had hoped to be having this conversation with Allan. He was normally pretty good at hearing her out, helping her sort through conflicting emotions. But heâd come home preoccupied with his new orphanage plan.
âYouâre just hurting inside,â Jean said. âAnd thatâs okay. Itâs a painful thing. Youâve wanted to be a mom as long as Iâve known you. And for some reason, for right now God is saying no. We donât know why. Itâs onlyââ
âDonât say âitâs only been a year.ââ
âI wasnât going to,â Jean said. âI was going to say . . . itâs only a matter of time. Just because God is saying no now, doesnât mean heâs gonna keep saying no forever.â
âIâm sorry.â
âItâs okay.â
They sat in silence a few moments, sipping coffee, enjoying the breeze.
âI really do like kids,â Michele said.
âI know.â
âEspecially your kids.â
âI know that too. And I also know you like the kids you teach at school.â
âSome of them.â
âAnd the kids at the church.â
âA few of them. Most of them.â She smiled.
âSee, youâre already coming around. Have you talked about all this with Allan?â
âHe just got home.â
âI donât mean in the last hour or so, I mean recently. Does he know how youâre really doing with this infertility thing?â
She hated the sound of that . . . her âinfertility thing.â But it was a good question. Did Allan know? She thought he knew. But did he really? Theyâd talked about it before. Several times, in fact.
âWhen was the last time you guys talked about it?â Jean asked.
âA little while ago.â
âLike what, a week before he left? A month ago? Does he know about you driving to the playground to watch the kids play?â
âI havenât been doing that very long.â
âSo, he doesnât know.â
âNo, he doesnât know.â
âHow many times have you done that?â
âJust a few.â Maybe three or four.
âAre you hiding it from him?â
âWhat? What a thing to say. Of course Iâm not hiding it from him.â
âThen why havenât you told him? Oh my gosh, I canât believe this conversation weâre having.â
âWhat do you mean?â
âDonât you remember? A year ago you were challenging me for not sharing everything with Tom. Remember? When I thought I was pregnant?â
She did remember. Here she was, doing the very same thing. But why? Why was she holding back from telling Allan all the things she felt inside? She wanted to. A part of her did, anyway. But another part of her was convinced he didnât want to hear it. Heâd already made it clear. Heâd agreed with her mother.
âWhatâs the matter, Michele? You look as if youâre going to cry.â
âI just realized why Iâm not sharing all these things with Allan. It was a conversation at the house about a month ago, after a Sunday dinner. Everyone else had left. You and Tom had taken the kids upstairs. Allan and I were helping my mom put the kitchen back together. I donât know how we got into it, but my mom was trying to comfort me about this not-getting-pregnant thing. And she brought up that âitâs only been a yearâ argument, so I shouldnât be that concerned. Allan jumped right in there with her, saying we had all kinds of time, and that maybe I shouldnât be focusing on it so much.â
She inhaled deeply and said, âI have such a strong need to hold a child in my arms. My child. I want to press her soft little face next to mine.â Her words began to falter. âItâs all I think about, Jean. They donât seem to understand how much this matters to me. No one does.â
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A n old-fashioned