Free The Desire by Gary Smalley Page A

Must be Jean, she thought. Tom and Jean were still living with her folks, so she only lived a few blocks away. She and Jean had become close over the past year. Michele had invited her over for a cup of coffee.
    Well, for coffee and to talk.
    Michele opened the door. “Hi, Jean. The kids aren’t with you?”
    Jean stepped through the doorway and gave Michele a hug. “No, Mom is watching them. When you said Allan had gone down for a nap, I knew that wouldn’t last long if I brought the kids. I can’t stay long. Maybe just long enough for one cup. Your parents asked us to eat dinner with them tonight.”
    They walked through the hallway and into the kitchen. “You guys eat together quite a bit, don’t you?”
    â€œWe do, but your mom hinted that tonight was going to be very special. Some kind of surprise.”
    Michele fixed their coffee. “Well, thanks for coming on such short notice.”
    â€œDon’t need to thank me. I love coming here, especially without the kids. Can we sit outside on the patio? There’s a beautiful breeze blowing through.”
    â€œSure, I was thinking the same thing.”
    As they carried their coffee past the stairway, Jean said, “Probably better to meet out there too, so we don’t wake Allan up. Especially if you wind up saying something funny. You know how ridiculously loud my laugh can be.”
    â€œI don’t think even your laugh would make any difference right now. A wrecking ball could hit this place and he’d still stay asleep. I also don’t think there’s much chance of me making you laugh in this conversation.” She opened the patio door.
    â€œUh-oh,” Jean said.
    â€œIt’s not that bad. It’s just not that funny, either.” She walked around the table and sat in the shade.
    â€œDid something happen on Allan’s trip? Because other than how lonely you normally get when he’s gone, you seemed fine on Sunday.” Jean sat down next to her.
    â€œI don’t know,” Michele said. “It’s probably just me being moody. This whole thing about not getting pregnant.”
    â€œSo I guess that was a false alarm last week when you were a few days late?”
    â€œAs always.”
    Jean reached her hand across the glass table and patted Michele’s forearm. “I’m sorry. One of these times it won’t be.”
    â€œI guess,” Michele said. “You’d think I’d stop getting my hopes up so easily after a year.”
    â€œGood luck finding that switch.”
    â€œWhat switch?”
    â€œThe hope switch. I’ve never known anyone who could turn that off and on. I think you’re being too hard on yourself. This is a big deal. And you’re not alone, Michele. I was reading in a women’s magazine the other day. One in eight couples deal with infertility. One in eight. That’s a lot of people. Millions.”
    Michele sipped her coffee. “Doesn’t feel like millions. Doesn’t feel like anybody knows what it feels like. No one ever talks about it, even at church. There’s so many kids, and so many moms. So many strollers. Seems like that’s all we ever talk about: the children’s ministry, what to do with all the kids for this event or that event. The pastor’s wife keeps dragging me in deeper, because I’m a schoolteacher. Guess I’m supposed to be great with kids. Even yesterday, she called saying she wanted to meet with me soon to help her evaluate some new children’s program.”
    â€œWow,” Jean said.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou really are in a pit.”
    â€œNo, I’m not. It’s just—”
    â€œYeah, you really are.”
    Michele knew she was right.
    â€œAll this time, I thought you liked children,” Jean said.
    â€œI do . . . mostly. It’s just . . .” She didn’t know what to say, what she was really feeling. She