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run into her again.
    â€œO f course I remember you, Mr. Lundberg,” Mrs. Burchell, the caseworker from New Life Adoption Agency, assured him over the telephone. “It’s good to hear from you again.”
    Andrew rolled the mechanical pencil between his palms, praying he was doing the right thing. “I’d like to know how difficult it would be for my wife and me to resubmit our application.” He leaned against the back of his chair. Leah had been on his mind all day and he was worried about her.
    It was so unfair that they couldn’t have children. What troubled him most was that there didn’t seem to be any physical reason. They’d spent years, and thousands of dollars, working with fertility specialists. Leah’s life was governed by that ridiculous book she kept. He swore she’d documented her temperature every morning for the last seven years.
    Perhaps if they’d been able to pinpoint the problem as his, Leah might have been able to accept their situation.
    â€œI have your file right here,” the caseworker went on to say. “I know you and your wife were terribly disappointed when Melinda Phillips decided to rescind the adoption of her infant son. It doesn’t happen often, but unfortunately these girls do change their minds.”
    â€œI understand,” Andrew said, not wanting to rehash the details. Having the birth mother change her mind had been much harder on Leah than on him. They’d gone to the hospital, their hearts filled with joy, only to return empty-handed an hour later. Afterward Leah had sat for hours alone in the nursery they’d so lovingly prepared. Nothing Andrew could say reached her. He’d been disappointed too and for a while there’d been a strain between them. Then one day he returned home from the office and discovered that Leah had dismantled the nursery. She calmly announced that she’d withdrawn their application from New Life and that they’d simply wait for her to become pregnant and bear a child of their own. She refused to subject them to that kind of torment again.
    â€œI’ll be happy to resubmit your names,” Mrs. Burchell said, “but I must warn you there are fewer babies available for adoption now than before.”
    â€œHow long would you predict?”
    The caseworker hesitated. “I can’t really say. It’s different with every couple.”
    â€œWhat about the Watcombs?” Andrew asked. “We went through the orientation classes with them three years ago.”
    â€œAh, yes, the Watcombs. Jessie and Ken, am I right?”
    â€œYes. Has their adoption gone through?”
    â€œNot yet, but we’re hopeful we’ll have an infant for them soon.”
    Andrew’s hopes plummeted. The Watcombs were special people and he couldn’t imagine any young mother not choosing them to rear her child.
    â€œYou were in the same orientation class as the Sterlings, weren’t you?”
    Andrew allowed the name to filter through his mind. “He was a fireman as I recall.”
    â€œThat’s the couple. They adopted a baby girl last October.”
    â€œThat’s wonderful.”
    â€œI thought you’d be pleased.”
    He was, of course, but a small part of him couldn’t help being envious. Leah desperately wanted a child, and in an effort to reassure her he’d downplayed his own desire for a family. He loved his wife and would give anything for them to have a child.
    â€œDo you still want me to resubmit your name?” Mrs. Burchell asked after a moment’s silence.
    â€œPlease,” he said, his hand tightening around the receiver. If it took another five years or more, then that was just how long they’d need to wait. That he was doing this behind Leah’s back didn’t sit well with him, but some action needed to be taken, and this seemed the most logical choice. If they were chosen by a birth mother again, then