression. I come up out of my own chair after him, but Ron catches me before I can get to him. Ron and me have wrestled and tussled since I learned how to walk, and he knows how to hold me, he knows the tricks I'd use to slip free. And I use them. I really want to get to James and lay my boots into his ribs a few times. Not upside the head, though. I'm wearing my construction boots, and I guess it wasn't a killing offense.

But I keep trying to get to him as he crab crawls across the floor. What finally stops me is Scribe. She comes flying out of the bathroom, and before I know it she's got her soft, warm hands on my face. She makes me look at her, and she talks to me. "Stop it, Jerry. I don't know what he said, but he's not worth the effort, really he isn't. Please."

It's the please that does it. Oh, she's alwarys a polite woman, but she doesn't pass out pleases as freely as some. When she says it, she really wants something. For some reason, she doesn't want me to damage that fox-faced bastard. So, to please her, I settle down.

"You can let me go, Ron. I ain't gonna hurt him." James pushes himself up off the floor, blue-green eyes still scared, but angry, too. I reckon James has as little use for me as I have for him. I step a little closer, and he cringes. He doesn't even hold up his hands to defend himself, but I don't mean to hit him. I just want to make a point.

I step closer still, and Ron and the women shift nervously. But all I do is put my face close to his and hiss, "James, that was real stupid. You'd best think twice when you want to talk dirty about another man's wife, and then keep that filthy mouth shut."

He blinks. "Well damn, Jerry, it was..."

"If you have the fuckin' nerve to tell me it was just a joke, Ron ain't gonna be able to keep me off your sorry ass."

Scribe and I walk back to our cabin, and I consider. James is foul, but he's right about one thing. There's no need to do without sex just because it's her phase of the moon. There's plenty of real nice possibilities.

How long does a woman's period usually last? Three days, give or take, I think. Three days.

All right. Three days and we start trying again