eight

I had gone to every SecureCon trade show for the past decade, and I had to admit that I enjoyed this orgy of marketing. MantaSoft brought its engineers to the show to make customers feel like technical partners in product development. We would give presentations, answer questions, and glad-hand the IT geeks who bought our software. I felt a familiar jolt of anticipation as I walked into the place.

“Tucker!” A shrill, happy voice called across the convention lobby. It was Shelly, the receptionist from the local MantaSoft office. I’d known Shelly for years. We’d sort of grown up together. We joined MantaSoft at the same time, went on double dates with our future spouses, and even got married within a few months of each other. Shelly had started having children immediately.

Today she was round and happy, apparently pregnant again. This would be her fourth.

I said, “Shelly!” and gave her a big hug around her belly. “When are you due?”

Shelly looked confused. “Due? What do you mean due?”

Uh oh.

I stammered, “Err—ah—due to—”

“Are you saying I’m fat?”

“No! No. I would never—”

Shelly laughed. “Ha! I’m just screwing with you.” She chucked me on the arm. “Don’t you know better than to guess that a woman’s pregnant? I’m seven months along. Nate called and told me to get you some badges. Here’s one for the show, and here’s one for the
office. Nate said that you were contracting with us. I think that’s great. It’ll be nice to have you around. I felt so bad for you when you left. Is everything OK now? What are you doing?”

I had let the waves of Shelly’s chatter wash over me and didn’t register the question. After a long silence, I realized it was my turn to talk. “Oh, I’m taking over for Alice Barton for a few days.”

Shelly’s eyes filled. She said, “Oh. Of course.”

“So you heard.”

“Yes. The police were here. They asked everyone about Alice. Of course, it was odd that she died and Carol died, given that they—” Shelly reddened.

“That they what?” I asked.

“Um. That they both did the same job on the same project.”

“Is that all that they did together?”

Shelly reached up and gave me a peck on the cheek. She said, “I gotta go, hon. It’s time to get the booth ready for the show.”

She turned and scurried away, leaving me standing in the lobby. I considered chasing her, badgering her, getting her to give me an answer. But I knew that she’d just clam up, and then I’d be some jerk harassing a pregnant lady. I tweeted:

Why is the husband always the last to know?