Lullaby and Goodnight Read Free

promptly gets to his feet and tosses aside a copy of Popular Mechanics or Popular Science or whatever it is that’s kept him utterly absorbed for the last twenty minutes. You’d think he’d be as agitated as she is. To Derry’s complete irritation, her husband seems utterly relaxed. He’s been relaxed ever since he found out that this visit is covered by their insurance plan.
    Linden, who always likes a bargain, didn’t even complain about coming up with the ten-dollar copay.
    â€œReady?” he asks, and she nods.
    But of course she isn’t ready.
    Is any woman ever ready to find out why, after more than a year of trying to get pregnant, her period arrives as predictably as the Verizon bill every single month?
    Don’t worry, it’ll happen .
    Yeah, right. That’s easy for Derry’s mother to say; easy for her older sisters to say; for her friends to say. Things are different for all of them. Things are normal. They decided to have children, and they did.
    That’s how it’s supposed to work, but—
    â€œDerry?”
    She looks up at Linden.
    â€œOkay.” She stands and replaces the issue of Redbook on the cluttered table beside her chair. She takes a moment to straighten the table’s contents, to neatly align Redbook on top of the other magazines, telling herself that if she does it just right, everything will work out okay.
    Yes, if she makes sure all the edges of all the pages are lined up, then Dr. Lombardo will have good news for her.
    He’ll tell her that there’s no medical reason for her infertility. Or that there is, but he can give her a prescription and she’ll be good as new by tomorrow.
    Don’t you think tomorrow is a little unrealistic, Derry? These things take time.
    Yeah, no kidding. All right, then she’ll be good as new by next week. Or next month. The next time she and Linden try, conception will be guaranteed. Problem solved.
    â€œMrs. Cordell?” The receptionist sounds concerned. “Are you all right?”
    â€œI’m fine.” She straightens and starts across the room.
    Of course I’m fine. I’m not sterile, or barren, or whatever it is they call women who can’t have babies.
    I have to be fine.
    Please, God, let me be fine.
    If I can make it to the door behind the reception desk in less than ten steps, Dr. Lombardo will tell me everything’s okay .
    She counts silently as she follows her husband across the waiting room, conscious of the other couples glancing at them as they pass.
    Some do so idly, then quickly go back to their magazines and newspapers and whispered conversations. Others seem more curious, or as anxious as Derry was, sitting there waiting. Especially the women.
    They’re the ones who are new to this, like we are, Derry tells herself. They’re thinking there’s hope, or they’ve just found out that there isn’t and they’re here to discuss further options . . .
    Whatever those are.
    Derry refuses to allow herself to think that far ahead.
    For one thing, she and Linden are flat broke. Much too broke to even consider further options. They’re already a month behind on their Co-op City mortgage. He’s been urging her to ask her parents or sisters back in California to help them, but she can’t do that. She isn’t particularly close to any of her family these days. Anyway, her parents are barely surviving on Social Security; her sisters have mortgages and bills of their own.
    Besides, potentially expensive medical options won’t be necessary for Derry and Linden unless the doctor says one of them is sterile.
    And that’s not going to happen.
    All those tests they took last week are going to show that there’s nothing wrong.
    After all, Derry made it to the doorway in only eight steps.
    So the doctor is going to say that there’s no reason she can’t get pregnant. That in a year, maybe less, she could be holding a