Room 702 Read Free Page A

even among the celebratory atmosphere.   Chelsea, more sober than those around her, caught the desperate glance.   She had mouthed the words ‘you okay?’ to the blonde, but the woman had looked away in response, coating her already blood red lips in even more gloss.   Going back to her table, Chelsea had thought to mention the woman to Shaun, but upon returning to the group had forgotten the incident.   Hearing her husband continue to sing behind her, she feels luckier than ever.     “Hurry up, darling,” she says, walking out of the bathroom.   Reaching into their luggage, she pulls out a special set of lingerie – purchased especially for this evening and pulls the silk over her naked body.   Although they have been together for eight years, married for five, she still likes to surprise her husband now and then.   It’s been months since she’s been off the pill and while she doesn’t want to worry yet, she grows concerned each month that she menstruates.   The gynecologist informed her that conception could take a while, but not to worry and let nature take its course.  
    Making herself comfortable in the bed, Chelsea lets her mind wander and wonders what their baby will look like.   Will he have blonde hair like hers, or dark hair like Shaun’s?   The distinctive Pearson nose?   Which ears?   Chelsea knows she’s letting her imagination get in front of her, but she cannot wait to see how genetics come together to create a new life.   Although she’s only briefly mentioned her ideas to Shaun, she’s already picked out the perfect names for their future son or daughter.   Helen Wendy Pearson or Philip Allan Pearson.
    Dimming the lights, Shaun asks, “You still awake, darling?”
    “Over here.”
    Chelsea knows Shaun has been patient with her and tries to remind his wife they’ll have a baby when the timing’s right.   Looking at his towel-clad figure, Chelsea gently pats a place next to her on the bed and says, “Let’s make a baby.”

CHAPTER THREE
January 5, 3:30 P.M.

    A couple enters the room, with no luggage and no help from the bell staff.   Oscar Carlton is tall, well over six feet, and after quickly reviewing the room, confidently splays himself on the settee, propping his feet up on the longer side.   What looks like comfortable seating for two, suddenly becomes a small chair for this giant.   He wears loose fitting warm up clothes in yellow, adorned with purple.   Large black Adidas shoes grace his extra large feet.   Dr. Nancy Carlyle, older than Oscar by fifteen years and easily shorter by a foot, is dressed in a conservative ensemble of tailored khaki trousers and a button down, fitted blue shirt from Banana Republic, complete with a silver and blue silk scarf.   She wears glasses and carries a leather briefcase.   After looking around the room for a moment, she chooses to sit behind the desk, putting her at a height advantage over the younger man.   Upon sitting, she calmly retrieves a notepad, a Mont Blanc pen and then looks at the gentleman in front of her and asks, “So, Mr. Carlton?”
    “Yes?   Is this it?   Are we starting things?”   Suddenly polite, he sits up, and looks in her direction, dark eyes wary.
      “If by ‘things’ you mean our first session together, then the answer is yes.”
    “Sorry, I’m kind of new to all this.   And please call me Oscar.   ‘Mr. Carlton’ sounds like my dad.”
    “No need to apologize, Oscar.   If you feel comfortable, please feel free to call me Nancy.   Before we start, let me begin by saying, I hope you will gain something meaningful out of our time together.”   “So do I.”   “I realize how precious your time is and appreciate your decision to be here.   However, I want to be clear – I want to help you and will do everything within my professional ability to make that happen, but part of our relationship may involve participation and work from your end.   Is this something you’re open