“You’re not that old. But you know all this. I’m afraid I can’t recommend you for insemination at this time.”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve. You can’t recommend me?”
“If you’re familiar with our website, as you said you were, you’d know our process. We don’t just sell sperm. Some of our donors want to be involved in their offspring’s life. Some of them don’t. Have you decided how you’d like this to work? Do you want a donor that is in your child’s life? Do you want your child to be able to find their biological father if they wish to?”
I swallow.
“Just as I thought. I’m not trying to be disrespectful, Rory. Truly I’m not. But if you haven’t given all these things some thought, you’re just not ready for this.”
I turn then. I turn without saying thank you. Without saying anything. I walk away from Davey, who isn’t nearly as attractive to me now. And I walk away from Western Slope Family Planning.
My next stop is a drugstore. Where I buy an ovulation kit. I’m not sure the pharmacy in Snow Creek even sells ovulation kits, but if they do, I can’t be seen buying it there. People will talk.
People always talk.
I tamp down the feeling that Davey is right, that I’m not as ready for this as I think I am.
I want a child, damn it. And I want it with Brock.
He hasn’t called me.
So what? Maybe I’ll call him.
And damn it, I will get him into bed with me.
Chapter Eighteen
Brock
“I did some research,” Dale says, handing Donny and me each a face mask. “This will help with the smell.”
“Oh?” I say.
“Yeah. It’s made with activated charcoal, which will catch the organic vapors caused by the rotting flesh. It will help us get through this without puking our guts out.”
“Right.” He’s talking about me, of course. I’m the one who retched last time. Dale and Donny are stronger than I am.
They’ve been through so much more.
We’ve unloaded the ladders already, along with the tools. Now, all that’s left is to enter the barn, take down the ceiling, and—
I place the mask over my nose and mouth.
It doesn’t stop the gagging.
I swallow down the nausea. It’s time to be strong. Time to be a man, as my father would say.
Time to be a man, son.
How many times has he said those words to Brad and me over the years? He was a good father, but he was strict and hard on us.
“There’s no place for weakness on a ranch,” he used to say. “No place for weakness and no place for crybabies.”
He was speaking more to Brad than to me. Brad was the one who wore his emotions on his sleeve. Brad’s personality is more like Mom’s, where mine is more like Dad’s.
Which is both good and bad.
If my father were here, would he be gagging at the thought of what we were about to do?
I don’t know.
I’m wondering whether I know my father at all.
The three of us stand about fifteen feet away from the barn in question. Not one of us makes any attempt to move.
Finally, Dale takes a step forward. “We have to do this, guys. We don’t have a choice.”
I regard my cousin. His long blond hair is pulled back in a low ponytail, and a Colorado Rockies cap sits on his head. He’s dressed in old jeans and cowboy boots, same as Donny and me, but he has a different air about him.
He’s determined.
And I must get determined as well.
I take a step forward.
Then Donny does the same.
One by one, we each take one step, wait a few moments, and then take another.
The barn doesn’t seem to be getting any closer, until suddenly the door is right at my face. It’s cracked open.
“Watch out for dog shit,” Donny says.
“That’s why I wore these old shitty boots,” I reply.
One of my oldest pair of working boots, they’ve certainly seen their share of shit. Cow shit, mostly, but a little horse shit and dog shit as well.
I slide the door open.
We have flashlights, but the sun is high in the sky, and it shines through the cracks. Still, we need our lights.
Dale secures a lamp on his head. “Sorry,” he says. “I should’ve gotten one of these for the rest of you.”
“No worries,” Donny says. “Let’s just get this over with.”
I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until I suck in a gasp. The charcoal mask helps, though I can still smell the sweetness of human decay. I believe that odor will always be with me. Sometimes at night, when I’m alone in my bedroom, I can still smell it.
I look above me, scan my flashlight across the ceiling. Nothing. Nothing to indicate that there might be human bodies up there.
“Now or never,” Dale says, positioning a ladder. “Let’s get this show on the road.”