An hour later, wrapped in a hospital gown, all thoughts of Francesco and Jewels and little Frannie fled my mind as I perched on the edge of Dr. Elizabeth Enright’s examining table.
“When was your last internal exam?” she asked.
“A few years ago, before my husband’s death. Since he died, I haven’t had one.” My voice trailed off.
“Are you aware that one ovary never developed?”
“Yes, but I was told that wouldn’t be a problem.”
She nodded. “Alone, no. But unfortunately it’s not the only problem. From what I’m able to determine, the second ovary may be compromised as well. Without more tests I can’t be certain, but—”
I took in a quick breath of antiseptic-laced air.
She quickly added, “There are no signs of malignancy or tumors. Simply a somewhat undeveloped organ. Was that never explained to you?”
I gripped the padded edges of the table. “Years ago, before I was married, I remember something being said about it. At the time, I didn’t take the news seriously. Babies were far from my thoughts then. In later exams, the subject wasn’t an issue.”
“That’s unfortunate, be—”
Unable to hold back, I burst out with, “Doctor, will I ever be able to have children?”
Her eyes, large and gray and fringed with paintbrush-thick lashes, took on a sympathetic sheen. “All things are possible, of course. I’ve seen women with reproductive organs similar to yours who did...on a few rare occasions...become pregnant and carry to term.” She shook her head. “But realistically speaking, the odds are greatly against that outcome.”
“Would hormone treatments help?” The desperation in my voice was clear even to me. The sympathy in Dr. Enright’s eyes deepened.
“In my view I’m afraid the answer is no, but you might want to get a second opinion. In fact, I encourage you to do so.”
I clutched the opening of the gown, nodding as if I agreed. A reflex action. I was staving off the blow she’d just dealt me. “It sounds like children aren’t in my future.”
Leaving the portable table that held her laptop, she came over to rest a hand on my shoulder, a gesture intended as a comfort, but wasn’t. “Many people consider adoption a viable alternative.”
“Yes, there is that possibility...but one other question, Doctor. I asked to have my late husband’s medical records faxed to you. Have you received them?” Though the air conditioning was set low enough to make me shiver, my hands were sweaty. I wiped them on the wraparound gown.
“Let me check.”
Dr. Enright left the examining room, closing the door behind her. I stared out the window at a sweeping view of a manmade lake and beyond to a stand of scrub pines that reminded me of Cape Cod. Jack and I had honeymooned in a beach cottage on Falmouth Bay. A month of utter magic. When I hadn’t become pregnant then, I should have known...I shivered in my thin clinical gown.
“Here they are.” Dr. Enright returned with a folder full of printouts and sat back behind her computer table. “What in your husband’s history do you wish to know?”
“I wasn’t getting pregnant, so he had a fertility test a few years ago. Can you tell me the results?”
She looked up, her heavy lashes sweeping wide open, her surprise telling me I should already know the answer. But without further questioning, she poured over the sheets, flipping back several pages. “Ah, yes...your husband consulted the Ranier Group at Mass General. They’re considered the best in this field.” She looked impressed and read on for another minute before glancing up again. “He had no fertility issues at all. His testosterone was in the high range. He would have had no problem fathering—oh...” She took one look at my expression and snapped the folder closed. “You didn’t know? You believed he was sterile?”
“He lied,” I whispered, my voice as cold as my skin.
She stood and quickly closed the space between us. “Are you all right?”
After two double whammies, no, I wasn’t all right. “I’m fine,” I said, fighting back tears.
She placed a hand on my shoulder. “You have every right to be upset. Don’t hold it in. This is a women-for-women practice. We’re not ashamed of tears in here.” Her voice gentled to a murmur. “You have my permission.”
Too numb to weep, I said, “Jack should have told me the truth. I deserved to know. He pretended our infertility was all his fault.”
“
Fault
isn’t the word,” she chided softly.
“He didn’t trust me with the truth. That’s what it comes down to.”
“Mrs. Dunne.” Dr. Enright stood in front of the examining table where I was still perched precariously. “From what I’ve read in this report and from what you’ve told me, your husband’s lie, as you call it, was an act of love. He was protecting you from a devastating realization.”
“He had no right to do that.”
“He obviously thought he did. Mrs. Dunne...?”
At the question in her voice, I glanced up from my fists clenching and unclenching in my lap.
“Your husband is no longer with us. Questioning his motives is fruitless. To dwell on the past will do no good. Look to the future.”
She meant well. But she didn’t understand.
“I trusted him completely. I believed he never lied to me. Not once. Not about anything.”
She rose from the stool and extended her hand. We shook like two businesswomen settling a contract. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to tell you what you wanted to hear. If you ever want to come in just to talk, my door will always be open. Now I’ll go and let you get dressed.”
She left and, like a robot, I mindlessly pulled on my bra and panties, then shrugged into the outfit that Rossi liked best on me—a pencil skirt and matching tee in a tawny bronze silk. He said the color looked great with my hair. He loved me in skirts. And why with my legs did I ever wear slacks anyway?
Rossi
. What would he think about all this? Would he tell me again that he didn’t care? That it didn’t matter? Could I believe him if he did? Could I believe any man?
I clasped on the chunky, faux gold necklace and slid into my Jimmy Choos. My one and only pair of Jimmy’s, they were holding up well. As if that mattered. As if anything mattered.
Lower than the price on a markdown sale, I drove home. Inside the condo, I kicked off my heels, slumped on the living room sofa and dialed Treasure Island Antiques. A woman answered, and I asked to speak to Randy. A fifty-something Englishman with a Cockney accent and a sharp eye for a deal, he’d adore taking the Irish furniture off my hands. The sooner that happened, the better. I wanted to get rid of it all. Every damn piece. Not out of consideration for Rossi, not to finance a trip to Hawaii. To get every vestige of Jack out of my life. He’d lived a lie and betrayed me day by day for years. I’d never forgive him for that. Never.
After a pause, Randy picked up. “Treasure Isle.”
“Just the man I want to talk to. This is Deva from Deva Dunne Interiors.”
“Marvelous! ’Ow are you, luv?”
“Fantastic, Randy. I have some things to sell I think will interest you. Can you come to my home and have a look at them?”
“For you, luv, anything. When?” A little frisson of expectation had risen into his voice.
“How about now?”
“Give me your address and I’ll be right over.”
*
That night was Lee’s last in Florida before she left for Paris. Rossi and I invited her to the casually glamorous Bayside Grille for a farewell dinner. We dined on the second floor terrace overlooking Naples Bay, the salty breeze wafting through the air and mingling with the calypso chords of a Caribbean guitar. Chatting happily, brimming with love and expectation, she kept the conversation going.
Pleased by what he’d wrought, Rossi smiled across the table at her, every once in a while sending an inquiring glance my way, wondering, no doubt, why I was so quiet, probably attributing that to Lee’s departure.
Wrong. I was delighted for Lee but dreading what I’d have to tell him tomorrow, after we put her on the plane to Paris. Still, on the way back to Surfside I gave him the vial I’d found in the desk and let him quiz me about my conversations with Cookie, Bonita and the Grandeses. I answered as best I could, but truth to tell my mind was elsewhere.
*
The following morning we watched the Boeing 747 roar down the runway and lift into the sky, carrying Lee into the future on silver wings. I would miss her in my life and in the business too. Her hugs and a whispered “I’ll never forget this” still echoed in my heart as the plane disappeared, a glittering dot in the distance and then...nothing.
The time had come. I wanted to talk to Rossi in a public place while I still had steel in my spine. I drew him to a wooden bench near a glass wall overlooking the runways. A tall Royal Palm in a huge concrete pot cast a shadow over us as we sat on the stiff seat.
Rossi took my hand. “Feel sad about Lee leaving?”
I shook my head. “I’m happy for her, but not with some news I got yesterday.”
Taken aback, he jerked upright on the bench. His hand tightened on mine. “What is it?” His eyes narrowed as he peered into my face.
I hesitated, not eager now that the moment had arrived to plunge a knife into our relationship.
“For God’s sake, what’s the matter? You know you can tell me whatever it is.”
“I know.” On the pretext of smoothing my skirt over my thighs, I slipped my hand out from under his. “I saw my GYN yesterday. She told me chances are I’ll never have a child.”
His chin snapped up. “That’s all? Christ, you scared me. I thought you were dying.” His shout caught the attention of an elderly passerby. She sent him a startled glance and scurried away from us.
“What do you mean, ‘that’s all?’” I snapped back. “Don’t you understand? Babies are out for me. No son. No daughter. Not ever.”
The anger ebbed from his face, and the fear. He reached for my hand again, and though I tried to pull it free, he wouldn’t let go. “I understand what this means to you. The finality of it. But this isn’t the end. There are other options for having a family. You could—”
“—adopt?”
“Yes. Exactly. You loved little Frannie the minute you held him.”
“True, but I’ll never be able to give a man a child of his own.”
“That won’t matter to any man who cares for you.”
“Well, it does to me.”
“To me, you’re what matters.
You
.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation again. I thought the subject had been put to rest.”
No question he was beyond upset, but I’d come this far, and I’d finish what I had set out to say. “The way our relationship has been heating up lately, I thought you should know.” I freed my fingers and balled my hands in my lap. “I prevented one man from having a family. I will never do that to another one.”
“Oh, so that’s it? You’ve cooked up a foolproof excuse to keep me—or any guy—at arm’s length. You lost Jack and you’ll never let anybody take his place. All this other stuff is nothing more than a smokescreen.” He stood and flung his arms in the air. “So, the mystery’s solved. One anyway.”
“Yes, it’s solved. There was nothing wrong with Jack. He kept me from knowing the truth about myself, but now that I do—”
“You’re going to push me away.” His sarcasm had turned cold and precise. I’d never seen him like this. Well, what did I expect, hugs and kisses?
I stared into his frozen brown eyes. “Try to understand.”
He shook his head. “No. You can stop right there. I understand all right. What you don’t understand is that you’re putting a wall between us. A wall of your own making.” His jaw clenching, he glanced out the window. Another glittering bird was about to take flight. An instant only and his attention swiveled back to me. “You’re worth ten women put together. A hundred. A thousand. Why won’t you believe me? Do you think I’m lying to you?”
With my fingers still clutching each other as if for support, I said, “Jack lied, and I never thought
he
would.”
“I see.” Rossi bent over me, his face level with mine, and spoke in his quiet detective’s voice. “I never met your Jack, but I always thought he sounded like a hell of a guy. I still do. He protected you.”
“I don’t need protection,” I yelled.
A couple of teenagers strolling toward Concourse D heard me and giggled. Rossi ignored them. “The hell you don’t. Jack knew you better than you know yourself. And so do I. You’re scared. Scared to live.”
“I am not!” I leaped up, heart thundering. “I’m not a complete woman.”
Disgust and disappointment mingling in his eyes, he said, “I’m beginning to think that’s true. But not for your reasons. You don’t need me in your life. So let’s make the break starting now.” He stood and shot me a little quasi-military, two-fingered salute. “It was nice while it lasted. I’ll take a cab back to town.”
He strode off, shoulders hunched, the pink and red blooms on his Hawaiian shirt looking anything but cheerful, his shoes hitting the terminal floor like echoing hammer blows.
