His Missing Wife by Jaime Hendricks (nice books to read .TXT) 📕

dad. My hand hovers over my abdomen. A baby. One that will grow into a toddler, a child. A teenager who I will love, and support, and I’ll never give them a reason to run away.

Almost into town, I’m giddy thinking about painting the nursey. First steps, taking off the training wheels, cheering on the soccer or Little League team. There will be Christmas mornings around the tree, family dinners, helping with homework, and college graduations. James and I will be a little old couple, holding hands and still in love as our child dedicates their valedictorian speech to us.

It’s everything I’ve seen in every romantic comedy, rolled into one.

Turning onto Main Street, before I hit the gift shop, there is a local electronics store and I have an idea. I need to hear myself say it first. The bell on the top of the door rings when I open it, and a salesman approaches me before the door even closes.

“Good morning!” He looks at his watch, a digital one that probably beeps on the hour. “I mean, good afternoon!”

He laughs at himself, self-deprecating. He’s cheery, nerdy, and adorable. Maybe twenty-one, tall, skinny, glasses. Everything you picture for someone who’s trying to sell you stuff you don’t need, but you buy it anyway because they sound so knowledgeable, and their passion for doohickeys is unyielding.

“Good afternoon.” Then I correct myself. I notice you get better service when you address people by their name instead of assuming they’re just workers there to serve you. “Hi, Ralph. My name is Tessa.” I extend my hand for a shake, which he returns, sweaty palm and all. “I’m looking for a small recording device?” I say it like a question, holding my thumb and forefinger a few inches apart, indicating that I need one of the tiny, thin ones I see businessmen talking into all the time, likely taking notes for meetings.

“You don’t have an iPhone?” He looks at me like I hopped right off the wagon in my prairie dress and bonnet.

“No. I reject technology,” I say, with no intention of telling him I use basic burner phones.

“Ah, of course we can help you, Tessa. Follow me.”

The store isn’t very big, and “follow me” really means take two steps to the left. His arms gesture out in a tah-dah! fashion, and I don’t know what I’m staring at. On the wall, there are a bunch of different packages, all devices in thick plastic, hanging from chrome hooks.

“Hmm. What do you suggest?” I ask.

“What’s the purpose?”

To hear myself say over and over and over that I’m pregnant until I find the way that sounds the best. “Practicing a speech. I need to hear myself say it out loud.”

“Of course.” He turns his attention to the wall and fingers through a few models and takes one off its hook. “This one has up to eight hours recording time on one single charge. A bargain at two ninety-nine.”

Yikes. I don’t need eight hours to tell James that I’m pregnant. I don’t think I do.

“That’s a bit above my pay grade,” I say. “Anything a little more cost effective?”

“Hmm.” His eyes scan up and down, and he grabs another one. Smaller. Thinner. “This one’ll get you about four and a half hours on a single charge and automatically uploads it in real time to the cloud. Sort of like the iPhone iCloud, but they call it ‘the Moon.’” He points to a little button on the bottom. “See here? That’s the delete button. It’s a design flaw, too close to the thumb when people hold it and speak into it. Some people delete their speeches before they’ve had a chance to save them. The cloud feature eliminates that risk.” He flips the package over and there’s a picture of the moon on the back insert, and he taps it. “Brilliant, right?”

Ralph is so excited that he’s educating me, and I know this kid likely works on commission, so I want to give him a sale. “How much?”

“This one is one nineteen. And the Moon subscription is included for a full year. After that, if you want to continue using the service it’s only like five bucks a year. A bargain, really.”

He’s smiling now, and I see that he has braces on his lower teeth.

“Okay. Let’s do it.”

“Excellent!” He says it too loud and I see someone who’s probably his boss, an older man wearing a tie, give a thumbs up. “Let’s ring you up.”

This time, we both take about ten steps to the right where the register is. The man behind him looks over Ralph’s shoulder as he punches buttons on the screen. Ralph is smiling as he fumbles with the opening of the bag and places my new device inside.

“Thanks for the help, Ralph,” I say.

“No problem. Thanks for stopping in, and remember us for all of your electric needs!”

“I will.” I wink and smile at him, then lightly wave to his boss before I exit the store.

About a block down is the baby store. The baby store. Oh my God, I can’t believe I’m going in with a purpose. Inside, music is playing in the background, softly—something you’d hear in a movie. “Hush little baby, don’t say a word, momma’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.” It fills me with hope, because I was raised on the likes of Alice Cooper and Tupac, depending on who my mother was screwing at the time.

Another small store, as most of the mom-and-pops on Main Street are, there are only a handful of people inside. A quick scan tells me that the left-hand side has toys for toddlers, the right-hand side has toys for small children under ten, and the back is a bliss world of soft blankets and baby lamb stuffed toys and onesies and mobiles. Tears rush to my eyes.

“Can I help you?” A tall, slim lady approaches me. “Looking for a gift or for yourself?”

“Oh. Hi.” Despite my first instinct of wanting to run up Gwen’s driveway