said Laura Lee Whittier. “I just have to serve a ham and eggs at Number 3.” In the diner, the television set was on. There were half-a-dozen people at the counter, lingering over coffee and hamburgers, waiting for Cash-Answer to begin. Reginald Whittier walked to a booth in the rear. Laura had gotten the job here two days ago, the same day the doctor had verified her pregnancy. Yesterday morning, there had been further verification. Seeing his wife sick like that had made Reggie ill himself. Laura had borrowed some Alka-Seltzer from the landlady and fixed it for him before she went off to work. “Just take it easy,” she told him. “You’ll feel better. Just rest awhile—and honey, rest in the bed. Not on the floor. After all, I can’t bite you or anything. I’ll be at work.” “I’m going to find work too,” he said. “I’ll have a job by the time I pick you up tonight.” Reggie sat down in the booth and lit a cigarette. He inhaled the smoke, thinking of the way she had taught him to do that, thinking of all the patience she had, only vaguely interested in the face of the eight-year-old on the television screen, or the voice of the quizmaster.
