The Baby Wait by Cynthia Reese

Author:Cynthia Reese
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2007-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

I’D NEVER CRAVED the racket Cherie could generate more than I did the morning after our non-referral. Joe and I sat at the dining table, no conversation at all between us. The hush that enveloped the house settled like a blanket of impenetrable fog. We remained too cautious to take the risks of what pushing through it might bring.

The night before, I’d backed out of the workshop, then knocked on the door. The backtracking had given Joe a chance to regain his composure. Back in, I saw no sign of the toy airplane. His red-rimmed eyes were the only testimony to his grief.

In bed, he’d held me, still wordless. Somehow I knew better than to try to break through those barriers. Perhaps when the sun rose, we could face this thing together.

When the sun did rise that morning, I called into work, taking one of my precious personal days. The lack of urgency to be anywhere exaggerated my sense of moving in slow motion.

Twice before I’d endured a quiet like this. With both of Maggie’s parents’ deaths, a dull numbness overtook the household. No one had dared to speak above a whisper. Was it out of respect for the dead? Or fear that the anesthesia of shock would be shattered and leave us with pure raw pain?

The telephone’s shrill ring splintered the silence. Joe and I exchanged looks. He rose to answer it.

“Yes, we’re—we’re doing as well as can be expected. Thank you. We appreciate that. You’d better talk to her about all that. She’s the one who keeps the paperwork straight.” He stretched the phone toward me. “Michelle Kado from the agency.”

“Sara, honey? You feeling up to talking?”

Just like that, the tidal wave of tears threatened. Holding them back took the fierce strength of an unbending seawall.

At my choked-up yes, Michelle cleared her throat. “We’ve been talking with the CCAA folks, trying to figure out what happened. And it’s what we suspected. They have concerns about your history with cancer.”

“But—”

“I know. We thought you’d taken care of this in your home study. And usually during the review of the dossier, these questions get aired and resolved. This one was different. Apparently, the staff member matching your dossier…his mother had ovarian cancer.”

My brain tripped over her words, tried to process them. The person in charge of matching us had his hands on our dossier and the picture of Meredith. We’d been that close.

“So of course he brought to the attention of his supervisor how ovarian cancer isn’t ever considered cured. Well, most of the time, anyway. And that’s why they’re asking for more information.”

Fury seethed through me. Cancer. Again. To steal my dreams of children the first time hadn’t been enough. No. It came again.

I nailed down the lid on my rage. “What now? Is it—have we been turned down?”

“Oh, no, no, honey. They just want clarification. They want statements from your doctors. They want to hear the cancer is gone and won’t come back. And that’s easy enough, right? It’s been six years.

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