a CD of Streisand’s biggest hits and tightened her robe around her waist. Holidays were the toughest.
It’d been over two years since her parents’ fatal accident, right on the heels of her divorce. As an only child, she’d grown up with a lot of time to herself, but never completely alone. The last Easter she spent with Mom and Dad, they’d still hidden bright-colored eggs all over their Traverse City home. And pretending to be too old for such games, she’d happily gathered them up, thinking the game would never end, that there would be many more Easters.
Michelle settled into the recliner facing the window, covered her legs with her mother’s handmade afghan, and picked up a romance novel from the table alongside the chair. She read two chapters before she set the book down and stared out the frosty glass. Until this very moment, she hadn’t admitted there was something else weighing on her mind. And it had nothing to do with the weather or missing her parents. It had everything to do with the mild cramping in her midsection. She threw back the afghan and marched to the bathroom, angry with herself for postponing the inevitable. A quick check would tell her whether her fears were substantiated.
They were.
Numb with disappointment, she dragged herself to the kitchen.
“Enough, Purdue.” She swiped at a lone tear with the back of her hand and sniffled loudly, then slapped a filter into the coffee maker. While the brew dripped through, she found a yellow legal pad and pencil. A moment later, she poured her coffee and took everything to the table.
Making lists always empowered her; crossing things off gave her a sense of accomplishment. For the next hour she wrote out her plan…Call clinic, make another appointment, continue taking temperature daily, log results, finish urgent jobs within two weeks, clear calendar for week following, call travel agent, make reservations for someplace warm…
She chewed the end of the pencil and lingered on the last entry. After the first insemination she’d buried herself in work to keep her mind occupied. Maybe the pace and tension had ruined whatever chances she’d had. This time she’d give her mind, as well as her body, a well-deserved break. But where should she go?
Restless, she pushed out of her chair and began pacing the small area from the table to the living room window, finally stopping at the window after half a dozen turns. The sleet had stopped. Windsor was now in clear view. Idly she watched cars making their way along the Detroit River on the Canadian side. Her apartment was small, the rent steep. But this was why she’d signed the lease. She never tired of the awe-inspiring view.
A freighter, low in the water, made its way down the river. Michelle watched it, wishing it was warmer and she was on it, feeling the sun and wind on her face.
That was it! That was what she’d do! Not a freighter but a cruise. She’d thought about it last January and even gone as far as picking up a few brochures.
Michelle raced for her computer workstation, nestled neatly in the corner of her bedroom. Opening a bottom drawer, she riffled through a stack of magazines and brochures until she found what she was looking for: Norwegian Cruise Line-ninety-three full-color pages. with countless choices. She closed her eyes and pressed the glossy pages to her chest. She thought about the last year’s worth of charts and temperatures. She’d been blessed with a fairly regular schedule. Only twice had she been late ovulating, and then merely by one or two days.
She grabbed her calendar and returned to the kitchen table. She did a quick calculation, then flipped through the pages looking at departure dates. There it was. The Norway departed Miami at 4:30 p.m., Saturday, April 15, which should be the third day of her fertile cycle. If she was late by two days she would still be fertile Saturday morning. Perfect.
Excited, she refilled her mug and returned her attention to the glossy pages in front of her. Tomorrow she’d call the travel agent and book passage. She’d heard there was usually lastminute space, sometimes at bargain prices. And she’d call Donna at the clinic and let her know she’d be back April 13th, 14th or 15th, depending on her temperature.
Michelle closed the brochure, a vague uneasiness creeping up her spine as she thought about Donna. After months of working with the young woman on the clinic’s computer system, she’d thought she’d allayed all her concerns about using a sperm bank. But surprisingly, one small detail still bothered her—the unknown face of the donor, should her lucky day ever come. She sipped her coffee and tried shrugging off the thought, but the idea of a faceless father niggled away at her otherwise perfect plan. According to Donna, this was a common problem. She’d said some women found handsome men’s photos—either in magazines or catalogs or the ones that came in frames—and pretended they were the daddies.
She leaned back and thought about it for a moment until a devilish idea tugged at the corners of her mouth. What if she found someone on the ship? Not a relationship. Just an affair of the heart with some perfect stranger…a face to remember if—no, when the time came she needed one.
Yesiree. A great plan. Later tonight, a little mood music and a glass of chardonnay, and she’d imagine the perfect face…and maybe the perfect body, too. Suddenly the cruise was taking on a whole new dimension, and the thought of it sent shivers of excitement down her spine. Next month everything would work out and today’s disappointment would be history. She could almost smell the salty night air, feel the wind whipping her hair away from her moist neck, music drifting from a dance floor…
At six o’clock Saturday morning, April 15, Michelle opened one eye and drew a bead on the waiting thermometer on the nightstand, hoping to instill a conscience into the unrelenting object. Both Thursday and Friday it had been a cold, heartless fiend. If it didn’t cooperate today, she’d be faced with the choice of canceling her cruise or missing a fertile month. Somehow she doubted a letter from Dr. Adam would qualify as a medical emergency. She could kiss the cost of her airfare and the cruise goodbye. She reached for the thermometer, hoping it would save the day.
It did. Sort of. It read higher, but not as high as she’d expected. She stared at it a moment, wondering if it was high enough, then kissed its hard, pointy little head and logged the number on the chart. She should have purchased one of those ovulation indicator kits months ago, but it was too late now. Trying to remain calm and confident, she called the clinic and said she was on the way. Once she was there, they would test her and tell her everything was okay. Today was the big day.
* * *
At eight-forty-five Michelle eyed the clock on the dashboard. Her flight for Miami didn’t leave until ten-fifty. Plenty of time. She eased up on the accelerator as she headed west on 1-94 for Metro Airport.
She’d missed last night’s stay at the Marriott in Miami that came with the trip, which meant she’d have to catch a cab directly to the ship. Then she’d have a couple of hours to rest in her cabin before departure. Michelle forced down the anxiety she felt pushing at her rib cage, willing herself to remain calm.
It had barely been an hour since the procedure and the doctor’s words still hung over her like a dark cloud. You’re not ovulating yet…Probably tomorrow…It would be better to wait… But in the end he’d agreed that sperm could live a couple of days with a high count such as her donor’s, and that as long as she ovulated soon, she still had a fairly good chance.
She turned the car radio to an easy-listening station and breathed deeply. Tomorrow at this time she’d be on the Norway, halfway to St. Martin and other ports of call. A weeklong cruise full
