“Fine,” I mumbled.
“Dr. Wilson will want you to bring the X-rays for an appointment here at nine.”
“Okay.” I was numb. I’d been given this reprieve of six years and I felt cheated not to have more. I wanted so many more.
Twice now, my father had been my strength, but this time he was gone and I was alone. Mom was incapable and Margaret would be furious when she heard this. I couldn’t help believing that my sister would find some way to blame me for the return of my tumor. She’d say my need for sympathy had encouraged its growth. I almost groaned as I imagined her reaction.
“Bad news?” Brad asked when I replaced the receiver.
I hadn’t noticed he was no longer in the back room. The coffee had obviously finished brewing because he held a mug in his hand.
“No,” I lied. “But unfortunately I won’t be able to make dinner on Friday.”
“Everything’s all right, isn’t it?”
“Of course.” How I managed to smile I’ll never know, but I did, gazing up at him with a look worthy of an acting award.
Brad left soon afterward and if he suspected anything was wrong, he didn’t let on. I’d give it an hour or two, then phone him on his cell and make sure he understood that our relationship was over. I knew I was taking the coward’s way out, but I didn’t want to argue about it or discuss the details with him. I didn’t want to hold out false hope or have it held out to me. Experience is the best teacher. I would make it easy on Brad and save him the trouble later.
Just when I’d begun to feel that I had a real chance at life, it was being snatched away from me—again. I knew this routine, having lived it. The tests come back with questionable results. A consultation is followed by even more tests, extensive ones that require an overnight stay in the hospital.
Then the prognosis is delivered by a grim-faced Dr. Wilson, who would squeeze my hand before he left the hospital room.
I’d always wondered what that little gesture was supposed to mean. At first I thought Dr. Wilson was telling me to be brave. To fight the good fight, to give this battle my all. Now I know differently. He was telling me how sorry he was. He’s only human, and there’s only so much he can do.
As soon as I could, I’d break all ties with Brad. Someday he’d understand and while he might not thank me now, I knew he would later.
CHAPTER 35
CAROL GIRARD
I t’d been a week since Carol’s miscarriage. Doug slept soundly beside her, but she was wide awake. Staring at the digital display on the clock radio, she saw that it was 3:27 a.m. Knowing it would be impossible to fall back asleep, she stole quietly out of bed. Walking blindly in the dark, she made her way into the silent living room.
All her lost dreams, all her and Doug’s abandoned plans for the future, fell upon her like a collapsing building. There would be no baby. She wouldn’t cuddle an infant in her arms or know the joy of nursing her own baby at her breast.
An entire seven days had passed since the miscarriage and, other than that first dreadful night, Carol hadn’t stepped foot inside the baby’s nursery. She couldn’t; it was just too painful. The door had remained closed, and she was sure Doug hadn’t gone in there, either.
Over dinner last evening, he’d suggested they call the department store and arrange to have the baby furniture returned. They had no reason to keep it, and while she knew her husband was only being practical, it felt as if he’d plunged a knife straight through her heart.
This couldn’t be happening. Not to them. They were so much in love and they were good people. Everyone who knew them said they’d make wonderful parents.
Carol had hoped this gut-wrenching agony would lessen with time. It’d only been a week, but the ache, the emptiness inside her, hadn’t even begun to dissipate. If anything, it’d grown worse. The only solace she’d found had been with her online support friends. They understood and had wept with her.
Leaning her head back and closing her eyes, Carol clamped her arms around her middle and started to rock in grief and pain and loss.
It wasn’t right. It just wasn’t right. Rick, her irresponsible, reckless, immature brother, was able to father children he didn’t want with a woman he didn’t love. Where was the fairness in that? Where was the justice? That poor baby…Neither parent seemed to care.
Carol’s eyes flew open. A tingling sensation ran up and down her arms. Rick! Carol bolted off the sofa and hurried back into the bedroom. Intent on waking her husband, she leaped onto the bed.
“Doug, wake up!” she cried, kneeling over him.
Her husband ignored her and rolled onto his side.
“Doug!” she shouted, giddy with relief and joy. Hope could be a powerful drug and at the moment she was infused with it. “Doug, I have to talk to you.” She shook him urgently.
“Carol,” her husband protested, peering at the clock with one eye, “it’s the middle of the night!”
“I know…I know.” On her knees, she bent over him and kissed his neck. “You have to wake up.”
“Why?” he groaned.
“Because I have something very important to tell you.”
With reluctance marking every movement, Doug rolled onto his back and rubbed his face. He blinked and stared up at her, then frowned. “Is there a reason you’re smiling?”
She nodded, and leaning forward again, she hugged her husband.
“What happened?” Doug asked.
“I was sitting in the living room just now.” She stretched out her arm, her gestures wild with energy. “I was feeling so awful and thinking how unfair life is. I was so sure we’d have a baby and we didn’t and…and then I realized something and I had to wake you.”