Ralphie's Wives. Christine Rimmer

her big tummy, staring out the window beside the back door. Phoebe went to her and put her hands on those sad, sagging shoulders. “Come on. Let’s go sit on the sofa.”

      Darla dragged herself upright and plodded along behind Phoebe into the other room, where she plopped down on the ugly brown corduroy sofa. Phoebe sat beside her and wrapped an arm around her. Drawing the younger woman close, Phoebe guided Darla’s still-damp head to rest on her shoulder. She stroked Darla’s arm.

      Darla snuggled in. “Thanks for comin’ over. And you’re right, what you said. It looks like crap around here and I need to pull myself together.”

      Phoebe made a low noise of agreement and then spoke gently, “Darla?”

      “Umm?”

      “The baby…”

      “Umm?”

      “It’s not Ralphie’s, is it?”

      With a soft little sigh, Darla snuggled in closer still. “Oh, Pheeb…”

      “Is it?”

      Darla answered at last in a dreamy voice. “Strictly speakin’? No, it ain’t.”