The man pulled on the handbrake and then turned to look at Alice with gentle concern. He put a hand on her shoulder. “Well, I think you’d better put your feet up while Jasper and I take care of those balloons.”

Balloons. For the party, presumably.

“This is a bit awkward,” began Alice.

The man smiled. He had a lovely smile. He said, “What is?”

Alice said, “I have absolutely no idea who you are.”

(Although, in truth, there was something about the way he smiled and the feeling of his hand on her shoulder that was giving her an idea.)

The man’s hand sprang back like an elastic band.

He said, “Alice! It’s me. Dominick.”

Frannie’s Letter to Phil Me again, Phil.

Barb and Roger took me for lunch at Alice’s place today.

Physically she seems fine, but she is definitely not herself. She didn’t remember Gina! It was disconcerting. Gina played such a big part in Alice’s life. Almost too big a part.

Barb talked about it all the way home. “Sometimes I wish Alice had never met Gina,” she fretted. “You can’t change the past,” pronounced Roger, and we were all quite overcome by his wisdom. He’s a philosopher, that fellow.

It’s not relevant now but I always thought that Gina did dominate Alice. (Alice does have a slight tendency toward hero worship.) I remember her making some comment about Alice’s outfit at Olivia’s birthday party last year. It was something along the lines of “Your such-and-such blouse looks nicer with that skirt.” Alice went straight back upstairs and changed. I noticed Nick was watching the whole incident and didn’t look too happy about it.

After Barb and Roger dropped me off, we had yet another Social Committee meeting. This time we were discussing plans for this year’s Christmas party. Mr. Mustache suggested a “Casino Night.” People loved the idea! Can you think of anything less Christmassy, Phil?

He’s the most aggravating man.

I will admit, however, that he did make a point of asking me whether Alice liked the talcum powder.

Elisabeth’s Homework for Dr. Hodges A funny thing happened when I got home from lunch with the Infertiles. Not exactly ha-ha funny. Just stupid ironic funny.

Driving home after lunch, I kept thinking about “Giving Up.” The idea grew stronger and stronger in my head. It suddenly seems quite obvious to me. I can’t go through another miscarriage. I can’t. The thought of it happening again gives me the feeling of a block of concrete dropping on my chest. I have had enough. I didn’t know I’d had enough, but it turns out I have.

We used to keep setting those deadlines. No more after my fortieth birthday. No more after Christmas. But then each time we’d think, well, but what else is there to do? We’d traveled, we’d been to lots of parties, lots of movies and concerts, we’d slept in. We’d done all those things that people with children seem to miss so passionately. We didn’t want those things anymore. We wanted a baby.

I remember thinking about how mothers were prepared to run into burning buildings to save their children’s lives. I thought I should be able to go through a bit more suffering, a bit more inconvenience to give my children life. It made me feel noble. But now I realize I’m a crazy woman running into a burning house for children who don’t exist. My children were never going to exist. They were always in my mind. That’s what’s so embarrassing about all this. Each time I sobbed for a lost baby, it was like sobbing over the end of a relationship when I’d never even gone out with the guy. My babies weren’t babies. They were just microscopic clusters of cells that weren’t ever going to be anything else. They were just my own desperate hopes. Dream babies.

And people have to give up on dreams. Aspiring ballet dancers have to accept that their bodies aren’t right for ballet. Nobody even feels that sorry for them. Oh, well, think of another job. My body isn’t right for babies. Bad luck.

At the pedestrian crossing I saw a pregnant woman, a woman pushing a pram, a woman holding a child’s hand. And I actually felt nothing, Dr. Hodges. Nothing! That’s a big thing for an Infertile—to see a pregnant woman and feel nothing. No knifein-the-stomach feeling of bitterness. No ugly envy twisting my mouth.

So here’s the funny thing.

I got home, and for once, Ben wasn’t in the garage working on his car. He was sitting at the kitchen table with paperwork spread out all around him, and I noticed his eyes were a bit red and puffy.

He said, “I’ve been thinking.”

I told him so had I, but he could go first.

He said he’d been thinking about what Alice had said last week and he’d decided she was one hundred percent right.

Oh, Alice.

Alice sat on the couch and watched Dominick using a helium tank to blow up blue and silver balloons. He and Jasper had finally got sick of breathing in the helium and talking in chipmunk voices. Jasper had laughed so hard at his dad squeakily singing “Over the Rainbow” that Alice had worried he might stop breathing. Now he was outside in the backyard, using a remote control to expertly operate a miniature helicopter.

“He’s very cute,” said Alice, watching him. She’d gathered that Jasper was in the same class as Olivia. Her daughter. The one with the fat blond pigtails.

“When he’s not being a psychotic monster,” said Dominick.

Alice laughed. Perhaps too much. She didn’t really get parent humor. Maybe he really was a psychotic monster and that wasn’t funny.