Page 78 of Protecting the Flame

“Being an oncologist, yeah. It was like that really bad joke about the universe laughing behind your back. I couldn’t save my wife. All I could do in the end was help her die.”

“How many years ago?”

“Seven. I still think of her every day. It would be odd not to, don’t you think? But everything people say about time and memory is right. It doesn’t really hurt anymore. But sometimes I’ll see something, a beautiful sunset, for example, and I’ll think how Becca would’ve loved that and how sad it is that she hasn’t gotten that chance. But I can still see it and enjoy it, and until now, doing that on my own…that’s been all right. But…oooh.” He turned to stare at her cardiac monitor, which was pitching a fit, and a heart rate that was practically galloping across the screen. “We’re not excited, are we?”

“Oh, ha-ha.” She felt a flush that had nothing to do with the really bad sunburn she’d given herself. It had been seven years for Will, but less than two for her. Maybe that was long enough. She wanted to be part of something living, for a change. In fact, if her heart rate was any indication, that wasn’t a maybe. “But what?”

“But it’s not all right now. If you’ll let me…” He put a hand on the swell of her belly. “If you’ll let me, I’d like to see how all this turns out. I’m not making promises, but I’m a pretty steady guy. I’m kind of demanding, though.”

“Yeah?” She was suddenly having a tough time catching her breath. She liked the weight of his hand. “In what way?

“In all ways. I want to be the person with whom you wake every morning,” he said, “and who tells you to please brush your teeth because, you know, sex with morning breath only really works in movies. And the rest is commentary.” He waited until she was done laughing then said, “What do you want?”

She had asked herself that same question earlier in the day when the doctor had wheeled in a portable ultrasound, applied warm goop to her belly, and then pressed the transducer to her abdomen. She’d avoided having an ultrasound until now, avoided any kind of exam, in fact, except on the day she visited the abortion clinic then chickened out for reasons she couldn’t understand. Now, though, she’d heard the baby’s heart, a hollow but rapid beat that reminded her of a runaway horse. Oooh, the doctor said and turned the monitor around so she could see. That’s one happy baby.

She held Will’s gaze. “I want to name her Klara, if it’s a girl, and Robert, if it’s a boy.”

He was bending down—to kiss her, she was sure of it—when her stomach picked that moment to complain so loudly they both broke into laughter instead.

“Another party heard from,” he said, slipping a finger beneath her grandmother’s necklace to caress her collarbone. “And your stomach is correct. Di liebe is zees, nor zi iz gut mit broyt.”

The old Yiddish saying was right. Love was good and probably better with bread.

But get real.

Love was even better with pizza.

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