Tales of the City 04 - Babycakes

you to know I’ll be staying another three days.”
Her reply was a colorless “Oh.” How long was she going to be alone?
“It’s great here,” he added. “I guess I should’ve waited to tell you. I’m sorry. I’ll see you on …”
“Don’t go, Mouse.”
“Huh?”
“Stay on the phone. Talk to me. I’m weirding out.”
“How many Valiums did you say you …?”
“Brian’s gone. We had a fight yesterday, and he walked out, and … I think something’s happened to him.”
“It can’t be that bad,” he replied.
“It is.”
“Sounds to me like he’s punishing you. How long has it been?”
“Almost twenty-four hours.” Michael said nothing. “Should I call the police?” she asked. “I dunno.”
“I mean … if he’s checked into a motel or something, don’t you think he would’ve called by now?”
“I guess,” he replied, “but maybe you oughta give it a few more …”
“I had this awful dream. Mouse.”
“When?”
“Just now. Before you called. You and I were at a funeral together.”
“You’re just thinking of Jon,” he said.
“No. This was different. It was in a little chapel of some sort. And Brian wasn’t with us.”
“Babycakes …”
“It felt so real, Mouse.”
“I know. That’s natural. You’re under a lot of stress. You need sleep, that’s all. If I hadn’t woken you, you wouldn’t have remembered that dream.”
This was true, she decided.
“Besides,” he added, “I think Brian’s just moping.”
“You do? Really?”
“Yeah. I do. Get some sleep, O.K.? It’ll all seem better in the sunshine.”
“O.K.”
“And I’ll see you on Friday.”
“All right. I’m glad you’re having a good time, Mouse.”
“Thanks. Night-night now.”
“Night-night.”
She rose just after ten o’clock and called in sick to Larry Kenan. He was relatively pleasant about it, which only reinforced her nagging suspicion that something was seriously off kilter in the universe. She made herself a defiantly big breakfast. If Brian was trying to make her suffer, she had done more than enough suffering already.
She was reading a Cosmopolitan in the courtyard when Mrs. Madrigal appeared and sat down next to her in the toasty sunshine.
“Lovely day,” said the landlady.
“Mmm.”
“Did you have a nice Easter?”
She hesitated. “It was O.K.”
Mrs. Madrigal smiled tenderly. “I miss him already, don’t you?”
For a moment, Mary Ann thought she meant Brian. “Oh … sure … he was a nice guy.”
The landlady nodded but said nothing. Mary Ann looked down at her magazine again.
“And Brian’s gone too, isn’t he?”
Mary Ann met her eyes. “How did you know?”
“Oh … just a feeling.”
Mary Ann felt her anxiety rise. If Mrs. Madrigal was having premonitions, maybe that dream really meant something. “Do you want to talk about it, dear?”
In five minutes, she had told the landlady everything: Brian’s sterility, her pregnancy scheme, how Simon’s feelings were hurt and how she had tried to apologize, Brian’s ill-timed return and angry departure. Mrs. Madrigal took it all in stride, but drew a deep breath when Mary Ann had finished.
“Well, I must say … you’ve outdone yourself this time.”
Mary Ann ducked her eyes. “Do you think I was wrong?”
“You know better than that.”
“What?”
“I don’t do absolutions, dear.” She reached for Mary Ann’s hand and squeezed it. “But I’m glad you told me.”
“He wanted a baby so badly.”
“I know. He told me.”
“He did? When?”
“Oh … back when you were covering the Queen.”
“What did he say?”
“Oh … just that he wanted one … and you were somewhat cool to the idea.”
“I would have one for him,” she replied.
“I can see that,” said the landlady.
“I’m just so afraid it’s too late. It isn’t like him to stay away this long.”
Mrs. Madrigal smiled faintly. “Let him concoct a little mystery, dear. It may be his only defense.”
“Against what?”
“Against your layers and layers of mystery.”
“Wait a minute,” said Mary Ann. “I’m not so hard to figure out.”
The landlady patted her knee. “You and I know that, child … but he doesn’t.”
“Then …?”
“Don’t ask him where he’s been, dear. Let him have that for his own.” Mrs. Madrigal rose suddenly. “It’s time for me to tidy up the basement.”
Her abrupt departure puzzled Mary Ann until she looked across the courtyard and saw her husband coming through the lych-gate. His gait was leaden,