“All set,” he said. The siren was a screaming banshee moving in on them. Could the
police arrest them for merely being in the courtyard?
“Come on,” Ron said.
“Don’t you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
The siren passed them and went ululating down the street away from them, receding
into the distance. Damn! “The birds,” she said weakly.
There was a look of impatience on Ron’s face.
“If there’s anything wrong—” he said.
“No, no,” Catherine cut in quickly. “I’m coming.” She got out of the car and they
moved toward one of the bungalows. “I hope you got my lucky number,” she said brightly.
“What did you say?”
Catherine looked up at him and suddenly realized no words had come out. Her mouth
was completely dry. “Nothing,” she croaked.
They reached the door and it said number thirteen. It was exactly what she deserved.
It was a sign from heaven that she was going to get pregnant, that God was out to punish
Saint Catherine.
Ron unlocked the door and held it open for her. He flicked on the light switch and
Catherine stepped inside. She could not believe it. The room seemed to consist of one
enormous bed. The only other furniture was an uncomfortable-looking easy chair in a
corner, a sma