Waves of red-hot fury keep rising up inside me. I’m trying to ride them like I imagine you might do with labor pains. I feel sick, and my br**sts ache, and there is a funny taste in my mouth, and we’ve been here so many times before, and I can’t go through it again, I can’t.

And the thing that infuriates me the most, Jeremy, is that even though I’m saying it and I’m believing it and I know with all my heart that I’m going to lose this baby like all the others, I also know that underneath it all, that inanely positive, pathetic voice is still chirping, “But maybe . . . ?”

Alice drove over to Elisabeth’s place.

She had to get directions from Ben, and none of the streets or the area seemed remotely familiar. Perhaps she didn’t visit Elisabeth much? Because she was so busy. Busy, busy, busy.

They lived in a red-brick cottage with a neatly mowed front lawn. It was a family neighborhood. There was a children’s swing set in the front yard of the house next door, and a woman across the road was leaning into her car and unstrapping her baby from a car seat. It reminded Alice of her own street ten years ago.

She could hear the clamor of the television as soon as Ben opened the door. “She wants it up really loud,” said Ben. “Be ready. If you try and turn it off, she sounds like a trapped animal. It’s freaking me out. I had to go sleep in the spare room last night. I don’t know if she even slept at all.”

“So, what do you think is going on?” asked Alice.

Ben shrugged his massive bear shoulders. “I guess she’s scared she’s going to lose it again. So am I. I mean, in a way, I was almost relieved when I thought the blood-test results were negative.”

Alice followed Ben through the house (very clean, neat, and bare; no clutter) into the bedroom, where Elisabeth was sitting up in bed with the remote in one hand and an exercise book and pen resting on her lap.

She was still wearing the same outfit she wore at the seminar for the butchers on Wednesday, except her hair was a tangled mess and her mascara had smudged so she had thick black shadows under her eyes.

Alice didn’t say anything. She just kicked off her shoes and hopped into bed beside Elisabeth, pulling the covers up and putting a pillow behind her back.

Ben hovered uncertainly at the door. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll be working on the car.”

“Okay.” Alice smiled at him.

Alice glanced at Elisabeth’s profile. Her face was set, her eyes fixed on the television.

Alice stayed silent. She couldn’t think of the right thing to say. Maybe just being there would be enough.

An old episode of M*A*S*H was on the television. The familiar characters and the sudden bursts of canned laughter took Alice straight back to 1975. She and Elisabeth sitting on that old beige couch after school, waiting for their mother to come home from work, eating ham-and-tomato-sauce sandwiches on white bread.

Alice’s mind drifted. She thought about this strange little period of time in her life that began when she woke up in the gym last Friday morning. It was like this past week had been a holiday in an exotic destination that required the learning of unusual new skills. So many things had happened. Meeting the children. Seeing Mum and Roger together. The Family Talent Night.

Finally, she felt Elisabeth stir next to her. Alice held her breath.

Elisabeth said irritably, “Don’t you have things to do?”

“Nothing more important than this.”

Elisabeth grimaced and pulled at the blanket so it came away from Alice’s legs. Alice pulled it back over her.

M*A*S*H finished and Elisabeth changed the channel. Audrey Hepburn’s delicate features filled the screen. Elisabeth switched it again to a cooking show.

Alice felt like coffee. She wondered if it would break the moment, whatever this moment was, if she went into the kitchen and made herself a cup to bring back to bed. Oh, for a Dino’s large double-shot skim latte.

Dino.

She dived for her handbag, which she’d left on the floor next to the bed and rummaged through it. She pulled out the fertility doll and carefully placed it on the sheets between herself and Elisabeth. It looked back at them with inscrutable boggle-eyes. Alice angled it so it was facing Elisabeth.

More time passed and Elisabeth said, “Okay, what is that thing?”

“It’s a fertility doll,” said Alice. “Dino from the coffee shop gave it to me to give to you.”

Elisabeth picked it up and examined it. “I guess he’s trying to insure against me kidnapping more of his customers’ children.”

“Probably,” agreed Alice.

“What am I meant to do with it?”

“I don’t know,” said Alice. “You could bring it sacrificial offerings?” Elisabeth rolled her eyes. There was a glimmer of a smile.

Elisabeth put the doll on the bedside table next to her.

“It would be due in January,” she said. “If it . . .”

“Well, that seems like a good time to have a baby,” said Alice. “It wouldn’t be too cold when you got up in the night to feed.”

“There won’t be any baby,” said Elisabeth viciously.

“We could ask Dad to put in a good word for you,” said Alice. “He must be able to pull some strings up there.”

“Do you think I didn’t ask Dad with the other pregnancies?” said Elisabeth. “I prayed to the lot of them. Jesus. Mary. Saint Gerard. He’s meant to be the patron saint of fertility. None of them listened. They’re ignoring me.”