Rain Dance Read Free

to help us.”
    “Clinic policy doesn’t allow us to accept gifts from patients.”
    “Maybe you’d like to borrow this book from me then.” I handed him The Case for Christ.
    “This is a new one,” he muttered, glancing at the back cover.
    “I know you’re disappointed and so are we. Please know we appreciate your knowledge and the time you spent with us. I’d love to be able to send you a photo of a little girl who looks like me or a little boy who looks like Ben celebrating a birthday or Christmas. Without divine intervention, that’s not going to happen.”
    The lump in my throat warned me I was close to tears, but I managed to say, “Goodbye Dr. Steele.”
    The golden flames in his eyes receded. “Good-bye.”
    I watched him walk away. For all his gruffness and disbelief, I would miss him. He wanted to help us conceive and couldn’t. In a way, we’d both just lost. I walked down the hallway in the opposite direction. It was over.
     
     
    When I returned to the waiting room, I heard the receptionist call, “Stacie Cutter.” Stacie got up and followed her out of my sight down the other hall.
    I wanted to run and considered finding the stairs. Instead I paced while the elevator made a slow climb to my floor. A man on crutches and a woman in a wheelchair shared my descent and got off on different floors along the way down.
    I dug the keys out of my purse while I speed walked to the parking ramp. Shaking, I missed the lock on my car door and the key scratched the paint.
    I got into the car. Yanking on my seatbelt, I grabbed my payment stub from behind the visor. The tires squealed as I took the tight ramp corners a little faster than usual.
    Hold on until you get home , I commanded my tears.
    I paid the smiling man at the booth, then three red lights and two stop signs later pulled into our driveway. I ran up the sidewalk, unlocked the back door, and threw my purse on the counter.
    I stood in the middle of the kitchen with both fists clenched so tightly that my fingernails gouged my palms. My mind registered the pain, and then I pressed harder.
    I sobbed out loud, “Lord, I’m angry! Why us? We waited for intimacy until marriage. We did what You asked. We love children. We tithe, we pray, we go to church. We believe in You, and we always will. Please tell me why You give children to women who will throw them away. Father, I feel so empty!”
    Only the ticking clock answered my cry.
    God said no. Our dream died, and Ben would always come home to only me.
     
    Stacie
    I wanted it to be over.
    At the clinic I sat in the gaudy chair next to a natural beauty with just the right amount of shine. The woman’s long hair hung in soft, thick waves below her shoulders. Light lemon highlights shimmered among darker blonde tresses. She wore only a clear coat of polish on her rounded nails and sat with her slender legs crossed at the knee.
    She flipped through a business magazine. We talked for a while. When she told me about her infertility, I blurted out my reason for coming. She stared at me for a moment, eyes opened wide as if in shock, then returned to her magazine.
    What in the world is wrong with you? I chided myself . Why did I tell a complete stranger my life story? What if she’s one of those religious anti-abortionists?
    The woman seemed sweet, but tense. She wanted children and couldn’t have them. I was pregnant and didn’t want to be. Reality as I saw it went this way: When life handed us challenges, we needed a plan and the guts to work it.
    As a part-time research assistant, I believed my career would soon advance. A little pink on a home pregnancy test didn’t change anything.
    My husband, Mike, was out of town on a business trip, but I knew he agreed with my goals. Starting a family right now didn’t fit our plan. We wanted a bigger house, nicer cars, and money to travel—freedom.
    Hunger for success gnawed at my insides. A law degree and passing the bar exam had begun the process. I wanted to