Baby Bones. Donan Ph.D. Berg
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Chesterton couldn’t remind Melanie of a picture-less father never known. Mother wouldn’t speak of him; slapped Melanie’s face when she tried to ask. Nor would mother speak of the man who’d impregnated her with Melanie’s brother. Both men, mother said, unverified by Melanie, skipped town once pregnancy visible. Melanie’s mother habitually cursed all men until early death.
Chesterton stretched naked on the bed, chest up, and ramrod straight in both directions.
Melanie diverted fingers from following cot gaze and a repeated delightful tease to stretch the elastic Victoria’s Secret waistband, crumple the cotton, and slip the powder-blue panties to jeans, and then both past blue painted toes. Casual business wear didn’t require nylons or folding. She fully understood no domestic future unfurled with Chesterton.
Not one drop of concern would be sweat for his wife. He reached for right hand. While she might not be able to leap into the air and click heels, she’d physically absorb and pulsate his virility before she crushed his ambitions.
* * *
Noel stretched out on apartment futon after effortless double shift picket duty. He endured Hunter’s jabs and Dino’s flak for not answering union’s cell phone alert two days earlier. McNamar visited the picket line that morning sporting black eye and facial bruises. By Bill’s account, he won.
Noel munched lukewarm fries, a half-eaten fast food hamburger in coagulated grease on the floor. Boring six p.m. news broadcast encouraged him to channel surf halfway through. The cell phone in front jeans pocket buzzed and he answered with an unenthusiastic hello.
“Please don’t hang up. It’s Melanie.” Noel pressed phone to left ear. “I want to apologize for I obviously angered you at my house.”
He’d been simultaneously aroused and uncomfortable when Melanie’s fingers touched him, not upset, as he would define it. Too complicated to explain, he could only say, “I’m not angry.”
“Maybe you don’t like spaghetti. There’s two steaks in the refrigerator we can grill outdoors if you’ll visit tonight. Say, eight o’clock.”
Noel heard a commotion behind Melanie’s voice. Dino told everyone at pre-strike meetings to be on guard. Unsure if prior visit remained a secret, he said, “I can’t.”
“If you’re worried about job.” She coughed. “Don’t be. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”
He hesitated. How would she impact his college dream? He needed job, now and after the strike. No others in the county paid as well. “Okay, but if I’m not there at eight, don’t expect me.”
Before he wrestled with Melanie’s invite, Noel prayed the strike to end. He knew it wouldn’t before eight leaving him unsure if he exercised any control of his own future. What could he do?
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