She’d just sat down with a box of rye crackers—the only edible thing left in her desk—when her office phone rang.
“Yes, Cindy?”
“I’ve got your mother-in-law on the line for you,” her receptionist said.
George nearly slammed the phone down. No, no, no. Not today. Not now.
With a deep, shaky breath, she answered, “Thanks, Cindy. Put her through.”
“Georgette?” came Bonnie’s shaky voice.
“Hi there, Bonnie.”
“Just calling to check in, make sure all’s well.”
“Yes. Yes, fine. Fine, fine,” she said, sounding ridiculous.
“So, you’ve got the uh…procedure tonight. This evening, you said.”
George swallowed, shut her eyes hard, wished for tears to wash the pain away. No, not the pain. The guilt.
“Yes,” she said. “Tonight’s the night.”
A few seconds of silence passed before Bonnie went on. “Well, I’m thinking of you. I’m sure you’ll… I’m certain that… Lord, what on earth is the right thing to say?”
George let out a dry, huffed laugh. “Good question. I have no idea.”
Another pause before Bonnie went on. “You don’t sound great, Georgette.”
No response was possible. Breathing was about all she could manage.
“I… Whatever happens, dear, whatever happens is fine with me. With us. It’s fine.”
A lone tear dropped from George’s eye and ran along her nose to her mouth.
She opened her mouth to talk, couldn’t find a sound, swallowed, and then tried again. Nothing.
“All right, well, I hear they’re callin’ for rain tonight, George, so you’re—”
She interrupted. “Thank you, Bonnie.” A big breath in, and then she went on. “Thank you.”
George hung up, sat in her desk chair, stared at the framed mandala on her wall—a kaleidoscope of images—and waited for the rest of the tears to come. Nothing. Nothing at all.
Her phone buzzed, and she picked it up. After a brief pause where she knew she was supposed to say something, her receptionist said, “Mrs. Johnson’s here for her annual.”
“Yes” was all she could manage to say before hanging up, hand heavy on the phone.
Whatever happens is fine with me. Bonnie’s words had sounded like platitudes, but were they? Were they really? George wasn’t sure anymore. She wasn’t sure of anything in life.
My life.
Those two words hit her like hard, little pebbles, right in the chest—in that hollowed-out place where she’d held on to Tom for all those years. When had it gotten so full?
She scrabbled through the papers on her desk until she found the sticky note with the clinic’s number on it, sucked in a big breath, and dialed.
“Charlottesville Regional Reproductive Medicine Clinic, this is Sherry.”
“Sherry.” She cleared her throat. “Sherry, hello. Dr. George Hadley here.” Hard breaths, no doubt audible to the woman on the other side. “I’ve got an appointment tonight, and I’m afraid I need to cancel.”
