Page 57 of Paranoia

“What? What is it?” Panic bubbled in my stomach.

Mary Catherine said, “I feel so much better.” She burped again. She looked at me with a serious expression. “You think all I was feeling was gas?”

“You have been eating a pretty bland diet and intentionally not moving much. Ricky’s dinner was superrich.”

We waited to have an ultrasound just in case, but everyone agreed, this was a case of acute Chicken Marsala gas. Everyone except Mary Catherine got a pretty good laugh out of it.

When we were back in the car, headed home, Mary Catherine said, “I need you to promise me not to tell anyone about this.”

I smiled. “That’s a promise I’d hate to keep.”

“I’ll tell the kids it was gas. But I’m not going to explain how we figured it out.”

“That’s the best part of the story!”

“And the last thing you will ever reveal. That is, if you want to live long enough to see our baby.”

That sounded like an offer I couldn’t refuse.

CHAPTER 82

THE STRESS OF the last week, coupled with the pain she’d felt earlier in the evening, caught up with Mary Catherine. Just the short drive from Mount Sinai back to our apartment was enough for her to doze off.

I wanted her to sleep so badly that I just sat in the car with her for twenty-five minutes after I’d parked. Then she opened her eyes and said, “That was a quick ride from the hospital.” I chuckled as I hustled around to the other side of the car to open the door and help her out.

As we slowly made our way through the lobby and into an elevator, Mary Catherine said, “I want to think of a way to explain this without making it seem like it was Ricky’s fault that the dinner gave me the pain.”

“You mean you want to avoid saying you had a massive gas attack.”

“No, smart guy, I don’t want to shake Ricky’s confidence.”

I knew that was her true concern. It was just fun teasing her. I thought about it for a moment and said, “We don’t have to tell them anything about it. We’ll just tell them everything’s fine, and the doctor told us not to worry.” Mary Catherine seemed satisfied with that plan of action.

We were both shocked to see everyone awake and still sitting around the dining room table as we walked through the front door. Before Mary Catherine could start scolding anyone, the whole group, including my grandfather, sprang from the table and rushed to give her a hug. She couldn’t say one word about the kids being up past their bedtimes.

We assured them everything was all right. Just as I was about to follow our plan and tell them the doctors said not to worry, Eddie gave Mary Catherine another big hug.

And she broke wind. Loudly.

No one dared snicker. But everyone seemed to be staring at Mary Catherine.

Then my wife burst out into laughter. She admitted everything and told the kids exactly what had happened. She turned to Ricky and said, “Your dinner wassogood, I couldn’t stop eating it. As long as the guy who hosts that show isn’t pregnant, you shouldn’t have any problems.”

We were about to force everyone to their bedrooms when I glanced out into the living room. Something didn’t look right. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I was still looking out into the living room trying to figure it out when Shawna spoke up.

“I did it. It’s my fault, Dad.”

I looked down at my second youngest. “What are you talking about, sweetheart?”

“I spilled red Gatorade on the carpet. I cleaned it up the best I could, but it didn’t all come out.”

Brian spoke up. “It’s really my fault, Dad. I moved the sofa to cover the spot until I could get it shampooed tomorrow. We just didn’t want you guys to worry about something like this when you came home.”

I turned and looked at my grandfather.

Seamus just shrugged and said, “I’m sorry. I dozed off. But I did approve the plan after the fact.”

That was the straw that broke Mary Catherine’s resolve. She started to laugh. Then I started to laugh.

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