"Cook, Robin - Vital Signs" - читать интересную книгу автора (Cook Robin)

"I think I'll be steering clear of doctors for a while," Marissa said.

"That's a healthy attitude," Dr. Carpenter said with a laugh.

"But as I said before, let's see you back in four months or so."

Hanging up the phone, Marissa rushed from her office. She waved hastily to her secretary, Mindy Valdanus, then repeatedly hit the Down elevator button. She had fifteen minutes to get to the Sheraton, an impossible feat given Boston traffic. Yet she was pleased with her conversation with Dr. Carpenter. She had a good feeling about the man. She had to chuckle when she thought about the sinister creature he had been transformed into in her nightmare. It amazed her what drugs could do.

At last the elevator arrived. Of course the best thing about the phone conversation was learning that the cervical biopsy was normal. But then a stray thought cropped up as the elevator descended to the garage. What would she do if the next Pap smear proved to be abnormal?

"Damn!" she said aloud, dismissing the gloomy thought.

There was always something!

March 19, 1990 7:41 Am.

Marissa stopped in her tracks in the middle of the elegant Oriental carpet that dominated the master bedroom. She was on her way to her walk-in closet to retrieve the dress that she had chosen the night before. The TV was on in the massive French armoire set against the wall opposite the king-sized bed; its doors were propped open by books. The television was tuned to Good Morning America. Charlie Gibson was joking about baseball spring training with Spencer Christian. Weak winter sunlight spilled into the room through half-open curtains. Taffy Two, Marissa and Robert's cocker spaniel, was whining to be let out.

"What did you say?" Marissa called to her husband, who was out of sight in the master bath. She could hear the shower running.

"I said I don't want to go to that damn Women's Clinic this morning," he shouted. His face appeared at the partially opened doorway, half covered with shaving cream. Then he lowered his voice, keeping it loud enough to compete with the television:

"I'm not up to providing a sperm sample this morning. I'm just not. Not today." He shrugged, then disappeared back into the bathroom.

For a minute, Marissa didn't move. Then she ran her fingers through her hair, trying to control herself. Blood pounded in her ears as she replayed Robert's casual refusal to go to the clinic.

How could he back out at the last minute like this?

Spotting the clock radio which had awakened them half an hour ago, she felt an almost irresistible desire to step over to the night table, yank its plug from its socket, and dash the whole thing against the fireplace; she was that furious. But she held herself in check.

Inside the bathroom she heard the shower door open and then close. The sound of the water changed; Robert had gotten into the shower.

"I don't believe this," Marissa muttered. She marched to the bathroom and pounded the door fully open with a bang. The dog followed her to the threshold. Steam was already billowing out over the top of the shower stall. Robert liked his showers piping hot. Marissa could see her husband's athletic nude body through the stall's smoked glass.

"Run that by me once more," Marissa called to him.

"I don't think I heard you correctly."

"It's simple," he said.

"I'm not going to the clinic this morning.

I'm not up to it today. I'm not some kind of sperm dispenser."

Of all the ups and downs of the infertility treatments, this was something Marissa had not anticipated. It was all she could do to keep from kicking in the shower door while Robert finished.

The dog, sensing her state of mind, ducked under the bed.

Finally Robert turned off the water and stepped from the stall.