across the room at Brent again “—I’m not sure I love him.”
“You either do or you don’t.”
“Well, isn’t there something in between? With Louisa, wasn’t there a period of time when you weren’t sure?”
They never tiptoed around the subject of Louisa, but Rebecca could still see the sadness in Dorothea’s eyes at the mention of her name. Rebecca had learned so much about grief working with Dorothea. You didn’t hide from it, but you didn’t let it rule your life either.
“I met Lou on a Monday.” Dorothea looked off into the distance. “I knew I loved her on Tuesday. But it’s not always that neat and simple.” She returned her gaze to Rebecca. “Don’t marry him unless you’re sure,” she said. “Not fair to him or to yourself. You’re an independent woman, with a capital I. That’s what makes you so perfect for DIDA. Not so perfect for marriage.”
Rebecca’s cell vibrated in her pocket and she checked the caller ID.
“Maya,” she said.
“Ah,” Dorothea said. “The princess.” She motioned toward the phone. “Go ahead. Take it.”
Rebecca leaned back in her chair and flipped the phone open. “Hey, sis,” she said.
“It’s happening again.” There were tears in her sister’s voice, and Rebecca sat up straight.
“Oh, no,” she said. “Oh, shit. Are you sure? Where are you?”
Dorothea stopped her fork halfway to her mouth and Rebecca felt her eyes on her.
“I’m walking Chauncey and I’m … now I’m just leaning against this damn tree because I’m half a mile from home, and I … it’s like I think if I just stand here very still I can stop it somehow, but I know I can’t. It’s over, Becca.”
Rebecca stood up, mouthing to Dorothea, She’s losing her baby, and walked through the restaurant in a blur.
“Bec?”
“I’m right here. Just wanted to get out of the restaurant.” She walked into the ladies’ room, locked herself in a stall and leaned against the wall. “Where’s Adam?”
“At the hospital. I’m sure he’s still in surgery.”
Rebecca felt helpless. She was three thousand miles away. “Are you bleeding?”
“I’m pretty sure,” Maya said. “It feels like it. I’m going to call Katie Winston—one of my neighbors—to come get me. She doesn’t even know I’m pregnant. We’d only told you so far. I’m sorry I disturbed you but I just wanted to—”
“Oh, shut up, you goof.” Rebecca leaned her head against the tiled wall, eyes closed. “I’m so sorry, Maya. I thought this time it would be okay.”
“Me, too.”
It was going to be very hard for Maya to tell Adam. This would kill him. Rebecca’d had lunch with him at the hospital the week before, and he’d been unable to keep the smile off his face when he spoke—with cautious joy—about their “Pollywog.” His eyes had sparkled, and only then did Rebecca realize how long it had been since she’d seen him look so happy. As much as Maya wanted this baby, Adam wanted it even more. He’d changed in the past couple of years. He was still handsome, of course. Still sexy as hell, even though Maya never seemed to get that about him. But the energy and enthusiasm that had been his hallmark had left him bit by bit as he and Maya failed to create a family. Now Rebecca felt their hope for the future breaking apart like glass. Their relationship, though, was solid. They’d get through this the same way they’d gotten through it the last time. And the time before that.
“Do you want me to come home?” she asked, counting on Maya to say no. “I can catch a plane in the morning.”
“Absolutely not,” Maya said.
“Look, you call your neighbor and then call me right back and I’ll stay on the phone with you till she gets there, okay?”
“I’m all right now. I don’t need to—”
“Call me back, Maya. I’m going to worry if you don’t.”
“Okay.”
She hung up her phone but didn’t budge from the stall of the restroom. She knew all about life not being fair. She saw it every day with her disaster work. She’d seen it when she and Maya lost their parents. But some things felt less fair than others, and this was one of them.
3
Maya
“ADAM?” MY VOICE CAME OUT IN A WHISPER, ADAM’S NAME on my lips even before I opened my eyes.
“Right here, My,” he said. “Sitting next to your bed, holding your hand.”
I opened my eyes, squinting against the bright lights in the recovery room. “I’m sorry.” I felt crampy from the D and C as I turned my head to look at him.
“You have to stop saying that.” Adam moved his chair closer. “It’s not your fault.”
“I know. I just … what did Elaine say? Boy or girl?”
Adam hesitated. “Boy,” he said.
Another boy. Two sons lost. At least two.
“Elaine wants us to come in next week to talk,” he said. “To figure out where to go from here.”
What did that mean, where to go? Did we dare try again? Could I go through this one more time?
“Okay.” I shut my eyes.
“Don’t go back to sleep, My,” Adam said. “You know how it is. They’re going to want you up and out of here soon.”
I groaned, forcing my eyes open again. “Why do we do that to patients?” I asked. “It’s inhumane.”
“I’ll take you home and later, if you feel up to it, I’ll make you some of my special chicken soup, and I think we have a couple of movies we can watch, and I’ll surround you with lots of pillows on the sofa and—”
“Don’t do that,” I said.
“Do what?”
“Be all … Adamy.”
He laughed, though there was no mirth at all in the sound. “All ‘Adamy’? What’s that mean?”
“All chipper and cheery and energetic and … caretakery.” Was I making any sense? I desperately wanted to go back to sleep. I wanted to sleep away the weeks—the months—of mourning I knew were ahead of me.
“How would you like me to be?” Adam asked.
I thought about it, though my mind floated in and out of consciousness. Adam could be no other way. His cheeriness was ingrained. It
