The Healer

By Bob Martin

The Healer by Bob Martin

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 24, 2021
• ISBN: 9781638142256

Book preview

1

It was mid-June 1991. Kate and Matt O’Donnal spent the whole day tending to their yards. Kate finally put the final touches on her flowerbeds and planted the last seeds in their small vegetable and herb garden behind the shed. Matt spent the better part of the day mowing, trimming, and edging lawns.

Before he retired three years ago, all of this work was done by Memorial Day weekend. Summers were to be enjoyed, not wasted, spending all your time getting yards in shape. During the summer, it was routine mowing and occasional weeding. If Kate wanted a new rose garden or a change in her flower beds, it had to be done before May 31. That was Matt’s deadline for extensive yard work.

Now it seemed each year it got later and later before the yards were shaped up for summer. If something came up, the two of them were ready to jump in the car and be on the road. A side trip here and there was more enjoyable than digging and pruning. Besides, now that their boys were out on their own, they had the whole summer to putter around. Matt once laughed by the time they finished, it would be time to begin packing things away for the winter.

Today, Matt spent the whole time muttering to himself and throwing things around in a foul mood. Nothing seemed to work properly. The lawn mower kept stalling, the hedge clippers needed sharpening, and even the edger fell apart. It took most of an hour sorting through nuts and bolts for a set that fits.

Kate was really concerned. Matt used to love puttering around outdoors. Kate’s roses and flower gardens were his pride and joy. He enjoyed working up the ground, making it suitable for her planting. It was especially fun running Kate to the nurseries, helping her select the right plants. Matt never took credit when people remarked how beautiful the flowers were. His expertise was lawns and shrubs. Kate was the one with the green thumb when it came to flowers.

Before he retired, working outdoors was a refreshing break from his stuffy office routine. Kate noticed Matt starting to change about six months earlier. At first, Kate attributed Matt’s mood swings to his finally quitting smoking after God knows how many attempts. That was an ordeal. More than once, Kate was ready to buy him a pack of cigarettes to calm him down. After a month or so, he seemed to have gotten over that.

During the winter months, she accepted his moodiness as cabin fever. Matt wasn’t a good winter person cramped indoors all the time, and he didn’t like being out in the cold. He liked keeping busy. There wasn’t a lot to do outdoors in the cold weather. His moods seemed to come and go.

Kate was more than a little surprised one morning in the spring. Matt announced on his return from an errand she would have to do most of the driving in the future. He came up with a number of excuses, including that his eyes bothered him. She took him for an examination. His eyes hadn’t changed enough for the optician to even suggest a change in his prescription. Finally, he told her he got too nervous with all the idiots on the road. He refused to drive unless she was with him, and it was absolutely necessary. He refused to discuss it any further.

What Matt hadn’t told her was he became lost a couple of times when he was alone, forgetting where he was going or where he had been. The last time he found himself out on an unfamiliar country road, he panicked at losing his sense of direction. He pulled off the road and sat, his head resting on the wheel, almost in tears. Spotting flashing lights of the sheriff’s car in his rearview mirror, Matt quickly pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping his eyes. When the sheriff’s deputy came up, Matt explained he had gotten something in his eye.

They talked a few minutes as the deputy examined his driver’s license. Before the officer left, Matt nonchalantly asked how far it was to Wilmont. The officer looked a little puzzled but explained he passed the road to Wilmont about six miles back. He would have to turn around and go back to the four-way stop, turn left, and he would be on the edge of Wilmont. The deputy helped him make a U-turn, and Matt was on his way.

He couldn’t remember if he was supposed to turn right or left at the stop sign. Luckily, he spotted Avery’s Bar on the left-hand corner, a familiar landmark. It was the last time he would drive.

Kate tried to talk to him a number of times, asking what was wrong. Matt wouldn’t talk about it. When he was angry, he wanted her to leave him alone. When he was in a better mood, it was all her imagination. He was perfectly all right. He couldn’t understand why she wanted to start nagging him. After all these years, if he wanted this sort of torment, he could have continued working. Kate backed off, hoping eventually he would want to talk about whatever was bothering him.

They ate a light supper and spent a couple of hours flipping television channels. Everything was either a repeat or not worth watching. Around ten o’clock, bored, they decided to go to bed and read. Matt was an avid Western and outdoor adventure fan. From time to time, he would indulge in a historical novel. Kate was a little more diverse. She enjoyed anything—love stories, good murder mysteries, true stories, or well-written biographies.

They were lying in bed, reading. Kate was reading a novel by Danielle Steele. Matt was into one of his Westerns. Kate, tired of reading, her eyes burning from the strain, checked the time on the clock radio, laid her book on the nightstand, removed her glasses, and turned off her bed lamp. It was 10:39. She looked over at her husband. Are you going to read some more, Matthew?

Umnh.

Kate pecked her husband on the cheek, turned away from him, pulling the covers up over herself. She knew he was engrossed in whatever he was reading and would probably read for another couple of hours. He wouldn’t hear her, but she said it anyway, Good night, Matt. I love you.

A few minutes later, Matt reached up, turning off his bed lamp. They lay in the dark silence. You could almost hear their hearts beating. Matt lay stiffly on his back. Kate knew he wasn’t relaxed. All of a sudden, she was wide awake, worrying. Something was happening to them. She didn’t know what it was. Matt was changing. He seldom relaxed anymore. Even when he eventually fell asleep, he was restless.

She tried talking to him about a checkup. He told her they wouldn’t find anything. She turned over, facing him. Maybe if they snuggled, it would help. She slipped her arm under his shoulder as best she could, wrapping her other arm across his chest. He was deadweight and wouldn’t move.

How long they lay like that, Kate didn’t know. When you can’t sleep or something is prying on your mind, minutes can seem like an eternity. Finally, Matt turned his head toward his wife. Kate, do you believe in aliens?

He caught her by surprise. Pulling her arm from beneath him, she was up on one elbow, looking into her husband’s staring eyes. What?

Do you believe in aliens?

No! That’s your son, Tim. He is the one always into the science fiction and outer space. Why?

Matt turned back, staring at the ceiling again. Because they exist.

Matthew, what are you talking about? You’re trying to scare me, aren’t you? So I can’t sleep? What kind of book are you reading anyway?

It has nothing to do with what I am reading. For your information, I’m reading a Louis L’Mour Western. I just know aliens exist.

Are they here now? In this room? Can you see them? Have you ever seen them? Kate could feel the panic in her voice. Is their spaceship outside now?

No, no, they are light-years away, but they could be here, watching, I suppose. No one sees them. There is no spaceship because they travel telepathically or something. Somehow, they’re capable of getting into your brain while you’re asleep, removing knowledge and storing it in some sort of computer or whatever. They are supposed to return everything as it was before you wake up. Sometimes they get mixed up, returning the wrong knowledge to the wrong person. Did you ever wake up in the morning, confused as to where or who you really were?

Kate’s bed lamp was on. She was sitting straight up. Matthew hadn’t moved or blinked an eye. He was still staring blankly at the ceiling. Matthew! Matthew, look at me!

Matt turned his head.

Have you gone completely mad? Where in God’s name did you ever get such a fool idea?

I just know. You know how sometimes I can’t remember things? Sometimes I even talk about things you have never heard of before. It’s because they have jumbled up my memories with someone else’s, and I have been given thoughts belonging to another person.

Are you sure you’re not getting aliens and your grandfather’s little people mixed up? Maybe they are leprechauns playing mischief with you. Getting even for some of the miseries your grandfather claimed to have caused them. My god, what am I saying? I’m beginning to sound as wacky as you. She put her hand over her mouth. She hadn’t meant to say that.

It’s not the leprechauns. Matt was trying to imitate his grandfather’s Irish brogue. Leprechauns are mischievous wee folk, pleasuring themselves on souring your cow’s milk or running your sheep over a bluff. They don’t go about trying to get into your head. If I am losing my mind, it’s because the aliens aren’t giving me back my own memories. Sorry I mentioned it. I should have kept it to myself until I have some proof. He turned on his side away from her, pulling the coverlet up, mumbling, Are you going to sleep with the light on? It won’t help.

Kate sat, staring into space, not believing this conversation. He was sorry! Not as sorry as Kate was. She wouldn’t sleep for the rest of the night. She had been worried about Matt before. Now she was sure she was losing him. But why to aliens? Matthew never believed in such things before. Sure, when the flying saucer epidemic was in full swing, Matt often looked up into the sky, remarking, Wouldn’t that be a sight to see! How he prodded poor Tim over his obsession with science fiction. Now he honestly believed in aliens! Matt watched a little Star Trek, but for God’s sake, she hoped he knew it was all fiction.

2

The accident occurred about eight-thirty in the evening on Sunday, June 9, 1991, on a mountain road about sixty miles west of Boulder, Colorado. Two young boys celebrating the end of their school years and the beginning of a more adult life tried to make a horseshoe curve on a narrow two-lane road without slowing down They were just coming out of a turn when they spotted an approaching car. They were way left of center.

The two boys received their high school diplomas that afternoon with all the pomp and pageantry the little mountain town of Pine Bluff, Colorado, could afford its four new high school graduates. Tomorrow, these two young men were expected to settle down, find jobs and become main steam adults.

They were a little lightheaded drinking the beer they talked Emil into buying. Scared and frustrated over their futures, neither boy had much to look forward to. All afternoon, they sat up in the mountain in the soft summer drizzle, drinking beer and half brooding over their prospective futures.

In a few short years, they would be their fathers, working hard at any odd job they could find, trying to eke out a living and raising families. It had been the way of life in these Colorado Mountains for the past hundred years. Mostly, they were proud stubborn mountain people whose needs were simple. They would work harder and do with less rather than leave their homes.

Now, most of the younger generation were leaving, the more adventurous ones, the ones who realized they were living in a dying community. A few went on to better educations, the brighter ones whose parents could still afford to send their children off to college—but not Lester Wingett and Michael Camdon. They were average students. There was never any incentive by either family or educators to prod them. So now, after twelve years of schooling, they were expected to go to the mill, if there were any jobs, hoping to learn a trade.

Michael wanted to be a mechanic. He had a fair ability keeping the family car and his father’s farm machinery running. Lester dreamed of being a truck driver hauling timber. He handled a car and pickup well, but there was a recklessness about him that made him take foolish chances.

The mill was a dying entity that probably wouldn’t survive another ten years. Stubbornness and hope were all that kept it going now. Lester and Michael knew they would be lucky to end up sweeping or packing sawdust if they got into the mill at all. More than likely, they would end up doing odd jobs here and there for little or no pay.

Everything would have been fine if the beer hadn’t slowed Lester’s reactions and the road was free of other traffic. For the most part, on Sunday evening, it was.

*****

No one really knew him. He was an old recluse by the name of Wyley. He stayed mostly to himself in a small clearing hidden among the spruce just beyond the curve with his dog and other wild critters he cared for. He didn’t come to town often—once or twice a month to do his banking, pick up groceries, and gather his mail. Today was special; he had been to Denver and was late getting back. He was coming up to the curve as the two young men in the pickup were coming down.

*****

The last thing Lester remembered was seeing the old man’s glaring headlights coming around the curve. He panicked. What the hell! He hit the brakes, turning the wheel too quickly and sharply to the right, trying to get back on his own side of the road. The pickup swerved on the slick wet clay-packed road. He took his foot off the brake and slammed it down again, losing control of the vehicle. Michael wet himself just as the pickup slid over the embankment.

If it hadn’t been for two trees in their path, the boys would have ended up three hundred feet below in a rocky ravine.

Wyley pulled his car off the road as best he could. It wasn’t quite dark, that in-between time when everything appeared as shadows. Wyley left his bright lights on. He climbed down the mountainside to the pickup. The truck was wedged solidly between the trees.

Try as he did, he couldn’t budge either door open. He knew the boys were alive, hearing their moans through the closed windows. Frightened and exhausted, he climbed back up the mountainside.

He saw the lights of an oncoming car around the bend. Wyley stood in the middle of the highway, wildly waving his jacket. The car swerved to avoid hitting him. A big brute of a man jumped out of the car, coming at Wyley with blood in his eyes. You crazy bastard! Are you out of your mind? I almost hit you!

Wyley panting hard and gasped, Get help! Two boys down in the ravine! Truck over the side! They’re still alive! Can’t get them out! Get help!

Jeezus Christ, are you all right?

Wyley waved the man back to his automobile. I’ll stay! Get help!

The man back in his car carefully made a U-turn on the narrow two-lane road and barreled down the mountainside.

Wyley climbed down the embankment to the truck. He was at a loss as to what to do. He tried talking to the boys. He knew they couldn’t hear him. He thought about breaking a window with a rock to make sure they were getting enough air. He would have if he wasn’t afraid the truck would give way, ending up in the ravine below. Finally, he squatted on his haunches next to the truck, on the soft ground, burying his head in his knees, rocking, sobbing, and praying. That was how they found him.

It took better than two hours to get the car loose and the boys into an ambulance. Once they got enough cable, they hooked the back bumper and ever so slowly pulled the truck until the doors cleared the trees. Carefully, the doors were pried open. Michael was removed first. With crowbars and brute force, they were able to lift the dash to release Lester’s legs, enabling the paramedics to get him out and on a stretcher.

Lester woke for a minute, mumbled something incoherent, and fell back into unconsciousness. The pain of moving him was too much. Both of his legs were mangled. Michael had smashed his skull on the windshield. He was comatose throughout the whole ordeal.

Once the boys were in the ambulance, the attendant asked Wyley if he was all right. Wyley nodded. After checking him over the best he could, the paramedic suggested Wyley should be checked for shock at the hospital in Boulder. The driver wanted him to ride down in the ambulance.

Wyley begged off, saying he would rather take his own car. One of the workmen volunteered to drive him. Everyone felt that would be safer. Wyley agreed, only if they took his car. Wyley and the workman followed the blaring sirens.

It was after twelve before the ambulance reached the hospital in Boulder. The boy’s parents were notified and were already at the hospital to meet the incoming stretchers at the emergency room door.

The surgery took hours. Wyley was examined and released. He remained in the waiting room with the grieving parents.

The man who drove him hitched a ride back to Pine Bluff with one of the other men who followed the ambulance in.

The Wingetts and Camdons tried a little small talk between themselves unsuccessfully. Finally, they sat or paced, each in their own thoughts and fears. No one spoke to Wyley. It was as though he wasn’t even there.

It was almost dawn before the doctors finally came out of surgery. The prognosis was not very encouraging. Lester’s legs were crushed almost certainly beyond repair. They had done the best they could putting all the pieces back together. It was doubtful he would ever walk again and a strong possibility they may even have to amputate. Michael had a severe concussion and was in a coma. When he would come out of it was anybody’s guess; how much of his faculties he would have was also unknown. There didn’t seem to be much in external injuries, but internally, at this time, no one could be sure. Even the X-rays were inconclusive. It would be a wait and see game.

As the doctor was talking to the Wingetts and Camdons, Wyley came across the room and spoke up, Excuse me, may I see the boys just for a minute?

All four parents turned to stare at this little distraught man as though seeing him for the first time. Mr. Camden spoke up, I understand you are the gentleman who found the boys, staying with them until help arrived. He put out his hand, shaking Wyley’s callused hand vigorously. Thank you, sir. I don’t know what could have happened to our boys if you weren’t there.

Doctor Youngston turned looking at Wyley over his reading glasses. I don’t think that would be possible. I think it would be best if only the family were with the boys at this time.

It’s important I spend a minute with those boys.

Mr. Wingett came forward. He turned to the doctor. Would it do any harm if he looked in on our sons?

Doctor Youngston gave Wingett a startled look and shrugged his shoulders. It’s not customary, but I suppose not. I must ask you all to keep it very brief.

Mrs. Wingett looked puzzled at her husband. What is going on here? Why let him, a stranger, go in to our son?

Mr. Wingett gave his wife a helpless look, stating, I don’t know. It’s just something I feel.

Mr. Camdon standing to one side and spoke up, Isn’t that strange? I feel the same way.

Doctor Youngston led the parents and Wyley down the corridor to the recovery room the boys were in. Mr. Camdon and Mr. Wingett motioned Wyley to go on in.

The few minutes that passed seemed an eternity to the two women. Finally, Mrs. Camdon could stand it no longer, pushing open the door to the boys’ room. Wyley was standing over Michael, caressing the boy’s bandaged head. He looked up as the couples entered, a tear on his cheek. Your boys will be all right. It will just take time and a lot of love.

3

It was one of those clear fresh September days, a deep autumn blue sky with billowy white cloud puffs leisurely drifting across. The leaves on the trees were starting to change color. The more delicate trees were already turning golden yellow and crimson reds while the stronger trees remained a lush green.

Matthew was sitting in his favorite chair in the family room. The book he was reading slipped from his hand as he nodded, dozing. Matt had been doing a lot of that lately.

Kate came in. she didn’t like Matt napping through the day. It made him more restless at night. She pretended she didn’t notice his sleeping. Matt, it is such a pretty day out. I was wondering if you would like to take a walk.

Arumph! Matthew came alert in his chair. Oh, Kate, I didn’t notice you come in. Been resting my eyes. Reading seems to be such a strain anymore. What did you say?

I was wondering if you wanted to get sane air, take a little walk.

Now that’s a great idea! Do I need a hat and jacket?

Just a cap. The sun is pretty bright. I’ll get it. Kate ran to the front hall closet and grabbed Matt’s baseball cap. Off they went down the road toward the wooded area behind their property.

They walked a bit in silence, holding hands like young lovers. With her free hand, Kate waved to a neighbor here and there along the way. Mr. Morrison was washing his car. Amelia Lawrence was taking the last apples off her tree. Old man Winchell was tilling up his garden, getting it ready for spring. The Coopers’ house was closed up. They had already left for Florida for the winter. It seemed as though they headed south earlier each year.

Kate and Matt entered the wooded area at the end of the road, listening to the gurgling of a small brook that ran through a small clearing ahead. God, Kate, do you remember when we first moved here? This was all open fields from the house to the woods. Remember the nice family of deer that use to come right into our yard?

Yes, and you spoiled them with your corn and carrots. And the pheasants! What a sight it was to see them flush up whenever they heard that old screen door creak.

Matt’s face took on a sudden hard look. He dropped Kate’s hand. His face grew flushed in anger. Spoiled them! I caused the poor creatures to be slaughtered! Those lousy bastards came in, walked up to those trusting animals, and blasted away. They had no right! He was raving now. No damned right at all to come in and murder those innocent animals! The son of a bitches called themselves hunters!

Matthew! Matthew! That was years ago. Let it go, Matt. What was happening to this man of hers? He used to remember the good things in their lives. Now everything was hateful. She remembered how angry he was the day the hunters dragged out the carcasses of the three deer. They never saw another deer in these woods. Rabbits and squirrels were all that were left. Even the pheasants disappeared when the building started.

They walked along in silence with only the sounds of the brook and rustling of dead leaves. Kate could feel her husband’s anger and frustrations. Matt walked sullenly, his hand clenched into fists deep in his jacket pockets, kicking stones in his path. Tears began to form in Kate’s eyes, giving her a glassy gaze. She brushed her cheeks. Although she did a lot of crying lately, she didn’t want Matt to see her. Whatever was going on with him, she wouldn’t add to his burdens.

They were down to the brook. Kate found a couple of large boulders to sit on. Matt watched the water as it flowed, swishing between rocks. He was calming down. They held hands again. Kate, one of these days, all of this will be gone too. In a few years, someone will decide to develop this land, and there will be nothing left. They call it progress, destroying nature’s beauty. I hope I’m not around to see it. God, we’re getting old. Life just seemed to pass by us. I always wanted to live a long time. I just never wanted to get old. Remember all of the dreams and plans we had when we were young? What happened to all those years? What happened to our dreams?

He was talking aloud to himself now as though Kate wasn’t even there. I never thought much about getting old. I guess I always thought I would die young. God, I never thought of becoming a burden to anyone. Life is so good when you are young. You have so much time to do everything you want. So you put it off until one morning you wake up, old and forgetful, afraid of what the years ahead have in store for you.

Kate cupped her husband’s face in her hands, turning it to her. "Matt, is that what this is all about? We’re not that old. There is still plenty of time to fulfill our dreams and have new dreams. What, you’ll be sixty-two in November. I just turned fifty-nine. This should be the time of our lives. We have two grown boys allowed to pursue their own dreams. We’re free to do whatever we like. You’re just feeling sorry for yourself.

I was so worried about this when you first retired three years ago, giving up the challenges of your job, the companionship of your colleagues. It was a traumatic change. You handled it so well. Until recently, you seemed so content in your retirement. Why now, Matt? I don’t understand. Why can’t we just enjoy what we have? Let’s take one day at a time and be happy. We may be a little slower, but we’re not old by a long shot. Someday we may be old, but not now. We haven’t time for it. Most of our dreams have been fulfilled. Maybe it is time to start some new dreams. It will keep us young. I do love you, Matt. Our lives have been full and good.

Matt saw his wife’s glazed eyes. He took her in his arms. You’re right. Life has been good to us, hasn’t it? We still have lots of good times left. We should enjoy every minute of it. He said it, even though he didn’t believe it. He knew something was happening to him, and he was scared. I wish I hadn’t been so hard on the boys. Like Tim used to say, I was always on his case. I should have been easier on the both of them. What would it have hurt? I know they don’t love me like they do you. I was always the hard nose.

Oh, Matt, the boys do love you. They realize you did what had to be done. Times are harder raising children today. With all that is out there, it’ s a wonder we made it. Our boys are going to have a lot harder time of it than we did if they want their children to amount to anything. You gave them some backbone is all. We couldn’t let them run wild. How many parents do we know that did just that and are paying for it for the rest of their lives? It was different when we were children. Yet, our parents were even stricter with us. Our boys had a lot more freedom then we had. Of course, we made mistakes. What parent doesn’t? The past is the past, Matt. There is no changing it.

Kate, have I told you how much I love you lately? You know I can still see the devilment in your eyes.

They got up and headed for home, hand in hand. It was one of the few peaceful and loving moments the couple would have in the months to come.

4

Cynthia O’Donnal sat waiting in the gynecologist’s office. For better than two months, she and Andrew had been through a whole battery of exams. Now she was here alone, waiting for a consultation on the final results. Andrew really wanted to be here, but at the last minute, he was put on a special assignment and flown to Houston. Cynthia was supposed to cancel this meeting until Andrew came home.

Being a little bullheaded, she decided not to.

Her mother-in-law would have been glad to accompany her, except she was angry with Kate and Matthew. in her present state of mind Cynthia conjured up, it was all their fault she was going through this in the first place. Those two always going on about grandchildren. As if that was all life was about: making babies She just turned thirty a couple of weeks ago. If they had their way, she would have been walking around the past seven years with her belly popped out and a string of diapered toddlers draped around her.

Why couldn’t they be more like her parents? Adele and William cared less about grandchildren. They had a good social life. To them, grandchildren would be a burden. Adele told Cynthia right from her wedding day, Don’t be in any big hurry to start a family. Once you start having babies, your life isn’t your own. And if you do, remember one thing: your father and I aren’t built-in babysitters. We did our stretch on the diaper trail with you. We have no desire to go through it again.

Fat chance of that, thought Cynthia. They moved to Florida for the good life, as they called it, three months after they both retired. Cynthia only saw her parents twice in the past six years.

It was up to her and Andrew to go there. Even then, they didn’t see much of her parents. Dad was either on the golf course or socializing aboard one of his buddy’s yachts. Mother was always tied up with some benefit or social function she couldn’t beg out of.

Andrew wasn’t much of a golfer or drinker, so after one outing with his father-in-law, he refused to go anymore. When the old man did make himself available, his conversations consisted of yesterday’s long putt on twelve or his hole-in-one shot three years ago at the Palm Beach Country Club. Occasionally, he would throw in a couple of the big deals that landed him in this lap of luxury, always reminding Andrew to keep his eyes and ears open for opportunities. The right place at the right time and knowing when to make your move—that was what it was all about. Picking the right friends didn’t hurt either. Spending your life associating with clerks, you remained a clerk.

The old man didn’t care much for Andrew. He wasn’t a climber. His daughter could have done a lot better. The feelings were mutual.

Doctor Edison came in, a small manila folder tucked up under his arm. He sat down at the desk across from Cynthia, laid the folder on the desk, opened it, and studied the files inside. When he looked up, Cynthia, even in her nervousness, had to suppress a little giggle.

Before the doctor could speak, Cynthia asked, Are you related to Thomas Edison? The rumpled clothing, the white smock bulging with whatever he carried in his pockets, and those tiny bifocals he peered over when he looked up made him appear almost like the famous inventor. Cynthia just knew he had to be a great-grandson or something.

Doctor Edison let out a soft chuckle. Nope, I can’t claim any relationship at all.

Cynthia was remembering back to her past. I did a paper on Mr. Edison in high school. I saw many photographs of him in old newspaper articles and reference books. I have a small tintype photo tucked away in my mementos. I bet you could put it on your desk, and people would think it was you.

Well, that is a very nice compliment. Thank you. I have always admired the man’s genius. My father met him once. He was always proud that Mr. Edison actually spoke to him. That is as close a relationship as I can claim except, of course, we were both born in Ohio.

He looked down at the file and back up. Andrew isn’t with you today?

Cynthia shook her head. No, he is out of town on business. She was toying with the strap on her purse. It had to be bad news. Andrew was right. They should have been here together. Why hadn’t she asked Kate to come with her? Now she was alone. Her stupid damned pride. What is it, Doctor? Something’s wrong with me, isn’t there? Her hands had gone from the purse strap and were clamped to the edge of the desk.

Doctor Edison reached across the desk, taking the girl’s hands. I wish your husband was here. It isn’t the end of the world. He looked down at the file and back up. I just wish Andrew was here. It would be easier if you heard the outcome of your examinations together. Would you like to postpone this consultation until your husband returns?

Cynthia pulled her hands back, feeling fear swelling up inside herself. No! No, now that I’m here, I need to know. What a fool she had been. Where was Kate? Where was her own mother? Why had she been so foolish? A couple of days, and Andrew would be home. She could have waited. They should have been here together. Now she was here all alone, knowing something was terribly wrong. Waiting now would drive her insane, even if it was just for a day or so.

Doctor Edison sat back in his chair. He rumpled his already mussed grey brown hair, then tried to smooth it back in place. Cynthia, I want you to be patient with me. We are going to cover some old ground. He lifted the file, read a bit, and let it fall back to the desk. I know most of it is in here, but I need to go over it again. Can you humor an old doctor?

Cynthia choked back tears, only able to nod.

Cynthia, how is your sex life? How do you preconceive the act of intercourse?

Cynthia stammered, It’s fine.

Cynthia, I need more than that. Sex is a mental condition as well as physical. I don’t mean to pry into your intimacies, but as a gynecologist who wants the best for you and your relationship with your husband, I must. I need to know if it is painful. Is your husband gentle? Do you look forward to sex? Or is it just some obligatory duty? Do you indulge in sex as a pleasurable experience? Or, in the back of your mind, is it an obligation because you feel you must bear children?

No, no, our lovemaking is just that, an act of love. Neither of us ever needed to prove anything. We talked about having children someday. Andrew is very gentle. I enjoy our sex. It’s not like you read in some magazines, what’s the phrase…a slam bang. Andrew makes me feel very good all over. Sometimes he rubs my whole body with baby oil. He likes to put the soft light on in our bedroom and just stare at my nakedness, telling me how soft and smooth my body is. When he wants to make me giggle, he pretends he is removing lint from my belly button. A small smile crept into her face.

One night, he was doing that, and he had a small piece of Kleenex crumpled up in his hand. All of a sudden, he started, ‘Oh my god, would you look at this?’ He held the crumbling Kleenex for me to see. We laughed till tears rolled down our cheeks. Cynthia’s face turned crimson red. She hadn’t meant to say so much.

Doctor Edison reached across the desk, taking the young woman’s hands in his. It’s all right. You’re among friends. Everything you say to this old doctor is strictly confidential. I thought I heard all the stories, but I am afraid that is a new one. He thought a moment. What about the act of intercourse itself? How do you feel about that? Is it painful? Are there any regrets afterward?

Cynthia was a bit more relaxed. Her uneasiness was slipping away. No, the sex act seems very natural. Sometimes there is pain if I am coming into my period or something like that. I enjoy the caressing more than the actual sex, but Andrew has a way about him that makes me tingle all over.

Doctor Edison looked over the open file. That seems natural enough. Men seem to have more need of the physical act than women. That’s what makes us different. About your period, is it regular?

Not often. A couple of times, I thought I was pregnant, but they turned out to be false alarms. When I told Andy, he threw up his arms and said, ‘You can’t be! There goes my boat. You promised me I could have a boat. Now we’ll be evicted from our apartment and have to live with my parents.’ Then he would throw his arms around me and laugh, kissing me all over.

Doctor Edison looked a little sad. Ordinarily, he loved his job helping young people through the process of having children. It was its own reward seeing a newborn snuggled in its mother’s arms. Today, he wasn’t very happy with what he must divulge, but he felt, though, they were a strong couple, capable of weathering this storm. How would you and your husband feel if you couldn’t have children?

Cynthia’s hand went to her mouth. For a moment, she sat, paralyzed, chewing on her knuckles. I can’t? Not ever? Oh my god! Andrew wants a son so bad. He’ll hate me! I just know he will! It’s my fault, isn’t it? It has to do with one of those boys I went out with before I met Andrew? I have a terrible disease, don’t I?

Doctor Edison tried to calm her. Listen carefully to me, Cynthia. It has nothing to do with your past. What you did in your younger life has no bearing on your situation. He wanted desperately for her to understand. "Mother Nature played a cruel trick on you. Your ovaries are underdeveloped and will not produce the egg necessary for childbearing. Even if everything was all right with you, your husband has a very low sperm count. It would probably take artificial insemination for you to conceive. I am terribly sorry, Cynthia. May I still call you