When Love Runs Dry novel · Chapter 9 of 32

Chapter 9: Unopened

The stairs creaked.

Opal came down in her nightgown, her glasses on their beaded chain, and turned on the stove light.

"I heard the door. Twice. Was that him?"

"It was him."

"And the other door was the big one."

"Nolan came for Mae's backpack."

"Hm," she said, which meant a whole paragraph.

She looked at my face. Then at my phone, face down on the counter.

She turned it over and looked at the photo.

The two pink lines. The watch. The caption.

"Well," she said. "There it is. I'm sorry, Merry."

"Don't be."

"You wanted a baby so badly. You told me on the phone at Christmas, that year. You said you were trying."

"We were."

She sat down across from me and folded her hands.

She waited. She was the best waiter I've ever known.

So I told her.

"Two years ago, after a year of trying, we both went to a clinic in Stamford for tests."

"His results came back first. The clinic called the house. I took the call, because I always took the calls."

"The doctor said there was no sperm at all. None. He said Tobias couldn't father a child. Not with me, not with anyone."

Opal didn't move.

"I sat on the stairs with the phone for an hour. Then I waited for him to come home."

"He came home at ten. I said, 'Tobias, the clinic called.' He said, 'Not now, Mere.' He took a shower and went out."

"I tried again the next night. October 15. I had the letter in my hand."

"He said, 'Not now, Mere,' and he picked up his keys, and he went to her."

"He never asked about the results again. Not once."

"I wrote the dates on a sticky note and put it on the letter. Tried to tell T. 10/14. 10/15. Like a receipt."

"It's still in my desk drawer in Greenwich. I left it there."

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