Adam was now able to let go when he sat in the passenger seat. Corinne was too much of a control freak. She would keep shouting out instructions and cautions. She almost put her foot through the imaginary passenger-side brake. As Thomas pulled onto the street, Adam turned and studied his son’s profile. Some acne was forming on his cheeks. There was faint hair growing down the side of his face, Abe Lincoln’s lines if not thickness, but his son had to shave now. Not every day. Not more than once a week, but it was there. Thomas wore cargo shorts. His legs were hairy. He had beautiful blue eyes, his son. Everyone commented on them. They had the sparkling blue of ice.
Thomas pulled into the driveway, drifting a little close to the right curb.
“I’ll be two seconds,” he said.
“Okay.”
Thomas put the car in park and sprinted toward the front door. Justin’s mom, Kristin Hoy, opened it—Adam could see the bright shock of blond hair—and that surprised him. Kristin taught at the same high school as Corinne. The two women had grown pretty close. Adam had figured that she’d be down in Atlantic City, but then he remembered that this conference was for history and languages. Kristin taught math.
Kristin smiled and waved. He waved back. Thomas vanished into the house as Kristin started down the path toward the car. Politically incorrect as it sounded, Kristin Hoy was a MILF. Adam had overheard a bunch of Thomas’s friends saying that, though he could have figured it out on his own. Right now, she was sashaying toward him in painted-on jeans and a tight white top. She was some sort of competitive bodybuilder. Adam wasn’t sure what kind. Her name had a bunch of letters after it, and she had earned the distinction of being a “pro,” whatever that exactly entailed. Adam had never been a fan of the muscular weight lifting women of old, and in some of her competitive pictures, Kristin did indeed look a little corded and cut. The hair was a little too blond, the smile a little too white, the tan a little too orange, but the look worked pretty damn well in person.
“Hey, Adam.”
He wasn’t sure whether he should get out of the car. He settled for staying in his seat. “Hey, Kristin.”
“Corinne still away?”
“Yep.”
“But she’s back tomorrow, right?”
“Right.”
“Okay, I’ll touch base with her. We have to train. I’ve got the states in two weeks.”
On her Facebook page, she claimed to be a “fitness model” and “WBFF Pro.” Corinne envied her body. They had started working out together recently. Like most things that were good or bad for you, you reach a stage where what started as a happy habit turns into something of an obsession.
Thomas was back with the shorts.
“’Bye, Thomas.”
“’Bye, Mrs. Hoy.”
“Have a good night, boys. Don’t have too much fun with Mom away.”
She sashayed back toward the house.
Thomas said, “She’s kind of annoying.”
“That’s not nice.”
“You oughta see their kitchen.”
“Why? What’s wrong with their kitchen?”
“She has bikini pictures of herself on the fridge,” Thomas said. “It’s gross.”
Hard to argue. As Thomas pulled out, a small smile tugged at his lips.
“What?” Adam said.
“Kyle calls her a butterface,” Thomas said.
“Who?”
“Mrs. Hoy.”
Adam wondered if that was a new term for MILF or something. “What’s a butterface?”
“It’s what you call someone who’s not pretty—but she has a good body.”
“I’m not following,” Adam said.
“Butterface.” Then Thomas spoke slowly. “But. Her. Face.”
Adam tried not to smile as he shook his head in disapproval. He was about to admonish his son—wondering exactly how to do so and keep a straight face—when his cell phone rang. He looked down at the caller ID.
It was Corinne.
He hit the ignore button. He should pay attention to his son’s driving. Corinne would understand. He was about to put his phone in his pocket when he felt it vibrate. Fast for a voice mail, he thought, but no, it was an e-mail from his bank. He opened it. There were links to see the detailed purchases, but Adam barely noticed them.
“Dad? You okay?”
“Keep your eyes on the road, Thomas.”
He would go through it in detail when he got home, but right now, the top line of the e-mail said more than he wanted to know.
Novelty Funsy is a billing name for the following online retailer:
Fake-A-Pregnancy.com
Chapter 4
When he was back home and in his office nook, Adam hit the link in the e-mail and watched the website come up.
Fake-A-Pregnancy.com.
Adam tried not to react. He knew that the Internet catered to every peccadillo and taste, even ones that defied the imagination, but the fact that there was an entire website based on faking a pregnancy was yet another one of the moments when a rational human being just wants to surrender and cry and admit that our worst instincts have won.
Underneath the large pink lettering, in a slightly smaller font, was the tagline: FUNNIEST GAGS EVER!
Gags?
He clicked on the link for the “featured products you purchased!” The top item was for a “SUPER NEW Fake Pregnancy Test!” Adam just shook his head. The normal price of $34.95 had a red slash through it in favor of the sale price $19.99, and then, in black italics underneath that, “You save $15!”
Well, great, thanks for the savings. I sure hope my wife didn’t pay retail!
The item shipped in twenty-four hours with “discreet packaging.” He read farther down the page:
Use it the same way you would a real pregnancy test!
Urinate on the strip and read the results!
They show up positive every time!
Adam’s mouth felt dry.
Scare the bejesus out of your boyfriend or your in-laws or your cousin or your professor!
Cousin and professor? Who the hell wants to scare a cousin or professor into thinking . . . Adam didn’t even want to go there.
There was a warning in small print on the bottom.
CAUTION: This item has the potential to be used irresponsibly. By completing and submitting the form below, you agree not to use this product for purposes that may be illegal, immoral, fraudulent, or hurtful to others.
Incredible. He clicked the item image and zoomed in on the packaging. The test was a white strip with a red cross indicating pregnancy. Adam racked his brain. Was that the test Corinne had used? He didn’t remember. Had he even bothered looking? He couldn’t be sure. They all looked the same anyway, didn’t they?