Letting Go (Healing Hearts) (3 page)

She had to face the truth. Nobody wanted her. Not Randy. Not Ken. No one.

 
D
iane sat in her doctor’s office in downtown Boise, waiting for the results of her blood work. Staring out the window, she watched people enter and exit the building.

Someone tapped on the door. “May I come in?”

“Sure.” Diane adjusted her hospital gown, which gaped in the back because she hadn’t bothered to tie it.

Dr. Johnson gave her a sympathetic smile. She held her breath.
Something is wrong.

Shrugging off the thought, she asked, “When am I due?”

“You’re not. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Diane, but you’re not pregnant.”

She felt the blood drain from her face. “What do you mean, I’m not pregnant? Did something go wrong?”

Dr. Johnson cleared his throat. “Not exactly. You—”

“But I have to be! You don’t understand. It’s been months since I had my last period. I have all the symptoms. Can’t I take another test?”

Fear stabbed at her chest, cold and sharp like icicles.
He has to be wrong.

“I’m sorry, but it won’t make a difference. Your blood sample clearly ruled out pregnancy. I was concerned there might be a problem when I felt your cervix earlier. Your blood test confirmed my suspicions.”

The elderly doctor peered over the top of his reading glasses. “You were never pregnant.”

She stared at him with her mouth gaping, trying to make sense of his words while he wrote some notes in her chart.
There must be some mistake. It can’t be true.

“Is it possible my blood could have gotten mixed up with someone else’s in the lab?” Her voice squeaked.

“No. Your blood is labeled right on the vial after it’s drawn.”

Her vision blurred. Had she wanted to be pregnant so badly that she’d imagined it? How could she not be pregnant? During the past two weeks, she’d adjusted to the idea of being pregnant and had even developed feelings for the baby. She touched her womb, bereft of child. Her baby had never even existed.

Silent tears poured from her eyes. “So what do I do now?” She focused on the floor, trying to sift through the information.

“You’ll need further tests because you’re too young to experience menopause, and the interruption in your cycle could indicate something serious. I want to rule out potential problems as quickly as possible.”

“What do you want to rule out? Is something wrong with me?”

Dr. Johnson cleared his throat again. “Possible malignancy.”

“Wait a minute.” She held up her hand and choked out, “You mean to tell me I might have . . . cancer?”

“I hope that’s not the case. But I’ve had several patients who’ve experienced similar symptoms. A tumor will occasionally mimic a fetus and make a woman’s body think it’s pregnant, so the symptoms feel the same.”

Diane’s stomach clenched, and she hunched over. “Oh, God—”

“I’m sorry to give you such difficult news, but at least we’ll know if we can rule it out before you go home today. Just take this slip over to the office across the street, and they’ll do an ultrasound of your uterus. When that’s done I want you to return to my office right away. Make sure you bring the images the technician prints for me to review.”

“Okay.” Diane nodded, still reeling from disbelief. Once he left the room, she slid off the exam table. Her limbs hung like stiff, leaden beams. The ache in her soul made her want to kick something, yet she could barely move.

After dressing, she reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone. She scrolled down the short list of phone numbers in her address book. Who could she call with the horrible news? With a sigh, she shut her phone off and put it back in her handbag. Better to wait to find out her actual diagnosis before panicking and contacting anyone.

*   *   *

She didn’t remember driving home from the doctor’s office. Words echoed in her brain.

“Tumor . . . may be malignant . . . We’ll have to operate.”

She dragged herself into her condo and fell onto the suede couch. Each time the rational part of her brain attempted to cut through the fog, her heart hammered with grief so strong that her body shook with racking sobs. Could things get any worse?

She’d refused chemo if it was cancer. Thankfully her blood work didn’t confirm that. Fortunately she’d be able to keep her ovaries since they were still healthy. Not that keeping part of her female organs provided much consolation, other than the knowledge that her hormones would remain intact.

For what felt like hours, she slipped in and out of the blur of despair. Numbness finally enveloped her, and she felt nothing.

Somewhere in the distance she heard a faint ringing sound that grew louder with every passing moment.
Someone is calling me. Maybe Mother got my message.

Diane stood, searching anxiously for the cordless, hoping to hear her mother’s voice. Normally her machine picked up the call by the fourth ring. Since she’d smashed the recorder, however, she had no way to screen her calls.

“Hello? Mother?”

“Diane?” Randy’s husky, familiar voice resurrected the hurt of the past two weeks. When she remained silent, he continued, “Come on, Diane. I know you’re listening. Please, just talk to me. What’s going on with you?”

She asked through clenched teeth, “Why do you keep calling?”

“What do you mean, why do I keep calling? I love you. Why haven’t you called me back? I’ve tried to leave messages. I even came by to see you, but you weren’t home. I’m off in a few days, and I really want to see you. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Her heart pounded at his declaration of love. For a moment she reveled in the feeling, but it didn’t last. The man really knew how to lie, and he even sounded remarkably genuine. He’d fooled her for a long time, but no more.

“I thought I was pregnant.” Her resolve to remain detached weakened, and her throat constricted over the words.

“What?” he shouted into the phone.

She jumped and nearly dropped the receiver. “I said, I thought I was pregnant. But don’t worry,” she sneered, “I’m not.”

“Thank God. That would have been a disaster.” His voice softened. “Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not okay. What a stupid question. Do I sound okay to you?”

“No. Are you saying you wanted to be pregnant?”

She growled so she wouldn’t cry. “You have no idea what I’m going through.”

“Um . . . what’s really going on? What’s wrong, Di?”

Tears slid down her cheeks. She still loved him, yet she hated him more for playing her for a fool. Sniffling, she wiped her nose.

“Diane? Please talk to me. I want to help. I’ll do anything for you.”

She cringed at his obvious lie. “I have a tumor.” Fighting the urge to break down and sob, she focused on the knickknacks neatly arranged in her curio cabinet.

“Did you just say tumor? Oh, Diane. I don’t know what to say. That’s awful.”

The catch in his voice surprised her. Could he really love two women at the same time? Did he really care about her, maybe even love her more than his wife?

It doesn’t matter. I don’t care.

“Now I’ll have to have a . . . ” She inhaled deeply and tried again. “A hysterectomy.”

“Wha—”

“I was so happy when I thought I was pregnant,” she paused for the added effect, “until I found out you already have a wife and child. Now I hate you.”

“But Di—”

“Don’t you ever call me again, or I’ll find a way to tell your wife all about us. Then maybe she’ll hate you as much as I do. Goodbye, Randy.”

“Wait—”

She pushed the phone’s off button and flung it on the couch. But her anger quickly dissolved into hurt and a new rush of tears. She fell to her knees and buried her face in her hands. When she had no more tears to cry, she resigned herself to silence. Numb, painless silence.

*   *   *

“Jeanine, please tell my clients I’m ill. Reschedule all my appointments for the next few days. I should be in before the end of the week. Thank you. Bye.”

Diane hung up after leaving the message and flopped back on her bed. Blowing her nose on yet another tissue, she tossed it on the floor to join the others. She had no reason to get up, eat, or even bathe. No one called to ask what happened or how she felt, not even from work.

She’d never realized how few people she really knew. Had her life been so consumed with work and Randy that she’d never made any true friends? Acquaintances didn’t count. She had plenty of those. But people who truly cared? Nada, zilch, a big, fat zero.

How pathetic her life had suddenly become.

Not even her own mother called to see how she fared. Diane had left her a voicemail hinting that things weren’t going well for her, hoping her mother would call to clarify. It didn’t surprise her to hear nothing back.

Randy certainly wouldn’t be calling. Now she almost regretted her threat. Almost . . .

It really didn’t matter. She refused to forgive him. She wanted stability and security in a relationship. That could never happen as a mistress to a married man. And a jerky, two-faced married man at that.

Sometimes she wondered why she even wanted to get married. Her parents had probably had the worst marriage in the world. She wanted a marriage the way it should be. But maybe that didn’t even exist.

As a child, she remembered playing alone for hours. The boy doll always took care of the girl doll. He opened doors for her and came home on time for dinner. They never fought. He treated her with kindness and never put her down.

I won’t go out with you looking like a hag. Come here, Diane. Now, give Daddy a big hug. See Lacy, this is perfection. Too bad you’ll never have her looks. Diane isn’t smart, but she’s smarter than you are. You’re just a stupid drunk.

She flinched at the memory. Her father leaving them again. Her mother scowling for days, as if Diane had caused him to leave. At least when Daddy was gone, he didn’t bother her.

She cringed when she realized Randy possessed a lot of her father’s traits. He had fawned over her, spoiled her with gifts, admired her body, took what he wanted—and all the while he was married to somebody else.

Why did she fall for men like her father? And how she ended up dating married men time and time mystified her. When she discovered she was the “other woman,” she’d immediately cut off contact. But the next guy would be the same. Except for Ken. But he was in love with Katia. So what did she have that Diane didn’t?

Maybe Ken had given her good advice the other night. Sex could never replace love or cause a man to care. No matter how hard she tried to be the ideal woman, at least according to all the magazine articles she devoured, she still found herself alone.

Her shoulders sagged. Maybe if she dyed her blond hair a shade of deep sable. . . but that would be too superficial. She needed a deeper, more meaningful change. So far nothing she had tried worked. Something was missing, but she didn’t know what.

The romance novels she read told believable stories. At least she’d thought they had. Each sensual story described a man pining for a woman because she looked like a model or was skilled in bed. For years Diane had dressed and acted the part, hoping to catch a mate for life. So why wasn’t it working for her?

Her looks had never been the issue; she’d won first place in nearly every beauty pageant she’d entered as a child. If anything, her looks hindered her love life because men rarely wanted to know her as a person. Her dates wanted to touch her and enjoy physical pleasures with her, but no one wanted to know her true self. They just went right for the action, making her feel like nothing more than a trophy on their arm to show off in public. Or worse, a slut.

Though she’d worked so hard at perfecting her outside appearance by jogging, depriving herself of food, and buying expensive clothes, her inside self still felt empty and unclean. She couldn’t remember the last time a man asked her how she felt about something, unless it built up his ego. Except Randy, and she’d been so wrong about him. How could she have been wrong?

How to please a man . . . Yeah, right!

She slid out of bed and marched into her kitchen. Pulling a paper bag from her pantry, she snapped it open and headed for her home office. Every steamy romance novel she owned would find its new home in the dumpster behind her condo. Today.

Romance, huh? They don’t know the first thing . . .

Scanning the bookshelves from top to bottom, she plucked out the paperbacks that instigated a yearning for male attention and pitched them into the bag. As she dropped each book inside, a renewed sense of hope surged through her. By the time she’d filled the sack to the top, she felt empowered to take back her life and make better decisions.

With a grunt, she hoisted the bag up and carried it to the large community dumpster in the alley behind her condo. Dropping the bag into the trash, she brushed her hands together with a sense of accomplishment, smiling for the first time in days.

Next she went to the magazine rack and scanned the titles, noting how each focused on vanity. She flipped through several issues with a new perspective, each article stinging like tiny pins pricking her empty heart. Every picture or story centered on selfish behavior such as how to please a man, look beautiful, lose weight, and so on.