I walk across the living room to answer the phone, but before I can make it, I trip on something and bash my knee on the coffee table. Our coffee table is one of those heavy marble tables with zero give, and damn, that hurts. I rub my reddening knee, searching for the object that tripped me up.

It’s a bassinet. The one that arrived this morning.

Of course.

I yank the receiver off the hook, ready to scream at the voice that comes on the line. AT&T? Verizon? Progressive Auto Insurance? I’m not picky—I’ll yell at anyone right now.

Except the voice on the other line doesn’t sound like a telemarketer. It’s a young, female voice, slightly hesitant. “Hello?”

“Yes?” I say impatiently. My knee is starting to really throb. I should probably get an ice pack from the freezer to keep it from swelling too much—that is, if I can walk. “What is it?”

“Is this… Dr. Sam Adler’s residence?”

I frown. “Yes…”

“Oh, great,” the girl says. She lets out a giggle. “Um, my name is April and I’m in Dr. Adler’s calculus class, and I had some questions about the exam on Friday. Is he… available?”

I shouldn’t be surprised. A few years ago, we made our number unlisted because this would happen. Girls in Sam’s classes would track down the phone number of their handsome professor and call him, hoping for… well, I don’t know what they were hoping for exactly. He wears a wedding ring, so I guess they were hoping for a little something on the side. But then again, if that’s what they wanted, why would they call him at home? College girls are dumb.

If the calls he gets here are any indication, I hate to think what goes on when he’s on campus. Good thing I trust my husband.

“No, he’s not available,” I say tightly.

“Oh, too bad…” She giggles again. “Well, I could meet him somewhere to talk more. Like, maybe on Saturday night…”

Is this girl kidding me? This is far from the first time I’ve fielded a call from a lovestruck coed, and usually, it’s funny. Sam and I laugh about it. But right now, I don’t feel like laughing.

“Listen, April,” I hiss into the phone. “This is Dr. Adler’s wife and I would appreciate you not calling him at his home ever again.”

“Oh.” The girl’s playful tone disappears. “Sorry, I didn’t realize—”

The lock turns in the front door. Sam finally managed to park the damn car.

“And,” I add, before he can come inside and stop me, “you are never, ever to bother Dr. Adler again. If I hear you have contacted him—either here or on campus—I will make sure you’re reported to the dean for harassment. Understand?”