and a fire in the grate. Everyone behind the closed curtains would be having a happier time than she was having, that was for damn sure.
Max fiddled with the radio dial again, flipping through stations until he found one that played country music. He turned up the volume.
“I like this song,” he said.
It was about a woman who caught her man cheating and destroyed his car. Carrie Underwood. Now there was a woman who wouldn’t put up with a husband like Max.
Geraldine turned her head and looked at him. He was wearing a long black coat and mustard-coloured striped scarf like he was a GQ model. She used to like how he dressed. She thought he had style. Now she knew the clothes were just show. She waited for the song to end and reached over to turn down the volume. Max’s eyes flicked across at her, but he didn’t say anything. She settled back in the seat, uncomfortable with the way the baby was lying inside her stomach. A little body part, likely a foot, was pushing her stomach from within like a butterfly trapped inside. She patted the bump gently through her fur coat, then roused herself to make a comment.
“I was surprised Mom still wanted to cook a big meal with everything going on.”
“Hunter didn’t eat much supper. That’s not like him,” Max replied.
“It wasn’t because of a guilty conscience if that’s what you’re implying.”
“If you say so. Nobody mentioned your father once. Don’t you find that odd?”
“We don’t need to. He’s everywhere I look.”
Max took one hand off the wheel and reached over to touch her belly. “You have to stay calm for the baby. Try not to think about it too much.”
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