Only Son Read Online Free PDF Page B

you,” she said, clutching the dog to her sagging bosom. “We had a bug-sprayer here yesterday, and while we were in your apartment, I couldn’t help noticing all the baby things…”
    Carl stood by the elevator, a blank smile stretched across his face. He wore his swim trunks and a sport shirt; a damp beach towel was thrown over his shoulder. It was a glorious, hot July Saturday. He’d been so certain he would see them at the pool today, but they hadn’t come. He’d even checked the kiddie pool. He’d returned home still damp from his laps and very disappointed. His landlady had caught him totally off guard.
    From behind the rhinestone, pointed glasses, Mrs. Gunther squinted at him. “I wasn’t sure what to think with the crib, and the changing table, and what-have-you.”
    He nodded. “Oh, yes, well, I—should have told you when I signed the rental agreement last month. But I—wasn’t sure then.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “See, my wife died giving birth to our son. And the baby was very premature. They didn’t think he’d live either, but now it looks like he’ll pull through.” Carl wondered if she was buying any of this. “They say I might be able to bring him home soon. Anyway, I’m buying some stuff for him. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. It won’t be a problem, will it?”
    â€œOh, of course not,” she murmured, stroking the dog’s head. “I’ll just change the number of occupants to two on the rental agreement. Don’t you worry. You poor man…”
    â€œThank you, Mrs. Gunther.” He pressed the elevator button. “I see you have a new dog.”
    â€œYes!” She grabbed the poodle’s paw and waved it at him. “Twinkle, say hello to Mr. Jorgenson.”
    â€œTwinkle, huh?” He wondered what happened to Sparkle II.
    â€œI found him on my doorstep the day after Sparkle died.” With a tiny pout, she shook her head. “I never thought I could replace Sparkle, but Twinkle here is the sweetest pooch.” She pressed her cheek against the dog’s head.
    He smiled. “You really love that new poodle, don’t you?”
    â€œOh, yes. She’s my baby…”
    Â 
    In his living room, Carl surveyed the purchases he’d made in the last three weeks. In a way, he was relieved Mrs. Gunther had seen the bassinet and everything else. Now, he didn’t have to worry about their being discovered. He could take some of the baby’s clothes and toys out of their boxes now.
    Grabbing a beer, Carl sat on the floor, and went through the packages. He smiled at the little tennis shoes, the tiny pajamas with a Superman emblem on the chest, and the toy tiger. Then he pulled out a Felix the Cat clock from another box. He found a nail on the wall, hung up the clock, and plugged it in. He laughed. The dial was on Felix’s belly, and his eyes and tail moved back and forth, keeping time. He’d gotten a kick out of it in the store. But now he imagined the clock in his little boy’s room after dark, those big, cartoon eyes darting from side to side, the whiskered grin—almost sinister. Jesus, it would scare the hell out of the kid .
    He’d have to take the god-awful thing back. How quickly adults forgot that certain “cute” decorative items for a kid’s room were nightmare material for the kid.
    He remembered a clown portrait that hung in his room when he was a little boy. It was a Bozo-type clown, with a bald, white head with red tufts of hair at the temples like horns; the huge, painted smile, and laughing eyes that seemed to look back at him. Sometimes in the night, that clown picture looked so evil and scary. Carl would turn his head away, yet still feel those eyes studying him.
    Throughout his childhood, he was plagued by bad dreams. He had no brothers or sisters; and the Jorgenson house was large