The Leftovers

sweetie. Let’s go downstairs and have breakfast.”
    She must have been hungry, because she finally deigned to open her eyes, blinking against the dim light, squinting at Tom as though he were a distant acquaintance whose name was on the tip of her tongue.
    “What time is it?”
    “Time to get up.”
    “Not yet.” She patted the mattress, inviting him to join her. “Just a few more minutes.”
    This was part of the ritual, too, the best part, Tom’s reward for performing an otherwise thankless task. He stretched out beside her on the bed, turning onto his side so he could look at her face, the one part of her body that hadn’t changed dramatically over the past few months. It remained thin and girlish, as if it still hadn’t gotten the news about the pregnancy.
    “Ooh!” Wincing with surprise, she took his hand and placed it on her belly, right on top of her popped-out navel. “He’s really busy in there.”
    Tom could feel a swirling movement beneath his palm, a hard object pressing against her abdominal wall—a hand or a foot, maybe an elbow. It wasn’t easy to distinguish one fetal extremity from another.
    “Somebody wants out,” he said.
    Unlike Christine and the Falks, Tom refused to refer to the fetus as “he.” There hadn’t been an ultrasound, so nobody knew for sure if it was a boy or a girl. The baby’s supposed maleness was an article of faith, based on Mr. Gilchrest’s certainty that the miracle child was a replacement for the son he’d lost. Tom hoped he was right, because it was sad to imagine the alternative, an infant girl being welcomed into the world with groans of shock and dismay.
    “Are they home?” Christine asked.
    “Yup. They’re waiting for you.”
    “God,” she sighed. “Can’t they go away for the weekend or something?”
    They’d been living with the Falks for three and a half months, and by now, even Christine was sick of them. She didn’t dislike Terrence and Marcella the way Tom did, couldn’t afford to resent their generosity, or laugh at their slavish devotion to Mr. Gilchrest. She just felt suffocated by their constant attention. All day long they hovered, trying to anticipate her needs, fulfill her smallest desire, as long as it didn’t involve leaving the house. Tom knew that was the only reason he was still here—because Christine needed him, because she would’ve gone crazy, trapped for so long with just the Falks for company. If it had been up to their hosts, he would’ve been out on his ass a long time ago.
    “You kidding?” he said. “They’re not going anywhere, not this close to the big day. They wouldn’t want to miss out on the fun.”
    “Yeah.” She nodded with deadpan enthusiasm. “It’s gonna be so great. I can’t wait to go into labor.”
    “I hear it’s a blast.”
    “That’s what everybody tells me. Especially when it lasts really long and you don’t have any pain medication. That part sounds awesome.”
    “I know,” Tom agreed. “I’m totally jealous.”
    She patted her stomach. “I just hope the baby’s really big. With one of those gigantic melon heads. That’ll make it even better.”
    They joked like this all the time. It was Christine’s way of calming her nerves, preparing herself for the ordeal of natural childbirth. That was how Mr. Gilchrest wanted it—no doctors, no hospital, no drugs. Just a midwife and some ice chips, a little Motown on the iPod, Terrence standing by with the video camera, ready to record the big event for posterity.
    “I shouldn’t complain,” she said. “They’ve been really nice to me. I just need a break, you know?”
    She’d been restless lately, tired of being pregnant and housebound, especially now that the weather was so nice. Just last week, she’d persuaded the Falks to take her for a drive in the country, but they’d been so nervous about having her in the car—unable to talk about anything except how horrible it would be if they got into an accident—that it hadn’t been any fun for anybody.
    “Don’t worry.” He reached for her hand, gave it a reassuring squeeze. “You’re almost there. Just a few days to go.”
    “You think Wayne’ll be out by then?”
    “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t really understand the legal system.”
    For the past several weeks, the Falks had been claiming that Mr. Gilchrest’s lawyers were making real progress on his case. From what they’d heard, a deal was in the works that would allow him to plead guilty