“Actually,” Giselle said, “it’s German. Pumper means breaking wind.”
“A fart?” Amy said with a chuckle.
“Yes. And nickel means devil. So a bad fart!”
Giselle and Amy giggled hard.
“I haven’t laughed like that in a long time,” Amy said, regaining her composure.
Melissa took her portion and looked it over suspiciously, tilting it to examine it from all angles.
“It’s still warm,” Giselle said.
“Right out of the oven. I just made it.”
“Mmm,” Giselle said as she chewed. “And so good.” She nodded at Melissa, who took a bite.
“Yum. I like plumnickel bad fart bread.”
“Better not tell your mom about that,” Giselle said.
“I won’t.”
Giselle gave Melissa a sideways look. “And what do you say?”
“Thank. You,” she said coyly. “What’s your name again?”
“Amy.”
“Thank you, Amy.”
“Oh.” Amy put her plate down and reached into the bottom of the large bag and pulled out another, smaller, loaf. “For the ducks.”
“Yay! Can I feed them, Giselle? Can I?”
“Go on. Little pieces, okay?”
“Okay.” She took the bread and skipped to the lake’s edge.
“That’s close enough,” Giselle said. She glanced at Amy. “You showed up at the right time. She was bugging me for ice cream. I told her after lunch. That didn’t go over well—until she saw you.”
“She’s adorable,” Amy said.
“And she knows it, too.”
Amy laughed.
“She actually did some modeling recently. Some kind of promotional video. The photographer and producer were very impressed with how poised she was.”
When Lindy turned three, Amy and Dan were approached by a talent agent about her doing a photo shoot and possibly even television commercials. They went so far as making a portfolio, but once they heard about the schedule she would have to keep, they decided it was not in Lindy’s best interests. Although it paid well, they passed.
“Do you have any children?”
“Me?” Amy placed a hand on her abdomen, thinking about the silvery stretch marks that remained after her pregnancy with Lindy. “No.”
Watching Melissa toss pieces of bread into the water—and then jumping with joy and clapping when a duck would gobble them up—made the pain in her heart sting. She pulled out her phone and shot ten seconds of video of Melissa interacting with a few large geese. It was something she would do with Lindy when they would play at the park. Lindy loved showing the “movies” to her father later in the day.
Amy shoved the handset in her pocket and watched Melissa. I should implant the frozen embryos, have Dan’s baby. Maybe Zach is right. Time to get on with my life.
“You okay?”
Amy shook her head. “Huh?”
“You got real quiet, like you spaced out or something.”
Amy checked her watch. “Oh—you know what? I’ve gotta get back early today. Big order of cupcakes for a party and my boss only gave me half an hour for lunch.”
“Thank you so much for the bread. You made Melissa’s day.”
Amy found herself grinning broadly. The feeling was mutual.
“Maybe you can come by tomorrow. I’ll bring sandwiches.”
“That’d be great,” Amy said, stealing one more glance at Melissa. “I’d like that.”
AMY ENTERED HER APARTMENT. She tossed her keys on the counter and fell into the kitchen chair. Exhausted from baking three dozen cupcakes and a large chocolate raspberry tart for a couple’s sixty-fifth wedding anniversary, she just wanted to sit for a while before making dinner.
She opened her laptop and launched iTunes—but it had been such a long time since she had been in the mood to listen to anything that she wasn’t sure what music she still had on the hard drive. It immediately asked her to update the program—no surprise there, her version was years old—and suggested she install the new app, Apple Music. She clicked yes and sat back while it downloaded.
She thought about her visit today with Melissa and Giselle. Did she have the courage to go through with IVF? She and Dan had frozen several embryos that they had not used when she got pregnant with Lindy. Would it still work? Were they still good? Theoretically, yes. At least, that’s what her doctor had told her. But could she get through a pregnancy alone?
She would not be alone. Loren would be there. And Zach. Could she handle being a single parent?
Maybe it’s what I need. Maybe it’ll help me get past this. Shit, nothing else has.
She glanced at the large framed photo that hung on the wall of her kitchen nook…happier times…Dan and herself, Loren and Zach, their two infant boys…and Lindy in Dan’s arms.
She rubbed at her twitching right eye, hoping to make it stop—though that never worked—and decided that she would call the fertility clinic tomorrow morning before she left for work. It would be three hours later in Boston, which would be perfect.
After Apple Music had finished loading, she selected “Hold on Tight” by Electric Light Orchestra. The guitars and upbeat keyboard rhythm started thumping from the laptop’s speakers. After the tune ended, she thought about the song’s theme of holding on to one’s dreams.
“Yes,” she said aloud. “That’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”
She felt better already.
9
Amy awoke to the chime of her iPhone alarm and swung her legs out of bed. After showering and dressing, she actually had the urge to put on some makeup.
She found the phone number for Boston Fertility Clinic and asked to speak with the office manager. The woman had just left for an early lunch but would be back in about an hour.
“Should I have her call you back?”
“You can probably help me. I’m a patient of Dr. Hutchinson’s. My husband and I—” She choked on the words. “Sorry.” She cleared her throat. “Allergies are bad this morning. My husband and I froze the fertilized ova that we didn’t use for our last round of IVF and I’d like to make an appointment to find out what I have to do to start the implantation process.”
There. She said it. She had lain awake for two hours last night trying to convince herself this was the right thing to do. Once she decided she was going to make the phone call, she was not sure she could get the words out without breaking down. So far, so good. If she got this far, she might be able to go through with it. Small steps.
“Your name?”
“Amy Robbins. Amy and Dan Robbins.” She heard some clacking of keys.
“Right. Oh, it’s been a while since you’ve been in. Dr. Hutchinson will need to do a complete exam and…”
Amy waited, the silence making her think the line had dropped. “And what?”
“Um, I think it’d be best for you to wait and talk with Jane. Like I said, she’ll be back in about an hour.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“Well, your account is, um, well, there’s a note that I’m to refer you to the office manager.”
“Really? What kind of note? I mean, that sounds strange. I—just tell me what’s going on. I have to leave for work in ten minutes and I’m in California, so you’ll be gone by the time I can call back.”
The woman sighed. “Okay. Well, a few years ago there was a fire in the clinic and they lost dozens of embryos.”
“Lost?” Amy felt dizzy. She felt for the chair and sat down hard. “What does that mean, lost? How?”
“Well, I wasn’t here back then, so I don’t know the details but your account has a note on it because, well, it was one of the ones whose embryos were…” She cleared her throat. “Lost in the fire.”
Amy’s field of vision went snowy gray.
She grabbed the edge of the table and steadied herself. Think, Amy. Focus. “You’re saying my—our—embryos were…they were destroyed?”
“Looks that way, yeah. You and some others. But like I said, I wasn’t working here back then. Your account is, um, flagged.”
“Are you absolutely sure?”
“Unfortunately, yes. I’m very sorry, Mrs. Robbins.”
“How—how’d it happen? What kind of fire?”
Amy knew none of this mattered. But she had to keep the woman talking to get as much information as she could while fighting through the fog that was clouding her thinking.
Zach had been after her for years to use the frozen embryos and have another child—not to replace Lindy but to help her heal. She had much to offer as a parent, he told her. It would be a shame to dwell on the past and sacrifice her future.
His words had been heard but not listened to. She had finally made the decision to move forward, prepared herself for having Dan’s baby again…and now she felt like her chance at bearing a child, watching her or him grow up…was ripped away from her.
Again.
“As I said, I wasn’t working here at the time. But really, this should be handled by Jane. And our legal counsel.”
Amy laughed animatedly—as if that were a ridiculous statement. “Fires are a fact of life. I’m not looking to sue, I just want to know what happened.”
“I wish I could tell you more, but I’m not authorized to talk about it. All I know is that your embryos were being stored in that room where the fire broke out. And like I said, there’s a note in the computer. Although…I do see that a guarantor on your account, a Zachary Robbins, has still been paying the cryo storage fees via EFT on his checking account. I’m sure Jane will send out a refund in arrears. That should’ve been taken care of. Again, my apologies.”
Amy took a deep breath. She was out of questions. All she wanted to do was crawl into bed. After thanking the woman, she hung up. And started to cry.
10
The morning dragged on, Amy sleepwalking through work. Several times Bobby asked her what was wrong. He was speaking but his voice was somewhere in the distance. She finally realized she had been ignoring him.
Amy tossed a handful of dough onto the counter and walked over to Bobby. “I’m sorry. I—I’m kind of out of it today. On autopilot.”
“Yeah, no shit. What’s going on? Past couple of days you were like a kid with a new toy and then, we’ve got the old Amy back.”
She looked at him.
“Sorry.” He lifted both hands, palms out. “I didn’t mean that. I just—well, it was nice to see you happy for a change and then…” He sighed. “I’ll shut up now.”
“No, you’re right, Bobby. I got some bad news this morning and it’s gonna take some time to sink in.” She walked back to the dough and scooped it up off the counter. “And no, I don’t want to talk about it. Maybe tomorrow or the day after. Maybe never.”
Bobby nodded slowly. “I get it. Well, Ellen may tell you otherwise, but I’m a pretty good listener. If you want to get a drink after work…” He shrugged.
“That’s sweet. Let me—just give me some time.”
AS LUNCHTIME APPROACHED, Amy considered blowing off her visit with Giselle and Melissa and going to a bar instead and downing a couple of beers to blunt the depression. But she was thinking clearly enough to know where that path led, and it was best a road not traveled.
She opted instead for a walk in the fresh air, one that would happen to take her to the lake. And to Melissa. Maybe seeing the girl would do her some good.
Or would it send her into a deep, spiraling darkness?
Trying not to overthink it more than she already had, Amy pulled off her apron and hairnet and marched toward the door. Ellen called after her about a pending order, but Amy was determined not to let anything stop her. She told Ellen she would be back soon and take care of it when she returned.
The sky was overcast, gray with a dense humidity that threatened precipitation. In reality, it was just the marine layer—low hanging fog coming off the bay. That the weather mirrored her mood was not lost on her.
“Hey,” she said as she approached.
Giselle and Melissa were wearing stylish coats and cute knit caps.
“Right on time,” Giselle said with a smile.
Amy did her best to adjust her emotions, to relax the tension in her face. Kids were perceptive and Melissa might pick up on her melancholy.
“I forgot to ask you what kind of sandwich you wanted, so I made you two—a grilled veggie and a turkey club. That okay?”
“Wow, sorry you went to so much trouble. The turkey would be great.”
“I have PB and J,” Melissa said, holding up the wrapped lunch.
“I love PB and J,” Amy said. “My d—” She stopped herself. “My dog does too.”
“You have a dog? What kind?”
“Had a dog. A standard poodle. More like a person than a dog.”
“Do you have a picture?” Giselle asked.
“Not with me.” A lie—she did have one on her phone, but it was a family photo with Dan and Lindy. As she unwrapped the foil, Amy changed the subject. “So you’re from Germany?”
Giselle laughed in mid-chew and covered her mouth. “What gave it away? My accent?”
Amy chuckled. “Afraid so. I had a few European friends in college, so I developed a good ear. One was from Berlin.”
“I like the way Giselle talks,” Melissa said, rocking on her knees.
“Me too. Is she teaching you how to speak German?”
“Hello is Hallo. And good-bye sounds like a dog barking. Ruff.”
“Ruff?”
“Auf,” Giselle said. “Auf Wiedersehen.”
Melissa smiled and nodded shyly, took another bite of her sandwich.
“Where’d you go to school?”
“Harvard for undergrad,” Amy said. “Stanford for law school. You?”
“That is amazing. I went to Goethe University in Frankfurt am Main. Haven’t finished yet. I needed the money—and a break from my family.”
“Oh,” Amy said. “That bad?”
“Bad enough. But it also gave me an excuse to see America. When I got here I took a cross-country tour by bus. Saw all the tourist traps. But it was a lot of fun. Met some nice people. I am thinking of staying here. I would miss my grandmother, and she is not well, but…other from—other than—ehm, I think you say other than that—it would be hard going home.”
“You’re what, twenty-three?”
“Twenty-two.”
“I’m five,” Melissa said, holding up a hand and twisting it side to side.
“Such a big girl.” Amy shared a smile with Giselle. “She’s got a Nordic look. Is her mom from out your way? Or maybe northern Europe?”
“Christine? She’s a local. Born in Los Angeles but grew up around here somewhere. Brandon—Dr. Ellis—he’s from New Jersey. They met in medical school.”
“They’re doctors?”
“Not practicing anymore though.”
“Retired?”
“They’re involved in some kind of company. A start—can’t remember what it’s called. A new company. Start something.”
“Startup?”
“I think so. I do not understand financial things. They do not tell me much. Just what I overhear. Something is happening very soon. Selling it maybe, the company. That is why Melissa was modeling. Had to do with their business.”
“Well she certainly is a beauty.” Amy turned to her. “Aren’t you?”
Melissa grinned, then looked away coyly. “Yes.”
A strong breeze blew off the lake and tossed Melissa’s hair across her face. She wiped at it sloppily with her hands. Amy reached over and brushed it away with her fingernails.
“Turk
ey okay?” Giselle asked.
Amy held up the last quarter of the sandwich. “Not just okay. You should open a café in town. You’ve got a knack for flavor. What kind of mustard did you use?”
“Red pepper and mushroom. Something Christine gets in Napa. And I added lemon balsamic she has delivered from the Carmel valley. An olive oil club they belong to.”
“What’s she like?”
Giselle’s eyes flicked over to Melissa, then back to Amy. “Kind of intense,” she said in a low voice.
Amy scrunched her brow. “Problems?”
She busied herself with the lunch basket. “A lot of stress with the business.” Giselle nodded at Melissa and then shrugged. Amy got the hint: she did not want to talk in front of the girl. “Anyway, I have always been a good cook. The only decent thing my dad did for me. He is a…what do you Americans say? A creep?”
“Creep works. Is that why you don’t want to go back?”
“Big part of it.”
“How ’bout your mom?”
“Passed away five years ago. Breast cancer. Life’s not fair, you know? My grandmother took it hard. Outliving her child. She kept saying, ‘Not the way it’s supposed to be.’”
Amy’s eyes teared up. “No, that’s not the way it’s supposed to be.” She sighed deeply, then noticed the time. “Gotta get back.” She stroked Melissa’s chin then rose from the blanket. “Thanks for lunch. It was the best meal I’ve had this week. Breakfast, lunch, or dinner.”
“Come by tomorrow. I’ll make you something else.”
“And I’ll bring some delicious cupcakes.” She looked at Melissa. “Sound good?”
“Sounds good!” Melissa said.
“You know what? If you guys come by the bakery at noon tomorrow, I’ll show you how we make bread. I can even show you how we make bad farts. I mean pumpernickel.”
Giselle laughed. “That would be great. I had great-grandparents in Poland who owned a bakery. And their parents were bakers before them. It’s a lost art in our family.”
“Then maybe I can give you some insight into your family history.” She chuckled. “Baking hasn’t changed much the past century.” Amy gave her the address and bid them good-bye.
The Lost Girl (A Mickey Keller Thriller Book 1) Page 5
