8
Amy walked briskly toward the large plaid flannel blanket stretched across the grass a few dozen feet from the lake’s edge. The noon sun streamed through the tall trees and a cool breeze rippled across the leaves.
As Amy crossed the street, she saw the ice cream truck that Melissa had mentioned was at the curb serving children and adults out of its large side window.
Giselle turned to see Amy approaching. Amy held up the waxed white bag containing the heavy pumpernickel loaf and smiled. Giselle tapped Melissa’s arm. The girl spun on her tiny rear and clapped when she saw Amy.
“You knew I’d keep my promise, didn’t you?”
Melissa jumped to her feet. “Is the brown bread in there?”
“It is.” Amy took a seat between the two of them and unrolled the top edges of the bag. She held it up for Melissa to peer inside.
“It is brown.”
“Of course it is, silly. That’s why I called it brown bread. Actually, the real name is—”
“Plum,” Melissa said, bouncing up and down on her knees. “Plum-something.”
“Pumpernickel.” Amy reached in and removed three paper plates and a compostable knife, then cut into the loaf. “I know, it’s a strange name.”
“Actually,” Giselle said, “it’s German. Pumper means breaking wind.”
“A fart?” Amy said with a chuckle.
“Yes. And nickel means devil. So a bad fart!”
Giselle and Amy giggled hard.
“I haven’t laughed like that in a long time,” Amy said, regaining her composure.
Melissa took her portion and looked it over suspiciously, tilting it to examine it from all angles.
“It’s still warm,” Giselle said.
“Right out of the oven. I just made it.”
“Mmm,” Giselle said as she chewed. “And so good.” She nodded at Melissa, who took a bite.
“Yum. I like plumnickel bad fart bread.”
“Better not tell your mom about that,” Giselle said.
“I won’t.”
Giselle gave Melissa a sideways look. “And what do you say?”
“Thank. You,” she said coyly. “What’s your name again?”
“Amy.”
“Thank you, Amy.”
“Oh.” Amy put her plate down and reached into the bottom of the large bag and pulled out another, smaller, loaf. “For the ducks.”
“Yay! Can I feed them, Giselle? Can I?”
“Go on. Little pieces, okay?”
“Okay.” She took the bread and skipped to the lake’s edge.
“That’s close enough,” Giselle said. She glanced at Amy. “You showed up at the right time. She was bugging me for ice cream. I told her after lunch. That didn’t go over well—until she saw you.”
“She’s adorable,” Amy said.
“And she knows it, too.”
Amy laughed.
“She actually did some modeling recently. Some kind of promotional video. The photographer and producer were very impressed with how poised she was.”
When Lindy turned three, Amy and Dan were approached by a talent agent about her doing a photo shoot and possibly even television commercials. They went so far as making a portfolio, but once they heard about the schedule she would have to keep, they decided it was not in Lindy’s best interests. Although it paid well, they passed.
“Do you have any children?”
“Me?” Amy placed a hand on her abdomen, thinking about the silvery stretch marks that remained after her pregnancy with Lindy. “No.”
Watching Melissa toss pieces of bread into the water—and then jumping with joy and clapping when a duck would gobble them up—made the pain in her heart sting. She pulled out her phone and shot ten seconds of video of Melissa interacting with a few large geese. It was something she would do with Lindy when they would play at the park. Lindy loved showing the “movies” to her father later in the day.
Amy shoved the handset in her pocket and watched Melissa. I should implant the frozen embryos, have Dan’s baby. Maybe Zach is right. Time to get on with my life.
“You okay?”
Amy shook her head. “Huh?”
“You got real quiet, like you spaced out or something.”
Amy checked her watch. “Oh—you know what? I’ve gotta get back early today. Big order of cupcakes for a party and my boss only gave me half an hour for lunch.”
“Thank you so much for the bread. You made Melissa’s day.”
Amy found herself grinning broadly. The feeling was mutual.
“Maybe you can come by tomorrow. I’ll bring sandwiches.”
“That’d be great,” Amy said, stealing one more glance at Melissa. “I’d like that.”
AMY ENTERED HER APARTMENT. She tossed her keys on the counter and fell into the kitchen chair. Exhausted from baking three dozen cupcakes and a large chocolate raspberry tart for a couple’s sixty-fifth wedding anniversary, she just wanted to sit for a while before making dinner.
She opened her laptop and launched iTunes—but it had been such a long time since she had been in the mood to listen to anything that she wasn’t sure what music she still had on the hard drive. It immediately asked her to update the program—no surprise there, her version was years old—and suggested she install the new app, Apple Music. She clicked yes and sat back while it downloaded.
She thought about her visit today with Melissa and Giselle. Did she have the courage to go through with IVF? She and Dan had frozen several embryos that they had not used when she got pregnant with Lindy. Would it still work? Were they still good? Theoretically, yes. At least, that’s what her doctor had told her. But could she get through a pregnancy alone?
She would not be alone. Loren would be there. And Zach. Could she handle being a single parent?
Maybe it’s what I need. Maybe it’ll help me get past this. Shit, nothing else has.
She glanced at the large framed photo that hung on the wall of her kitchen nook … happier times … Dan and herself, Loren and Zach, their two infant boys … and Lindy in Dan’s arms.
She rubbed at her twitching right eye, hoping to make it stop—though that never worked—and decided that she would call the fertility clinic tomorrow morning before she left for work. It would be three hours later in Boston, which would be perfect.
After Apple Music had finished loading, she selected “Hold on Tight” by Electric Light Orchestra. The guitars and upbeat keyboard rhythm started thumping from the laptop’s speakers. After the tune ended, she thought about the song’s theme of holding on to one’s dreams.
“Yes,” she said aloud. “That’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”
She felt better already.