Free Double Talk by Patrick Warner Page B

limb, Violet thinks.
    â€œNo more wild hairstyles? No more nose rings?”
    Violet laughs. She had forgotten Dr. Holly’s smile, how it is permanently clipped to her mouth, but never spreads to the rest of her face. A shit-eating grin, Devlin called it, after Violet introduced them at a fund raiser for a women’s shelter.
    â€œSo, how can I help, Violet?”
    Violet tells Dr. Holly why she is there.
    â€œAnd how long have you and Brian been trying to conceive?”
    â€œA month.”
    Dr. Holly’s smile increases slightly in wattage. Violet is suddenly back ten years, reliving the experience of asking a dumb question in Dr. Holly’s seminar.
    Violet undresses and assumes the position, feels the greaseproof paper cover on the table wrinkle up underneath her back when she scoots down. The stirrups on Dr. Holly’s table wear little crocheted covers. How twee, Violet thinks. She wants to warm to Dr. Holly, but can still see the zealous church lady lurking underneath the surface.
    She looks away while Dr. Holly probes. On the wall, in a handmade picture frame, is a photograph of two toothy girls, both with Dr. Holly’s woolly curls, both with her eyes.
    â€œYour granddaughters?”
    Dr. Holly’s head appears above the tent Violet’s knees make. “That’s Maria. Age seven. And Tanya, age four. Aren’t they just the sweetest?”
    Her gloves make a snapping sound when she removes them.
    â€œThey’re beautiful.” What Violet sees in those pictures reminds her once again — as if she still needs reminding — that her radical days are well and truly over. Now, when she thinks of those times at all, she sees them as an extension of her teenage rebellion. Back then she was adamant she would never have children. She also remembers what a politically charged scene it was: even talking about having sex with a man felt a little like a betrayal.
    Violet dresses. She and Dr. Holly sit in armchairs around a circular coffee table, its surface a mosaic of broken crockery.
    â€œIs that a Rachel Barker?” Violet asks.
    â€œGood eye. I got it at Devon House a few years back.”
    â€œGorgeous.”
    â€œI think she’s doing decoupage these days.”
    â€œCool.”
    â€œEverything looks fine, Violet.”
    â€œWell, that’s good. I thought I should get checked out down there. Just in case.”
    â€œAny history of fertility problems on the female side of your family?”
    â€œNo. Not that I’m aware of.”
    â€œPeriods regular.”
    â€œOh, ya.”
    â€œThen it sounds like everything will be just fine. It’s far too early to think that there might be a problem. You just keep trying.” She fixes Violet with a finishing grin.
    Violet leaves, feeling slightly foolish and carrying a slim booklet: Best Practices for Those Trying to Conceive , as well as a chart she can use to track ovulation. She pins it to the fridge, next to the bus schedule.
    Over the next month, Violet and Brian go into training. They get to bed early each night. They take daily walks along the train tracks to Bowring Park. They eat plenty of plums and green peppers — Nancy’s advice. They pledge to abstain from sex until the red-circled date on the chart, though they cheat a little bit. She insists that he not smoke pot or drink more than a couple of beers in the hours leading up to Ovulation Sunday, as it becomes known. She wants fresh, vigorous sperm, and lots of it. And Brian, she is happy to report to Nancy, obliges.
    Later, Brian will tell Violet he knows the exact moment it happened: “During the omnibus showing of Coronation Street, ” he says. “Remember that episode where Vera and Jack tie one on at the Rovers Return, and when they get home Vera is randy and Jack keeps giving her excuses. He doesn’t want to do it. But Vera won’t take no for an answer. She won’t back off. Jack gets more and more