2420 Ruby Lane

Chapter One

Dear Gil, I hope you’re doing well. I’m in London. I fed the pigeons at Trafalgar Square and walked over the Thames River. London is beautiful. It’s a huge city. I took the underground once but I prefer the double-decker busses. They take longer, but I get to see the city. Besides, I’m in no rush. Not anymore. Tonight I’ll watch a play, not sure which one. I’ll write again soon. Love, Rachel

Gil Miller lays the postcard on his desk and looks out the window: a stout middle-aged Hispanic woman is pushing a pink stroller toward the park’s playground. Thestroller is sturdy as a Hummer, thick wheels, wide handlebar. The woman parks thestroller by a bench. She reaches in and brings out a blonde baby girl.Gil wonders how many white nannies care for Latino babies. In Culver City CA,where a three-bedroom house goes for a million bucks, white mothers work as hard astheir husbands while pursuing the American Dream.Someone needs to mind the babies.1

He fiddles with the postcard and admires Rachel’s roundly precise, feminine penmanship. Rachel wanted a baby. He did too. After dating for three years, they decidedto get pregnant. A year passed and nothing happened while they tried to hide frustrationand disappointment.One evening, after they made love, Rachel cried. “I can’t do this anymore.”“Do what?” Gil asked, though he knew.She sat up on the bed. “I’m going to get checked.”He caressed her shoulder. “If that’s what you feel is right, then do it.”Rachel’s blue eyes narrowed. “I want you to go also.”“Oh . . .” Gil’s hand dropped from her shoulder.He feared the test results—a sterile man sentenced by evolution to never procreate, but he knew that Rachel wouldn’t let the subject go, so he capitulated—tryingto masturbate into a plastic cup while thumbing through a worn-out copy of Hustler. Hethought of the men before him who’d fondled the pages, and couldn’t get an erection. Heshut his eyes and imagined Rachel’s heavy breasts.A mixture of relief and concern accompanied the results: he was virile, which, insophomoric Alpha-male ways confirmed his masculinity, but that meant Rachel hadissues.Drumming his fingers on the desk, Gil recalls the teary-eyed day Rachel got thetest results. The twinkle in her eyes dimmed. She grew cold to his touch; she hated her body and didn’t want to feel pleasure.2

“How long is this gonna go on?” he asked a few weeks later while they sat at thekitchen table and ate takeout Chinese. Twilight had settled over the spring evening.Rachel gnawed on her lips and looked at the wall.“We can adopt,” Gil said. “I love you.”Rachel gnawed on her lips and crossed her arms. “How can you love me if I can’tgive you a child?”“Are you saying that love is only about having kids?”“I don’t know.” Rachel stood up. “I need to go away for a while.”“Go where?” he quivered. He couldn’t believe what was happening.Rachel ran her fingers through her dark hair. “I don’t know. I don’t know whatelse to do.”Gil tried to hug Rachel. Her body stiffened. He backed away and scowled. “Youdon’t love me anymore.”Rachel sighed and smiled sadly. “I don’t love

anymore.”Six years earlier he’d taken his last drink, and that night he almost broke hissobriety. He didn’t. Three days later, Rachel left the US.“I want to be a fly on the wall of humanity,” she said before boarding the plane.Then she hugged Gil for a long moment.“I’ll be here when you need me,” he whispered and kissed her neck. Sadnesstrickled from his heart into his stomach.Gil was convinced that if Rachel could love again, she would love him. Thethought of her sleeping with another man while they separated never crossed his mind.3