Vada Faith by Barbara A. Whittington Page B

insemination?”
    “I’m ready,” I said. “I think I am, anyway. I’m nervous.”
    “There’s no need to be nervous. The insemination itself is painless.” He handed me an information sheet. “You need to read this over carefully as it explains the procedure. All very simple and straightforward. Afterwards we’ll want you to rest for a bit here in the clinic and then you’ll be free to go. You do know, it may take more than one time for you to get pregnant?”
    “Yes,” I said, keeping my eyes on the clock behind his head to avoid looking at the diagram he’d given me.
    As I left his office it hit me that this was it. I was going through with it.
    Before long I’d be inseminated with another man’s sperm. Someone besides my husband. If I got pregnant I’d carry a baby for nine months. Then when it was born I’d hand it over to this childless couple. A couple I barely knew.
    Immediately, I squashed the thought.
    Driving home I kept saying to myself, “I’m going to have a baby for Roy and Dottie Kilgore. I’m going to have a baby for Roy and Dottie Kilgore.”
    Though I repeated it a dozen times it still didn’t seem real.

Chapter Eight
    A few days later as I snapped the last roller in place on Dorene Moon’s fat gray head I looked up to see Dottie coming in the shop door. She waved.
    “Hey Dottie,” I said, “be with you in a minute.” I settled Dorene under the dryer and gave her the Star, her favorite tabloid. She’d stay put until I reclaimed her, even if it was a week later. It took almost that long to dry her thick hair. She had been our very first customer and had a standing weekly appointment.
    “Can you work me in?” Dottie asked, when I made my way up to the counter. I picked up the appointment book which was buried beneath a stack of orange flyers Midgy Brown had dropped off. She was advertising for volunteers to help her clean up the cemetery that had been vandalized.
    “Sure,” I said, knowing I’d be sorry later in the day as busy as we already were. I penciled her in anyway. “What do you need?”
    “Everything.” She seemed to deflate in front of my eyes. “A cut. A perm. Some color.” She held up her hands and examined her nails. “I could use a good manicure, too. I’m a mess, honey. A real nervous mess.”
    “Gee,” I said, watching her chew on a nail, “I’m busy. I can give you a shampoo and trim. Maybe use the curling iron. I don’t have time for much else.”
    I looked over at my sister for some help, but she was busy at her own station. She frowned and shook her head.
    “Saturdays are hectic, Dottie.” I closed the appointment book. If I hurried I could squeeze her in.
    “Fine,” she said, giving a long desolate sigh, “do whatever you can.” She plopped down in my chair and I had no choice but to put a cape around her neck and lead her over to the row of sinks. I gave the quickest shampoo of my career.
    “I just came from the mall,” she said, settling again in my chair. She frowned at herself in the mirror as I toweled her wet hair. “Every woman there was pregnant.” She turned around in the chair to face me. “You don’t believe me, do you, Vada Faith? Roy never believes me either.” She faced the mirror again and I noticed the dark circles under her eyes. “Well, they were. Everyone there was pregnant. Even the old women. From the very young to the very old. All of them carrying a baby inside them.”
    “I hadn’t noticed,” I said, running my fingers through her hair. I wasn’t sure what she expected me to say. “How about some conditioner? Your hair seems a bit damaged.”
    “Damaged?” She reached up and felt her hair. “It would be.” She shook her head. “Damaged. Can you beat that? Even my hair is damaged.”
    “What’re you saying?” I asked, stopping to look closely at her.
    “I can’t have children,” she said. “I’m damaged. Unlike you and every other woman on the planet.”
    “Every woman I know can’t have