“I didn’t know you had a son,” Agnes said. Marsha’s story rang true, but then a good lie always did. “Other than Betty, I haven’t stayed in touch with New York. You certainly didn’t look pregnant when I saw you last, and that was after John died. I’m sure you thought it through.” Agnes’s own body had told her right away when she was pregnant. Those two months, she’d noted a change every day though nobody else had. She hadn’t told her friends, not one of them. Nor had she told the likely culprit, a copywriter who’d already faded from her life. A man she’d met shortly before meeting John. She was new to the art scene, but her newness had nothing to do with keeping her secret. She wanted the child to herself as long as possible. He’d stayed her secret until the end, it turned out.
“He’s Joh
