Janice looked at me over her glasses
Dr. Janice looked at me over her glasses, her expression remaining perfectly professional. “Just focus on your own health right now. Let the rest of the world wait.”
I picked up my silver keychain from the plastic chair. The small brass schoolhouse charm jingled, a reminder of the classroom I had walked away from to focus on starting a family.
“I have to go home and tell him,” I said.
“Call me if you feel any cramping,” Dr. Janice said.
“I will,” I said, opening the door. “Thank you, Janice.”
I walked out to the parking lot of the Oak Creek Women’s Clinic, the autumn air smelling of dry oak leaves and wet asphalt. Inside my old sedan, I sat for five minutes, just holding the folder against my steering wheel.
The blue cardboard was smooth against my fingers, the label bearing my name in neat, printed letters. Inside were the clinical sheets, the proof that my body had finally done what we had prayed for.
Our brick home on Maple Street was only ten minutes away, located in the quietest suburb of Oak Creek. I imagined Ryan sitting at his walnut desk in the home office, his silver watch gleaming under the green banker’s lamp.
For years, Ryan had talked about nothing but his family legacy. His mother, Clara, reminded us at every Sunday dinner that a family without an heir was just a temporary arrangement.
Now, the silence of our eleven years together was over. I started the engine, my mind spinning with ways to tell him, perhaps over the dinner we had planned for Friday at the pavilion.
I twisted the gold band on my finger again
I twisted the gold band on my finger again, feeling a warmth I had not felt in years. This baby would change the distance that had grown between us over the last twelve months.
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Author
Andrew Collins
As I drove down Highway Twelve
As I drove down Highway Twelve, the golden maple leaves floated down onto the wet asphalt. I passed the gravel turnaround near the county line, a lonely stretch of road where the trucks usually parked.
I wondered if I should stop at the grocery store to buy something special for dinner. The clinic had taken longer than expected, and the midday traffic on the bypass was moving slowly. I watched a delivery truck navigate the tight turn near the old high school.
Ryan liked the prime rib from the butcher on Third Street, though he had been too busy with his new development projects to eat at home lately.
He had been coming home late for months, his clothes smelling of expensive restaurants and cigar smoke. He always said it was just business, that his real estate company was on the verge of a major breakthrough.
I had believed him because I wanted to believe him. When you want something to work, you ignore the late-night text messages and the sudden long-distance trips to Columbus.
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Author
Andrew Collins
Now, none of those worries seemed to matter
Now, none of those worries seemed to matter. The blue folder on the passenger seat was the answer to every question we had ever asked.
I turned the car onto Maple Street, where the neat brick houses stood in a row behind manicured lawns. Our house was the third one from the corner, a beautiful colonial we had bought right after our wedding.
I pulled into our driveway, but another car was already parked near the garage. It was a large black SUV, its windows tinted dark, its engine completely silent. The chrome trim on its grill caught the afternoon light, looking out of place against our quiet brick garage.
I did not recognize the vehicle, but I assumed it belonged to one of Ryan’s business clients. He often brought investors to the house to show off the custom crown molding and the marble entryway.
I grabbed my purse and the blue folder, then stepped out into the chilly October air. The driveway was slick with wet leaves, and I had to walk carefully to keep my balance.
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Author
Andrew Collins
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