Back in her office, Marissa took out the card Linda had given her and called the number. A friendly female voice answered.

“Is this Resolve?” Marissa asked.

“Sure is,” the woman answered. “I’m Susan Walker. What can I do for you?”

“It was suggested I give you people a call,” Marissa said. “I’m involved with the in-vitro fertilization unit at the Women’s Clinic.”

“Staff or patient?” Susan asked.

“A patient,” Marissa said. “I’m on my fourth cycle.”

“Would you and your husband like to come to our next meeting?” Susan asked.

“My husband probably will refuse to come,” Marissa said, a bit embarrassed.

“Sounds familiar,” Susan said. “It happens with most couples. Husbands are reluctant until they come for one session. After that, most of them love it. That’s what happened with my own husband. He’ll be happy to call your husband to talk to him. He’s fairly persuasive.”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Marissa said quickly. She could just imagine Robert’s response if a stranger called up about a self-help infertility group. “I’ll speak with him myself. But if he doesn’t come, would it be awkward if I came by myself?”

“Heavens, no!” Susan said. “We’d love to have you. You’ll have plenty of company. There are a number of women currently going through IVF. Several of them will be solo as well.” She then gave Marissa the date and the directions.

Hanging up the phone, Marissa hoped the experience would be as rewarding as the session with Linda Moore. Although she had her doubts, she was willing to give it a try, mainly because of Linda’s recommendation. Donning a short white coat, Marissa went down to the main walk-in clinic area to try to earn some of the small salary she was still receiving.

After seeing a handful of children with runny noses, middle ear infections, and sore throats, Marissa found herself in an examination cubicle with an eight-month-old infant and a disinterested teenage mother.

“What’s the problem?” Marissa asked, even though she could see well enough herself. The child had a number of suppurating sores on his back and arms. In addition, he was filthy dirty.

“I dunno,” the mother said as she cracked her gum and stared around the room. “The kid cries all day long. He never shuts up.”

“When was the last time you bathed this infant?” Marissa demanded as she looked at the pustules. She guessed it was staph.

“Yesterday,” the mother said.

“Don’t give me that,” Marissa snapped. “This child hasn’t been bathed in a week, if then.”

“Maybe it was a few days ago,” the mother admitted.

Marissa was livid. She was tempted to tell the girl she wasn’t fit to be a mother. Resisting the impulse, she buzzed one of the nurses and asked her to come to the examination room.

“What’s up?” Amy Perkins asked.