Indie Page 99 discussion

Title: A Whisper to a Scream
Author: Karen Wojcik Berner
Genres: Literary Fiction, Drama, Women's Fiction
2006 © Karen Berner, all rights reserved

Ovulation detectors. Hormone surges. Anxiety-ridden dreams. This is the world in which Annie Jacobs is thrust when she and her husband John receive a diagnosis of unexplained infertility. A 37-year old PR executive, Annie has wanted to be a mother since she first cuddled her Baby Tenderlove at age five. She is dreading another Christmas of relatives asking when they will be hearing the pitter patter of little feet, and Uncle Joe slapping John on the back, telling him to relax and take a cruise. Lots of people get pregnant on vacation, you know.

Across town, stay-at-home mom of two, Sarah Anderson, attempts grocery shopping with a toddler intent on hurling items from the cart at passersby. She notices a box of rice heading straight for a pink-babushkaed head. Leaping across the aisle, Sarah grabs it, saving the woman from certain doom, or at least a minor head injury. Little Alex screams at being thwarted. The unknowing octogenarian shakes her head and admonishes Sarah for not knowing how to keep her child quiet in public.

"A Whisper to a Scream" is the story of two women on opposite ends of the child-bearing spectrum who come to realize the grass is not necessarily greener on the other side of the fence. A vivid portrayal of contemporary marriage and its problems, the novel speaks to a longing in all of us, a yearning that might start as a vague notion, but eventually grows into an unbearable, vociferous cry.

Page 99: John and Annie prepare to tell John's family they have received a diagnosis of unexplained infertility.



John and Annie walked up the steps to the house in which he and his sisters grew up, “Excessive Estrogen Manor.” It was a three-bedroom, two-bath raised ranch, meticulously manicured on the outside. A goose statue sat to the left of the stairs next to a flower pot that always contained some sort of pink flower, except for last Fall, when June had to settle for a very light purple mum.

Everyone would be here today. John’s sister, Joy, had married Geoff, who wished his name were spelled “J-e-f-f” like most normal men, but, since he was stuck with it and with all of the associations with the toy store mascot giraffe, Geoff was hell bent on naming his children distinctive, but not goofy, names. His efforts at originality were thwarted, however, when he learned through Joy that there were three Caitlyns and four Sophies in the twins’ Mini-Gym class at the Park District.

John’s other sister, Julie, wed the ass-in-law. John had called him thus almost since their first meeting and, consequently, could never remember his real first name. Annie reminded him it was Ralph each time before they saw Julie. Julie and ass-in-law begot three children: Boston, Madison and Austin, all of whom were named for the cities they were conceived in. Annie wished them no more children, not from any jealousy, but because she could not stand her future niece or nephew to be called Downer’s Grove, their current place of residence.

“Hello, John, darling.” June gave him a kiss on the cheek, then wiped away the bubble- gum-colored lipstick off of his face with her handkerchief. Annie slid in behind John just in case June temporarily lost her mind and tried to kiss her too. Of course, that would be ridiculous. In all their fifteen years of marriage, June never kissed her. Not even the social “welcome to my house” peck on the check most people offered, sometimes even to strangers. The only time Annie and June had physical contact was on Annie’s wedding day, when the photographer forced June to put her arm around Annie for the family photo. To this day, that picture still makes Annie a bit queasy.

“Oh, hi, um, Annie.” June gestured for Annie to come in. “Hi, June. How are you?”

“Fine, thank you. John, I’ve got to show you my new toy. It’s in the basement.” June took her son by the arm, escorting him downstairs and leaving Annie in the foyer, green bean casserole still in her arms.

The house was unusually quiet. Annie supposed everyone was in the basement. She walked into the kitchen, which was painted a light blue and had mauve hearts on the boarder above the oak cabinets. A huge hen with two fake eggs sat in the middle of the kitchen table. Various other fowl were strewn about. The curtains were blue gingham checks with small pink hearts to echo the boarder.

Annie put her dish into the refrigerator, which was covered with grandchildren photos. The twins smiling on their tricycles. Austin suited up for the Naperville Youth Football League. Boston dressed like a snowball from last year’s Christmas pageant. Madison, red and wrinkly, in her newborn picture. Annie liked the kids. They provided a welcome distraction from their mothers’ insipid conversation. There was one photo she had never noticed before, in the upper left-hand corner of the freezer. Who was that? He looked familiar. Light brown hair. About eight years old. Is that John? Then she paused, trying to guess if any of John’s siblings were also there.


A Whisper To A Scream

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Hi-lar-i-ous! Ass-in-law and the over-populated fridge photos hits way too close to home, so naturally, I love it (I was once told I was selfish for having only one child and wanting to do my own thing...to each their own, follow your bliss, whatever...)

Thanks, Laura.