The Swetky Agency - Baby Makes Three

Baby Makes Three

by D. J. Herda

Opening:
It was in a small town in downstate Illinois where I met her. It was in a small town in downstate Illinois where I lost her. But it was my decision to stay on with our teenage daughter in that large, rambling, prairie-style home that set the stage for disaster.

How could I have known? Who could have warned me?

Everything had been so right.

It all began to unravel on a cloudy Tuesday evening in May, when Lorelei was at band practice and I was fixing dinner for when she returned. Marie Franklin--I liked to call her by both names because they had such a lyrical lilt to them--had gone upstairs to draw a bath. I had finished with the Caesar's salad, which both of my women loved nearly as much as I enjoyed preparing it, and had heated the grill for the tenderloins that I had purchased earlier that afternoon at Baumgartener's Meat Shop. I had turned away only for a second or two to grab the marinade off the island when I heard a loud hissing sound. I turned in time to see the grill smoking and wondered what had happened.

I walked up to it, and a thick drop of water fell from the sky, atomizing into a billion shards of light and steam the moment it touched the grate. I looked up just as another drop splattered against the metal.

Oh, Christ. "Marie Franklin!" I yelled. I reached for the controls and turned the gas off. I grabbed a large metal bowl to set over the grate, snatched up a towel, and quickly wiped my hands. Another drop fell, making a hollow clanging sound as it hit the bowl. "Marie Franklin!" I shouted again.

I turned toward the hallway and raced up the stairs. When I got to the top, I heard the water running. "Marie Franklin, what's going on? Where are you? The tub is overflowing!" I reached the bathroom door, threw it open, and stepped into an inch of water. I looked up at the tub and saw the water running down the sides. I saw the water running down the sides and two dull lifeless eyes peering up at me.