Cold as Ice (5 page)

“Why?”

“He's good! If he can score as many points as Merelli, we'll be okay.”

“David Gillies is a handsome man, isn't he?” Mom says, handing Carla a plate of food.

“Thanks, Mom. Yeah, he's handsome.”

“He's married?” she asks.

“Yes, he is. You've asked me that before.”

“Mom has a crush on him,” Gavin says.

“No, I don't!” Mom says, blushing. “I think he's handsome, that's all.”

Dad chuckles.

“Speaking of a crush,” Gavin says, “my buddies at work ask about you.”

“They do?” Carla asks.

“You should set her up with someone,” Mom says.

“No way! Carla's not going out with any of them.”

“Maybe I should have my dates go through you first.” Carla snickers.

Gavin narrows his eyebrows. Carla wonders if this is the same look he gives when he pulls people over for speeding and asks if they know how fast they were going.

“Anytime,” he says. “Can't let my sister—my celeb sis—date losers. I'll check them out first.”

“Thanks, Gav,” Carla says. “Where's Sadie?”

“Changing Brinley,” Mom says.

Carla eats her meal while watching the Warriors hockey game on TV.

Her eyes follow the players, trying to spot Devin. She sees his number nineteen on his jersey. He skates up the ice with the puck and passes it to another player before making a line change.

“Now that we've made some trades, we can start scoring goals,” Dad says. He takes his team personally. “It would be nice to beat Boston in the play-offs.”

“If we make the play-offs,” Carla says. “We have to win more games.”

“We lost Merelli,” Gavin says.

“We'll see how the Warriors do.”

“You didn't like the trade?” he asks.

“They should have kept him. Nothing wrong with him.”

“It was a stupid move, if you ask me,” Dad says, wearing his Warriors' T-shirt.

“I leave the room for ten minutes and you're still talking hockey,” Sadie says, carrying her five-month-old outward so everyone can see her daughter's precious smile. They both have round faces and blond hair.

“Hi, Brin!” Carla says, leaning forward to grab her niece's foot. The baby coos. What she would give to have a little girl of her own. “How's my favorite baby?” More coos come Carla's way, which makes her heart grow bigger. Everything else fades away for the moment because this baby is the center of attention and knows it.

Brinley waves her arms in response.

“You'll have to have one soon,” Mom says, her light blond and gray wisps of hair falling out of her loose bun, shaping her face. “Brinley needs a cousin to play with, don't you?” she asks, taking her granddaughter's hand in hers and making baby sounds.

“I hope to be married first, Mom.”

“You've got lots of time,” Sadie says, shaking her head. “No time for yourself once you have one.”

“Isn't it worth it?” Carla asks, staring at her niece and envisioning what her own daughter might look like.

“Of course! I miss me time, though. Not to mention the sleep. Look at the bags under my eyes.”

“You'll get it back.”

“I keep telling myself. Probably in ten years,” Sadie says, running her hand over her blond ponytail.

Mom laughs. “And once they're grown up, you forget what me time is. Isn't that right, Pete?”

Dad nods, his eyes glued to the television, muttering, “Come on!” He slaps his knee and lets out an “ah.”

“You've always liked your sleep,” Carla says. “Remember when we went camping at the lake and Dad told us whoever got up early with him could go fishing? Gavin and I tried waking you and you hid under your pillow and refused.”

“I wasn't getting up to sit in a boat for hours when I could sleep instead.”

“That was when I caught my first fish,” Gavin says, extending his neck.

Dad points to the fireplace mantel. “Still got the picture.”

“It was fun,” Carla says.

“For you two,” Sadie says, bouncing her daughter.

“You've always been that way,” Gavin says.

“It's a good thing you're not. I don't know how you work your night shifts,” Sadie says. “That would kill me.” She rolls her eyes.

“Doesn't bother me,” Gavin says.

Carla sits back, resting her plate on her lap. “Where's Brian tonight?” “Working. He had some things to finish up at the office.”

Gavin and Dad yell at the TV. The Warriors score, grabbing Carla's attention. “Yeah!” she says.

“Assisted by Miller,” Dad says. “He's not working out too badly. Hey, did you see that table-tennis match and how beaten-up that guy got?”

“They got kicked out of the tournament and the league,” Carla says.

“Serves them right,” Mom says. “What's gotten into sports? If there's fighting, it draws an audience.”

Sadie holds her hands out to take her daughter.

“To be the best, one wants to prove himself,” Carla says, handing over Brinley, and pays attention to the television, where a fight has broken out.

“See? See?” her mom says, rising to her feet and throwing her arms up in the air. She grabs Carla's dinner plate.

“It's part of the game.” Dad yells, “Get him, Miller! He deserves it!”

Carla can't take her eyes away from the screen. Miller gets punched in the head and is taken down by his opponent. She swallows hard and sinks into the couch, watching Miller laying on the ice; he is slow to get up. Her heart is in her throat.

“You need to start dating more, Carla. You need to find someone.”

She watches Devin being escorted to the bench by a referee. “I've tried.”

“Gavin? Are you sure there isn't someone you can set Carla up with?”

“I'm not desperate,” she says.

“You work too much,” Mom says.

“I enjoy work. Look where it's gotten me.”

“Divorced and childless.”

It's like the air has been sucked out of the room. The only sound is the commentators on the TV.

Carla holds her lips tight. A burn of tears are behind her eyes, and any second she might let the tap go. She won't cry in front of her family, she tells herself. She has to be strong. It's what got her through her divorce with Timothy. When everyone was telling her they were sorry and she'll find happiness again one day, she wanted to ask
when?
Not everyone gets a second chance at falling in love. Although being with Timothy was love, not in love, like a desirable lifeline that one can't live without.

In the beginning, Carla had been attracted to Timothy and liked being around him. He understood her job and she liked that she could trust him. She didn't have to worry about Timothy talking behind her back; he cheered her on and wanted to see her accomplish her career goals. That was enough for her to stick with him and believe that his smarts and professionalism was what was missing in her life. By the second year of marriage and one miscarriage, she hadn't craved being with him every day. She'd started to blame work. Carla thought that as soon as they had a baby, it would bring them closer. They were trying. There were months of disappointment. Timothy said he didn't have a desire to be a parent like she did. Carla started to have doubts about the marriage and questioned her true feelings about Timothy. She pressured him about having a baby. Even after the second miscarriage, he hadn't shown much emotion except for her loss. She wondered if he was secretly celebrating, and that made her hold a grudge. Timothy told her it would happen when the time was right, but it couldn't happen fast enough. Carla made doctor appointments to have herself checked out to see what the problem was, but Timothy discouraged her and said they didn't have a problem; it just wasn't their time. She blames herself for the breakup and for hurting Timothy, but she also blames herself for not aggressively finding a solution.

“Why do you do this, Mom? Why do you make me feel like I've screwed up and won't have a family?”

“If you were married to Tim—”

“Well, I'm not! And I was talking about success. I wouldn't have an anchor position if I didn't put in the time and energy.”

“Isn't finding someone more important?”

“What do you want me to do? Stand on a street corner with a sign that spells out SINGLE?”

“There must be someone at work.”

“Yeah, my ex-husband, who, by the way, says hello.”

“I'm sure one of your friends can set you up with someone. You know, the older you get, the harder it is to find someone.”

“It already is.”

“And the older you get, the harder it is to conceive. Look at our neighbors across the street, Florence and Jeff. They're forty-five and just had their set of twins. They'd been trying for seven years.”

Carla stares blankly at her manicured fingernails, clicking them together to loosen the invisible grime. She can't look at her mom.

“When the time's right . . .” her dad says.

“It wasn't my fault that I couldn't have a child, and you know what? I'm glad I didn't have one with Timothy because I would be a single mother right now.”

“You'd have made it work.”

Carla puts her hands together, looks at the television screen and then at her mom. “I couldn't. I love my job. I'm not giving that up. I've worked really hard to get where I am. My job is who I am. This is where I'm meant to be,” she says, feeling a nudge of disappointment. “You can't have everything.”

Dad looks over. “Are you happy?”

“Very happy,” Carla says in a monotone.

He holds up a hand. “Well, that's what matters,” he says, looking over at her and then refocusing on the TV.

“When will you accept me for being who I am?” Carla asks. “Why not be content that you have healthy kids who are happy themselves?”

“I do!” her mom defends herself.

“Can't you be happy for me? Can't you understand that if Timothy and I could have, we would have stayed together? We tried having children. It didn't work for us. You're lucky; you didn't go through the pain of conceiving the way I did for three years. Some women aren't as lucky.” The burn in Carla's eyes makes her blink. Her head gives a sharp turn as she walks toward the door. “You're going to have to get over Timothy.”

Carla slips on her flats and leaves before anyone can stop her.

C
arla applies for the Sports National job on her home computer, curious whether she'd get the job with her experience. It would be a good opportunity, working for a station that has the same interests as she. Timothy might be right; she would do well working in a male-dominant environment where sports was the focus. Maybe leaving Vancouver would be a good change for her. It would give her a fresh start; she could leave her past behind.

Before heading into work, she drove to a long-awaited doctor appointment to see a gynecologist about her chances of conceiving. She had gone to the doctor when she miscarried the first time, and he had told her that those things happened and to relax; it was nothing she had done, which put her at ease. The second time she miscarried, Timothy told her it wasn't necessary to see a doctor; she would be told the same thing as before. Carla remembers telling Timothy there could be a problem, but an argument ensued and he talked her out of seeing a specialist every time she mentioned the word
baby
. She couldn't shake the idea of not being a mom when she was married, and now the fear of not having children was eating her up more than ever. She was a little bit older and still single, anxious that she wouldn't get the chance. Maybe her mom was right; she could be a single mom. Lots of women did it. Not by choice, but sometimes it happened. It wasn't the perfect scenario. What Carla would give to fall in love, to be in love with a man who cherished her and their relationship.

Carla sits on the examining table. What's the doctor going to tell her? Maybe she can't have kids at all. She should have discussed this issue when she was married to Timothy to find out what was happening; not knowing gives her little hope of a positive outcome.

There's a knock at the door and it opens.

A female doctor wearing khakis and low-profile running shoes smiles as she walks in. “Carla? Hi, I'm Dr. Fossett,” she says, stepping forward to offer a handshake. She puts down Carla's medical folder. “You're here to discuss infertility?” the doctor asks, skimming the information.

Carla nods. “I want to know if I have a problem with getting pregnant.”

“Are you trying?”

“No.” Carla sucks in her lips. “Well, not right now. I was married and had two miscarriages. I don't know if it's me, but I need to know. I want kids.”

“But you're not with anyone at this time?” The doctor's eyes concentrate on her patient's, as though trying to grasp the concern.

“I'm not. No, I don't know if I ever will. . . .”

“When was your divorce?”

“Two years ago.”

“You're what? Thirty?”

“Thirty-one.”

The doctor gives her a gentle grin. “You have time.”

“But women's eggs start to decrease in their thirties, making it harder to conceive. I want to know what my chances are.”

“True. But it doesn't mean that you can't, or won't, be able to. I mean, it may take a longer time, that's all.” The doctor tucks a strand of her shoulder-length brown hair behind one ear.

“But I've had miscarriages.”

“It happens.” The doctor grips the clipboard at her chest. “Are your periods normal?”

“Yes.”

“Have you had any tests done to see if there were any problems?”

“No.” Carla swallows.

“At this point, it's hard to say if there is a problem.” The doctor puts down the clipboard at the raised counter, keeping her hand on the papers. “Once you start trying, we can look into it.” The doctor smiles. “Women who are focused on having a baby tend to be unsuccessful because of the pressures they put on themselves. There could be environmental factors, not necessarily an infertility issue. At this point, my suggestion is relax, look after yourself, get yourself baby healthy, as I like to call it—multivitamins, plenty of rest—and things will work themselves out.”

Carla can feel her chest grow heavy. Wasn't the doctor going to do any tests? Doesn't she care that she has been unsuccessful getting pregnant before?

“What about artificial insemination?” Carla spits out.

The doctor holds her laugh and says, “You don't want to go down that road unless it's the last resort. You need to try naturally first.”

“When I was married, we had a healthy sex life.... I just don't understand.”

“Men also experience infertility. That's why I'm saying it's best to wait to see if it happens naturally. We need to start at square one.”

“Look, I don't know if I'll ever marry again. Honestly, I don't see that happening for me. And if it does, I'll be too old to have a baby, never mind being an old mom. I don't want that. I'm thinking about this now, something I should have done with my ex-husband.”

“And be a single parent?” The doctor shakes her head. “It's a hard job. Motherhood is tough, and when you don't have support from your partner, it's even tougher.”

“I want to be a mom so bad. I feel like I've missed my chance, you know?” Her eyes sting as the realization surfaces. If only she and Timothy had tried harder, wanted it more. If she'd exhausted her efforts, she wouldn't be here.

The first time she got pregnant she was ecstatic. They'd tried for three months and finally it happened. The hardest part was keeping it a secret for the recommended twelve weeks. Carla felt so good and was exercising regularly and eating well. It came as a surprise to her when she started spotting at work. Panic struck and she knew something was wrong. She had only been pregnant for eight weeks; she was still getting used to the idea of motherhood. She went to her doctor, who told her that there was nothing he could do, and to rest. The news devastated her. She couldn't eat or sleep and was stressed. She lost the baby. Timothy reassured her that they would try again. Six months later, they were pregnant again. Carla was determined to keep this baby. She took sick days to rest and took multivitamins and ate lots of dark green vegetables—did everything in her power to prevent another miscarriage. She couldn't smile any wider and laugh any louder. This was what she was missing in her life. A baby. It would be everything she needed to make her feel complete. Carla wouldn't know if that was true because at twelve weeks she was once again faced with disappointment. She was crushed at losing another pregnancy. She had just told her family and friends the news because she was going to burst with excitement if she didn't, unable to keep the secret any longer. Her mom screaming about the first grandchild and the new bed she would buy for future sleepovers and the savings plan she wanted to start. Gabby insisting on being called auntie.

The tears fell harder and faster, making it more difficult than the first miscarriage. She couldn't possibly go through it again. Carla tried to stop focusing on having a baby and concentrated on work, but her mind would always go back to motherhood and what might have been. Nothing had ever stopped her before, but this was out of her control and she hated it.

“Are you dating anyone?” the doctor asks.

“No.”

“May I suggest you put the idea of a baby aside and start dating? If being a mom is what you really want, you need to think about your baby and what he needs. Two parents are ideal for a healthy child, although it's not always the case,” she says, grinning, revealing a dimple in her cheek. “At least trying is the solution.”

“What happens if I can't conceive? I'm afraid the older I get, the harder it will be, and honestly, those two miscarriages were the most devastating times of my life.”

“Of course they were.”

“I don't ever want to experience that again, and if I can prevent it and learn if there's something wrong with me, then I can . . .” Carla pauses. Then what? Will she market herself as a woman who wants a baby and not a man? Will she be desperate for a man and not look for love the right way?

Tears fill her eyes. She wipes her finger across her eyelid and sniffles. “I've always wanted a family,” she says.

Dr. Fossett hands her a Kleenex. “I have no doubt that you won't be a mom. You know, women tend to blame themselves for a miscarriage, when in fact, there is nothing wrong. It happens.” She puts a hand in the air. “It's not to say it won't happen again. You're young. Healthy. You have a few years to think about this. Don't worry,” she says. “Give it some time.”

“When will I know if I can't have kids?”

“You won't until you start trying. If you're in a relationship and you both decide that having a baby is what you want, and if nothing is happening, then please come back to see me. We'll look at the problem, if there is one. For now, relax, have fun, date and give it time. Okay?”

 

Carla gets back to work, forcing herself to forget about having a baby, but it seems worse now that she's not taking the next step and getting tested to see what problems, if any, were preventing her from carrying a baby to term. She doesn't want to date just anyone; the father of her baby has to be someone who wants a child as much as she does. He also has to be a man who loves her. Where is she going to find him? There's nobody at work she's interested in, and she's not sure if she wants to have a romantic relationship with someone she works with again.

Carla stares at her computer screen.

“What are you thinking about?” Timothy asks, approaching her with a magazine.

“Nothing,” she says, tightening her lips.

“Did you see this?” He points to the cover. “Lawrence Grattan is a hotshot poker player. He's also a new dad. Unfortunately, his daughter was born premature.”

Carla gasps and places her hand to her mouth.

“He'd be a good one to interview for the Warriors Heroes Campaign. Although his family is still in Pittsburgh, I think.”

“I'll be at the campaign.”

“Great. I'm done reading this, if you want it.”

“Sure.” Carla places the magazine on a pile of papers by her computer. She looks up to see Timothy still standing there with a blank stare on his face, as though he's deep in thought. Carla knows that look of dread, like something is bugging him. She's afraid to ask him what but knows he's going to tell her because when he has something on his mind, he says it, even if it's not the right time or thing to say.

She leans back in her chair waiting, tapping her pen on her desk as though signaling him to hurry up. Why does he think she has so much time on her hands?

“I was cleaning out the spare room and found this in the back of the closet on the floor,” Timothy says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small silver object.

Carla's eyes widen. “I don't remember the last time I saw that.” She studies the heart charm.

“I don't think you want it.”

“Yes, I do,” she says and lowers her head, rubbing her lips together. “Why wouldn't I?”

Timothy shrugs. “Because it was from me. Good thing I asked.”

“I like it. Besides, it was a gift,” she reminds him. “It fell off my bracelet. I wondered where it went.” She looks up at him with softened eyes. “Thanks.”

“Sure.” He takes a step away from her, stops and then asks, “It doesn't mean anything to you, does it?”

She thinks about his question. It meant something to her at the time, when they were married. But now?

“A little, yes,” she answers. “But I always liked it.”

Timothy nods and grins.

Carla's phone lights up, catching her attention. “I better get this,” she says, reaching for the receiver as Timothy walks off.

“Carla Sinclair!”

“I'm calling on behalf of youth soccer. We have a tournament this Saturday. It would be great if you could come out. The teams have worked really hard. . . .”

Carla writes down the information. Another call comes in about a girls' softball team. When she has twenty minutes to escape, she heads downstairs to the cafeteria to grab a latte. The afternoon lull has staff drifting in for a caffeinated beverage before the first show at five.

Carla hands the cashier some change and proceeds to the next counter for a lid.

“I'm interviewing Lawrence Grattan,” Ryan says proudly, reaching for a straw for his blended coffee. He peels the paper off and flicks it into the garbage.

Carla turns to him, her mouth slightly agape.

“How? Have you asked?” Ryan leans into her so that his shirtsleeve brushes against her blouse. He took the words out of her mouth.

“I was fishing for a story, reading up on articles, when I came across one about Grattan.”

“Let me guess,” Carla says, walking away from the counter, Ryan in stride with her. “It was a magazine article?”

“Yeah! Yeah! Did you read it?”

“Not yet. It's on my desk.”

“So, what do you think?” he asks.

“About interviewing him?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess,” Carla says with a shrug. “He's going to be at the Warriors Heroes Campaign and I was going to interview him there.”

“About that campaign—am I supposed to be there?” Ryan asks.

“I guess, if you're interviewing Grattan. Might as well set it up then.”

“Good idea. That's great. Yes, I can do that then,” Ryan says with a leap in his step. “I'm off with Gary to get a few clips of a boys' basketball game. Apparently there's a kid on the team who's getting international attention.”

“Have fun,” she says, bringing her latte to her mouth.