“At least.”
“So I was up at the counter ordering a latte and I heard that voice and there she was, sitting in the corner, telling a rapt group of patrons about her prenatal vitamin regimen.”
“I don’t get it.”
Corinne tilted her head. “Really?”
“You do?”
“Sure. I got it right away. Suzanne was holding court in the corner, and then I started walking toward her. When she spotted me, that glow just vanished. I mean, you can imagine. How do you explain being eight months pregnant for, like, what, half a year? I just stood there and waited. I think she hoped that I’d leave. But I didn’t. I was supposed to go to school, but later, I told them I got a flat tire. Kristin covered my classes for me.”
“You and Suzanne eventually talked?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“She said that she really lives in Nyack, New York.”
That was about thirty minutes from both Bookends and that Starbucks, Adam figured.
“She told me a story about having a stillborn. I don’t think it’s true, but it could be. But in many ways, Suzanne’s story is simpler. Some women love being pregnant. Not because of the hormonal rush or because they have a baby growing inside of them. Their reasons are much more base. It is the one time in their life they feel special. People hold doors for them. People ask them about their day. They ask them when they’re due and how they’re feeling. In short, they get attention. It’s a little like being famous. Suzanne was nothing special to look at. She didn’t strike me as being particularly smart or interesting. Being pregnant made her feel like a celebrity. It was like a drug.”
Adam shook his head. He remembered the wording on the Fake-A-Pregnancy website: “Nothing throws you in the spotlight like being pregnant!”
“So she faked being pregnant in order to maintain the high?”
“Yes. She’d slap on the fake belly. She’d go to the coffee shop. Instant attention.”
“But there was only so long that she could get away with that,” he said. “You can’t be eight months pregnant for more than, well, a month or two.”
“Right. So she moved lunch spots. Who knows how long she’d been at it—or if she’s still doing it. She said her husband didn’t care about her. He came home and went right to the TV or stayed at the bar with the guys. Again, I don’t know if that’s a lie. It doesn’t matter. Oh, and Suzanne did it other places too. Like instead of going to the supermarket in her hometown, she’d go to ones farther away and smile at people and they’d always smile back. If she went to the movies and wanted a good seat, she’d use it. Same with airplane rides.”
“Wow,” Adam said. “That’s pretty sick.”
“But you don’t get it?”
“I get it. She should see a shrink.”
“I don’t know. It seems pretty harmless.”
“Strapping on a fake belly to gain attention?”
Corinne shrugged. “I admit it’s extreme, but some people get attention because they’re beautiful. Some because they inherited money or have a fancy job.”
“And some get it by lying about being pregnant,” Adam said.
Silence.
“So I assume your friend Suzanne told you about the Fake-A-Pregnancy website?”
She turned away.
“Corinne?”
“That’s all I’m willing to say right now.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No.”
“Wait, are you telling me you crave attention like this Suzanne? I mean, this isn’t normal behavior. You know that, right? This has to be a mental disorder of some kind.”
“I need to think about it.”
“Think about what?”
“It’s late. I’m tired.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“Stop.”
“What?”
Corinne turned back to him. “You feel it too, don’t you, Adam?”
“What are you talking about?”
“We’re in a minefield,” she said. “Like someone just dropped us right in the middle of it, and if we move too fast in any direction, we’re going to step on an explosive and blow this whole thing up.”
She looked at him. He looked at her.
“I didn’t drop us in the minefield,” he said through gritted teeth. “You did.”
“I’m going up to bed. We can talk about this in the morning.”
Adam blocked her path. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“What are you going to do, Adam? Beat it out of me?”
“You owe me an explanation.”
She shook her head. “You don’t understand.”