Life Blood---XXIX---Page No 109

though, it wouldn't stay down any more. There was something I had to check out.

I slowly put down the handset, climbed out of the tub, dried

off, then plodded into the bedroom to dig out my private calendar, which had long since become a record of everything relevant to my and Steve's baby project.

It was buried at the bottom of the desk's second drawer, in

amongst old bank statements. It was also, figuratively, covered by two months of dust, since that was how long it'd been since I'd bothered with it. I guess my attitude had been, what's the point?
        I placed it on the desk, trying not to get it wet. Then I wrapped
the towel more firmly around me, switched on the desk lamp, and sat down. I think I was also holding my breath.

I counted all the days twice, but there was no mistaking. The
night Steve and I had spent so gloriously together in the Camino
Real wasn't a fertile time. Not even close. I suppose that by then
I'd become so despairing of ever getting pregnant, I hadn't even
given it any thought. It was enough just to see him and hold him.

I just sat there for a long time staring at the white page,

unable to move, random thoughts coming too fast to contain

inside my tangled brain. Finally, though, I managed to get up

and numbly put the calendar away. Order, I needed order. I then
worked my way into the kitchen to fix myself something. I had a
glass of water, then pulled down a bottle of Red Label and poured
myself half a tumbler. Okay, somewhere down deep I knew it was
the worst possible thing I could do, but I wasn't thinking, just going
on autopilot and dismay.

I drank off a shot of the foul-tasting scotch, then realized how
thoughtless that was and dumped the rest into the sink. Next, I
moved into the living room and put on a raga, "Malkauns," concert
volume, the one where the first note goes straight to your heart.
Finally I collapsed onto the couch, the room now gloriously alive
with all the spirituality and sensuality of the raga, notes piling on
exquisite notes. For a while I just lay there numbly, enveloped in
its lush eroticism. . .

Eventually I started to think. Alex Goddard had planned to
take from me, but had he also given? Had his "proprietary"
ovulation drugs . . . causing all those hundreds of eggs to mature
simultaneously . . . inadvertently let me get pregnant?
        Then I had a dismaying counter-thought. Could he have done
an in vitro while I was under sedation, when he harvested my

ova? The ultimate link to Baalum. Was my baby Sarah's too? One of those last frozen embryos in his . . .?

Then I leaned back and closed my eyes.

No, surely not. This baby was Steve's and mine. Ours. Had to be. His unintended, beautiful, ironic gift.

Surely . . .

Uh-uh. Go for a second take. Embrace life. Be Molly Bloom and shout it.

Yes!

Yes! 

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FINISHED