“Oh, no. I’ll be fine.”
He wasn’t sure he agreed, but her expression didn’t leave much room for argument.
“See you tomorrow, then. Same time” was all he said, before turning and limping out the door.
As he made his way up the hall, through the waiting room, and out into the hot, humid evening, he considered, not for the first time, what his future consisted of.
And, try as he might, he couldn’t get past the first few steps: federal court, testify, put those fuckers in prison for life. And then… Christ, he didn’t know. He tried to picture his next gig. Tried and tried and…nothing.
There was nothing for him but empty road.
* * *
George didn’t follow him out, didn’t lock the door behind him. Hands shaking, she pulled the paper off the examination table, wiped everything down, and walked the trash straight out back, since everything had already been cleaned out once that evening.
Outside, the air was rank with the stench of a week’s worth of summer sun beating on the Dumpster—and no rain. A glance farther down showed the lights on at the MMA school. Time to head home to her crew. Leonard would no doubt be angry.
Still her pulse beat like a jackhammer, and she refused to think about why. Why did she feel so compelled to comfort that man? Why couldn’t she keep her damned hands to herself?
She had no answers.
George had hung up her lab coat, grabbed her keys and purse when her phone rang. She fumbled it out and to her ear, almost expecting… What? Him to be on the other end?
“Hello?” she said, out of breath.
“Dr. Hadley?”
“Yes?”
“Hi there,” replied the chirpy voice. “I’m calling from the Charlottesville Regional Reproductive Medicine Clinic.”
“Oh.” She stopped, heart thumping harder. “Yes?”
“Dr. Sternberg took a look at the ultrasound, and everything’s ready to go. He’d like to put you on the books for a week from Wednesday. The…uh…fifteenth.”
“Oh. Wednesday the fifteenth. Okay, great.”
“How does five sound?”
“Wonderful. Five. Perfect.”
“Did you have any questions about the intrauterine insemination procedure before you come in?”
“No, no, I’m good.”
“And you’ve got the HCG injection for Monday?”
“Yes, I’ve got it ready to go.”
“Great, well, we’ll see you next week, then.”
A week from Wednesday. Somehow, through the ultrasounds and endless medications and self-administered shots, George had managed not to think about what she was preparing her body for.
They’d take her dead husband’s sperm and put it inside her cervix, and she would, hopefully, get pregnant.
Treatment. Pregnancy. Baby. Child.
She should be excited, over the moon, but something was missing here. The husband, perhaps, to go with that vial of washed sperm the lab had kept on ice this past decade? A vial of sperm that she had to use or lose at this point? A daddy for the baby she planned on bringing into this world? Someone to love her?
