A Miracle

Abstract

I didn’t tell Erika very much about the seminar and the conference. I couldn’t bring myself to admit to her that all our hopes had been dashed. I couldn’t tell her how badly I had failed. I also dreaded my next meeting with Gordon. I had let him down. I had imagined a triumphal march down Palisades Avenue to Gordon’s house to the sound of cheering crowds and popping champagne corks. In our time together, we had already had much to celebrate—mastering a difficult research paper, completing the proof of a theorem, the acceptance of a paper for publication. But there was nothing to celebrate now. I had pain to share, and I wanted to spare him, and myself. On the day of our usual meeting, I walked down Palisades Avenue accompanied by no sound but my beating heart. I reached the house and stepped up onto the porch, and then I froze. I must have stood for five full minutes staring at the heavy oak door before I could muster the courage to press the doorbell. I felt as if I had arrived at my own funeral. What was I going to say?