The Shop on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #1)(7)
The phone rang and she leapt on it, grabbing the hand-set before it had a chance to ring twice.
“Hello,” she said cheerfully, eager to talk to anyone, even if it was a sales call.
“Hi, honey. I wondered if you were still at home.”
A momentary panic attacked her. “Am I supposed to be somewhere?”
Doug chuckled. “I thought you said you were going for a walk this afternoon.”
That was something recommended by one of the books they’d read. As a result, Carol had decided she should exercise more, and now that she was home during the day she had plenty of opportunity to spend time outside. This was all part of the program they’d discussed and agreed upon before she’d left her job.
“Right. I was just getting ready to head out.” She eyed the microwave and turned her back on her waiting lunch.
“Carol? Are you okay?”
Her husband recognized her mood, her depression and anxiety. Doug had been right to suggest she quit work. They were both frightened, since there was a very real possibility that she might never carry a pregnancy full-term. It didn’t help that they had one last shot with in vitro fertilization. The insurance company where Doug worked had its headquarters in Illinois, where state law mandated that company health coverage could pay for three attempts; their first two had failed. IVF was the very end of the technological line, the ultimate procedure the fertility clinic had to offer in the quest for a biological child. July would be their last attempt, and after that they were on their own financially. At the start they’d agreed to limit in vitro to the three attempts. If she wasn’t pregnant by then, they’d begin the adoption process. In retrospect, it had been a wise decision. The emotional devastation of the two failures proved she couldn’t endure this process indefinitely. Twice a fertilized egg had been implanted and twice she’d miscarried. No couple should repeatedly face this kind of heartache.
Carol and Doug never mentioned that this third IVF attempt was the end of their hopes, but the fact loomed in their minds. It was vitally important that she get pregnant—and stay pregnant—this time.
Carol was willing to give it everything she had. Willing to forsake the job she loved, willing to be poked and prodded and humiliated. She was willing to withstand all the doubts, confront the emotional highs and lows of their attempts at conception, all for the sake of a baby. Doug’s baby.
“I love you, sweetheart.”
“I know.” Although she said it flippantly, Carol did know. Doug had been with her through this entire process, through the doctors’ visits, the testing, through the tears, the frustration, the anger and the grief. “One day you’ll hold our child in your arms and we’ll both know that everything was worth it.” They’d already chosen the names. Cameron for a boy and Colleen for a girl. She could clearly see their child, could feel the baby in her arms, and see the joy in her husband’s eyes.
Carol held on to that dream, and the image of a baby in her arms helped her endure the most difficult aspects of the IVF process.
“What time will you be home?” It had never concerned her before, but now she regulated her life by her husband’s comings and goings. His routine shaped her own, and his return from the office was the highlight of her day. Several times each afternoon she checked her watch, calculating how many hours and then minutes until Doug was home.
“Usual time,” he promised.
Her husband of seven years worked as an insurance underwriter. Carol was the one who earned the big bucks in the family. It was her income that had enabled them to make a substantial down payment on the condo. When they got married, her wise and frugal husband had insisted they adjust their lifestyle to live on his income alone. He feared that otherwise they’d come to rely on her salary and defer having a family. They’d waited three years after marrying, not expecting problems, building up their savings. It was a good thing because even with insurance, the cost of infertility treatments was staggering. And now that she wasn’t working…
“Have I mentioned how dreadful daytime television is?” she asked.
“Turn off the TV and go for your walk.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied in military fashion.
Doug laughed. “I’m not that bad, am I?”
“No. It’s just that staying home isn’t anything like I thought.” Life at home wasn’t supposed to be endless hours of boredom, desperately searching for ways to amuse herself until Doug came home. She was used to frequent meetings, adrenaline-fuelled decisions, constant busyness. Being at home alone was a new experience and not one she enjoyed.
“Do you want me to check in with you later?”
“No, I’ll be fine. You’re right, I do need to get outside and it’s a lovely afternoon.” No place on earth was more beautiful than Seattle when the sun was shining. It was a perfect May day and she gazed out at the snow-topped Olympic Mountains in the distance, the blue-green waters of Puget Sound below her.
“See you around five-thirty,” Doug said.
“I’ll be here.” Before Carol had left the brokerage firm, it was Doug who’d arrived home first. Doug who started dinner. Doug who had the local news blaring from the television. Carol didn’t have any trouble adjusting to this role reversal of a role reversal. Right now, it was one of the few interesting things in her life.