Mother Page 4

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  The phone rang, chirping brightly in the gloom. Dr. Carter awoke with a start, grabbing at what he sensed slipping from his knee. He looked down at the pad, his own writing struck through several times as he’d prepared the speech. He could hardly see it now, and stared in surprise at the windows curtained with the blackness of the night sky outside. The staff room was deserted, and as clean as it was every morning before coffee rings stained the tables and donut sugar coated the floor. How long had he been asleep?

  The telephone had stopped ringing, and a marigold glove held it before him. Dr. Carter shook his head, running his hands through his hair to strip off the lingering drowsiness. “Thanks,” he said, taking the phone. The janitor went on his way, rolling his mop trolley out into the corridor.

  “John?”

  Oh God, the wife. “Hey, honey, I was working late and lost track of time, I’m just packing up to go hom--”

  “You were asleep, John.”

  Dr. Carter glared at the closed door. “Someone was supposed to wake me. How’d it go?” he added, almost breathless to get the question out and put it behind him.

  A pause. “Same as usual.”

  Dr. John Carter put his free hand to his head, squeezing his eyes and tautening his jaw to keep it all inside.

  “The doctor said there’s no reason we can’t try again, I’m not over forty yet, but I don’t know if I can go through this many more times.”

  “I know,” he whispered. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m getting used to it, but that makes it worse in a way. I can imagine it never happening now.”

  Dr. Carter glanced at the pad on his lap. “Not me,” he said.