My old acquaintance Sal was arrested as a murder suspect last night. Needless to say, I was pretty darn surprised to read about it in the papers.

Sal, for a brief period, owned a little bakery back in Bowling Green. Eric and I went there pretty frequently, since it was a small town, and since a fresh bagel is a thing to be cherished; his sun-dried tomato bagels were sinfully delicious. Sal was an extremely personable guy, always trying to surprise us with new creations whenever we came through the door.

"I've got something new for you today," he'd say with a grin as he whipped out a plate of chocolate muffins or a few slices of jalapeno bread. We were mystified that he ever managed to make any money at all; the bakery was never crowded, and he seemed to give away more than he sold. The last few times we spoke to him, he admitted that he was a bit worried about getting the business going, especially over the summer when the students went home.

As it happened, he never had to worry about that. A few months after he opened the bakery, a bar which neighbored him in the little strip mall caught fire, and many of the businesses there suffered heavy smoke and water damage. Sal didn't have the money to rebuild. The police suspected arson, but no arrests have been made.

Today I learned much, much more about good old Sal. His real name was Dennis; perhaps I was, indeed, right when I suspected that his thick Italian accent was just a business gimmick. He was an ex-convict, having served time for forgery, theft, and stolen property. The man of whose murder he is accused was a fellow ex-convict. According to the papers, the victim was found in a truck stop shower stall, dead of stab wounds to the throat, and Sal was caught on tape driving away in the other man's delivery van. He was finally caught yesterday when he tried to get a false ID in Michigan.

Sal's also being held for suspected involvement in the recent disappearance of his estranged wife. The police have said that they can't comment about his potential involvement in the arson matter, but that he still owes $30,000 in back rent on the property. Things are not looking good for my old friend.

I hope to God that he's innocent, that it's all been a misunderstanding. It's not that I was terribly close to him; it's that I'd hate to think that I could have been so terrible a judge of character. He just seemed so nice! He wasn't "the quiet type, who always kept to himself," as most killers seem to be described by their neighbors, and he didn't appear moody or violent. He seemed like a sweetheart. How could I have been so far from the mark?

I wonder if I've been this wrong before now.

I'm forcing myself to take a long, hard look at this group now that my fertility options may very well be limited to those that promise higher odds of multiple births. Could I handle raising four at once? I've always assumed, no, known that I was the kind of person who could easily handle a herd of children. Now that my bluff may be called, will I learn that I was wrong?

One of the boys and one of the girls are playing quietly at the Lego table. He's building a "big, tall dinosaur!" The second boy is blithely wrecking toy cars on the floor by his siblings' feet, and the second girl, the smallest and least developed of the bunch, is sitting on the nanny's lap, listening to stories. They won't stay in these positions for long; already, the Lego boy is standing up and running for a bookshelf. There's more energy contained in these four small bodies than I can ever remember possessing.

Could I be mother to this?

I read many opinions in Beth's forum that were quite vehemently opposed to the concept that any woman who was in any way uncomfortable with the selective reduction of multiple fetuses should open herself up to fertility treatments that might create such a tough situation. You know, I don't disagree with them, but it's a tougher row to hoe when one is actually faced with the situation. What if the only way in which I can become a biological mother is through IVF? Would I still be willing to go through with it? Would I limit the odds of success by asking the doctor to use fewer embryos? I, personally, am uncomfortable with the idea of selective reduction for myself - but would I do it if it meant greater survival odds for the remaining babies?

Of course, I'm getting way ahead of myself. It could be that a simple varicocele repair will be all that's needed to restore Eric's fertility. We won't know until he's examined by a urologist, and that won't happen until after his second semen analysis when he returns from South Carolina. The time is passing far too slowly for my tastes.

No cheating!