I smiled fatuously, since no one was there to see me, and called him. The minute I heard his voice, I missed him with a dreadful ache. I pictured his meticulously groomed thick white hair, the black arched brows and pale brown eyes, the heavily muscled arms and chest. He was at work, he’d told Amina’s machine, so I could imagine him at his huge desk, covered with piles of paper that were nonetheless neatly stacked and separate. He would be wearing a spotless white shirt, but he would have taken his tie off when the last employee left. His suit jacket would be hanging on a padded hanger on a hook in his very own bathroom.

I loved him painfully.

I couldn’t remember ever having told Martin lies before, and I kept having to remind myself of where I was supposed to be.

“Is Amina talking a lot about the baby?” he asked.

“Oh, yes. She’s scheduled to take Lamaze in a couple of months, and Hugh’s gung-ho about coaching her.” I hesitated a moment. “Did you take Lamaze when Barrett was born?”

“I don’t remember taking the course, but I was there when he was born, so I guess Cindy and I did,” he said doubtfully.

Cindy. Wife number one, and mother of Martin’s only child, Barrett, now trying to become a successful actor in Los Angeles.

Martin was saying, “Roe, is Amina being pregnant giving you ideas?”

I couldn’t tell how he felt from his voice. He’d spoken so much about Barrett lately I’d felt it wasn’t a good time to talk about another child.

“How do you feel about that?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I’m pretty old to be changing diapers. It’s daunting to think of starting all over again.”

“We can talk about it when I get home.”

We talked about a few other things Martin wanted to do when I got home. By a pleasant coincidence, I wanted to do them, too.

After I hung up, I picked up the little Corinth phone book. Before I could reconsider, I flipped to the B’s.