1130, yup, the Miller's too. 1134, no but the woman who lived there was a widower and living off of social security, no chance of a sale there. Ah yes..... 1138! Apparently the idiots that did the cold calling every evening had forgotten to write down the correct address of the woman who had called in and said that she was interested in a demonstration of their new soft water system. Jackson drove up Elm Street looking at the addresses painted on the curbing until he came to 1138. He parked his. Wes read me easily.“Babe,” he said, hooking my hair behind my ear. “What’s wrong?”I looked up at him, tears escaping from the corners of my eyes. Traitorous bastards.“I-I’m so happy for you, Wes.”“No, that’s not it,” he said, looking concerned. “Tell me what’s wrong. What was your news?”“I, um, forgot,” I lied as the tears swam in my eyes. I couldn’t tell him about the pregnancy. What if he changed his mind and wanted to keep it? He’d give up the fucking fellowship to be here. He’d give up his. More

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