Fay was all right with the pregnancy. For an old gal, she was all right. We waited around at our place. Finally the time came. “It won’t be long,” she said. “I don’t want to get there too early.” I went out and checked the car. Came back. “Oooh, oh,” she said. “No, wait.” Maybe she could save the world. I was proud of her calm. I forgave her for the dirty dishes and The New Yorker and her writers’ workshop. The old gal was only another lonely creature in a world that didn’t care.
