Red Clocks(37)
“Gee, thanks,” says the biographer, and returns to her fawn-colored chair. She touches the bike-lock key on her neck. Her mother rode her bike every morning, shine or rain, until she went to the doctor about shoulder pain and learned she had lung cancer.
Accusations from the world:
13. Preferring one’s own company is pathological.
14. Human beings were designed for companionship.
15. Why didn’t you try harder to find a mate?
16. Married people live longer, healthier lives.
17. Do you think anyone actually believes that you’re happy on your own?
18. It’s creepy that you relate so much to lighthouse keepers.
Kalbfleisch wears a necktie of chuckling chipmunks. “Have a seat, Roberta.”
“That’s your best tie yet,” she says.
“As you know, I was concerned about the possibility of you having polycystic ovary syndrome. After seeing some evidence of ovarian enlargement and polycystism, we checked your testosterone levels, and I’m afraid the results confirm that you do, in fact, suffer from PCOS.”
Of course.
But she will be calm and resilient. She will be a problem solver.
“Okay, which means?”
“Which means that some or many of your follicles aren’t maturing properly, and therefore ovulation is significantly compromised. Even when the OPK detects an LH surge, for instance, it’s very possible no egg will appear. Let’s cross our fingers for your current cycle. When do you come back for the pregnancy blood test?”
“Wednesday,” she says, recruiting her facial muscles into a smile. Problem solver. “And if it’s negative, I’ll use a different donor for the next cycle. Someone with more reported pregnancies than—”
“Roberta.” Kalbfleisch leans forward and looks her, for once, in the eye. “There won’t be a next cycle.”
“What?”
“Given your age, your FSH levels, and now this diagnosis, the chance of conception via IUI is little to none.”
“But if there’s a chance, at least—”
“By ‘little to none,’ I mean more like ‘none.’”
Taut pain at the back of her mouth. “Oh.”
“I’m sorry. It wouldn’t be ethical for me to continue the inseminations when the statistics just don’t bear it out.”
Do not cry in front of this man. Do not cry in front of this man.
He adds, “But let’s, well, let’s keep our hopes up for this cycle, okay? You never know. I’ve seen miracles.”
She doesn’t cry until the parking lot.
On the dark highway, she works the calendar.
She will take the pregnancy test, her last ever, on the first day of December.
If positive—!
If negative, she’ll have six and a half weeks before January fifteenth.
Before January fifteenth, she could still be picked from the catalog, chosen by a biological mother, phoned by the caseworker: Ms. Stephens, I’ve got some good news!
On January fifteenth, the Every Child Needs Two law will restore dignity, strength, and prosperity to American families.
In the lobby of her apartment building, she checks the mailbox. A reminder card from the dentist; a catalog of long skirts and floaty tops for women of a certain age; and an envelope from Hawthorne Reproductive Medicine, which she rips open. THIS IS A BILL, it says, to the tune of $936.85.
Very possible no egg will appear.
In her kitchen, on a cookie sheet, she sets fire to the bill and watches the flames until the smoke alarm goes off. WANH! WANH! WANH! WANH!
“Shut up, shut up—”
WANH! WANH! WANH!
Drags a chair toward the shrieks
WANH! WANH!
and climbs on
WANH! WANH!
and punches the alarm with her fist (“Shut the shit up”) until its plastic cover splits in two.
I took my broken fisa to Aberdeen. Worked as a mangler in a shipyard laundry.
THE DAUGHTER
The three o’clock bell is still clanging when she heads up Lupatia Street toward the cliff path. In her pocket are directions to the witch’s house, which Ash managed to pry from her sister.
The heart of a guinea pig weighs three ounces.
Of a giraffe, twenty-six pounds.
Yasmine, I’ve been adding to our list.
Where is Yasmine, at this very moment?
The daughter can hear the thumping of her own aorta as she crunches over needles and rocks and leaves, following what she prays is the right path. She left the road by the blue CAMPING 4 MI. sign, followed the hiking trail to the brown GUNAKADEIT STATE FOREST sign, then turned onto a smaller trail—but what if there’s more than one brown state forest sign?
“You just drink some wild herbs,” explained Ash’s sister.
Her body will be clean again.
But it will be a crime.
Half Ephraim, half her.
Less of a crime than crossing into Canada for it.
But they could still lock her up in Bolt River Youth Correctional Facility.
And it might hurt.
Less than it would hurt at a termination house, where they use rusty— The daughter walks faster. Her neck is sweating, thighs stinging, ribs loud with cramp.
Ash refused to come with. If they were caught, the police might think she was seeking one too, and she’d be charged with conspiracy to commit murder, and she’s already sixteen, and at sixteen you can be prosecuted as an adult.