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PregnantThe private investigator placed a thick brown envelope on the table between them. The restaurant buzzed with the expectancy of a snug Tuesday evening, rain battering the street outside with a cold veracity.Pregnant
“She's pregnant.” “What?”
The P.I slid a finger across the open edge of the envelope, then pulled out a sheaf of black and white glossy prints. Christian looked away and around the restaurant before examining them.
“Think it's yours?”
He stared at the images; the rounding stomach, her candid face; the one turning alien and unfriendly in his mind.
“None of your god-damn
by ~paparatti
TrainHe was reading the NY Times on the Trans-Siberian railway somewhere past Omsk. If they were on a cruise ship, she would have exhaled 'we haven't seen land for days', but of course on a train that was all they ever saw. He wore brown pennyloafers, pressed trousers and a tie bearing a neat indecipherable gold insignia. On the other hand, she was virtually invisible in military hiking boots, dark khakis and a giant black sweater; travelling backfrom London to endure a sweaty summer on the reserve in Beijing. About half an hour later he offered the rumpled paper to her, presuming she spoke American.Train
by ~paparatti
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