“So this is an ‘unforeseen circumstance’?”
“Certainly, it would fall easily within an ‘unforeseen circumstance.’ We share your concerns.”
“No you don’t. You can’t. You’re protecting your donor. My wife is pregnant. We’re the ones left holding the bag, so to speak.”
Christine cringed, hearing the way Marcus talked. She never thought about the baby that way. She didn’t know he thought about it that way.
“Let me ask you this,” Marcus was saying. “How long have you been using Donor 3319’s sperm?”
“We don’t disclose that information.”
“What about other women who use his sperm? There have to be others.”
“We don’t disclose that information, either. I will tell you that we are generally conservative in the number of vials we sell from a given donor.”
“Does Homestead have to notify those women if Donor 3319 is Jeffcoat? Will you notify us?”
Demipetto hesitated. “This is beyond my bailiwick, Mr. Nilsson. I doubt that we have a notification requirement with respect to a situation like this, where a donor is arrested for a crime.”
“Not just a crime, the serial killing of three women. Nurses, and he said he was going to be a medical student. Don’t you think we have a right to know that? Don’t you think we have a right to be informed?”
“Your rights are outlined by contract-”
“I’m not talking about law, I’m talking about what’s the right thing to do. How do you feel about yourself, knowing that you’re withholding an answer I have a moral right to know? That I deserve to know? It’s the truth, and you don’t own it!”
“Mr. Nilsson, please hold a moment.”
Marcus held on as the phone went dead, seeming not to remember Christine was in the bedroom. The phone clicked, signaling that Ms. Demipetto had come back on the line.
“Mr. Nilsson, I have to terminate this conversation. As you may know, Homestead is owned and operated by Fertility Assurance Associates, Inc., and I can have a representative call you tomorrow during office-”
“Don’t hang up. I want to talk about this now. I don’t want-”
“I’m sorry. I’ve been instructed to refer this to our corporate headquarters. I can assure you that we are following up on your concerns, and we will have someone contact you.”
“Did they tell you not to talk to me?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Nilsson. I must go. Thank you for your call, and I’ll have someone get back to you tomorrow. Good-bye.”
Marcus hung up, pursing his lips. “I’m calling the doctor. I’m going to get to the bottom of this, once and for all.”
Christine nodded, numbly, her heart sinking, but Marcus was already scrolling through the contacts, finding a number, and pressing CALL.
“Hi, Dr. Davidow, this is Marcus Nilsson, with Christine on speaker.”
“Hi, Marcus, hi, Christine.”
“Hi,” Christine said, noting the difference in Dr. Davidow’s voice from earlier this evening. Before, he had sounded warm, lively, and interested, but now he sounded tense, worried.
“Dr. Davidow, I know you spoke with Christine today about Donor 3319. I see his sample has been taken off the shelves. Do you know why?”
“I did speak with Lee Ann at Homestead tonight. I was just about to call you-”
“And what did she tell you?”
“She said they would take 3319 off the shelves, pending investigation. I told her that was the most prudent course of action, and they agreed, out of an abundance of caution.”
“So is our donor Zachary Jeffcoat?”
“I don’t know, but the fact that 3319 was taken off the shelves does not mean that he’s Jeffcoat. Homestead took it off pending their investigation-”
“Doc, is it him or not?” Marcus raised his voice, still controlled.
“They won’t confirm or deny.”
“Level with me. They won’t tell you? They’re your subcontractor, for God’s sake!”
Dr. Davidow cleared his throat. “I know this is hard to understand, but they can’t disclose that information to me. They have a legal relationship to the donors and it’s sacred to them.”
“Do you really not know, or you don’t want to know?”
“I don’t know. I did ask them, but they wouldn’t confirm or deny.”
Christine slumped against the headboard, noticing that Murphy had crawled over to her, resting his head on her thigh. She put her hand on his soft, furry head, not knowing who was comforting whom.
“Dr. Davidow, did they do an investigation after they spoke with you but before they took him off the shelves?”
“I don’t know that.”
“Did they take him off the shelf while you were speaking with them?”
“No. 3319 was available when we were on the phone, and we spoke for maybe fifteen minutes, about a half hour or so ago. I don’t know when 3319 was taken off the shelves, but it was still available when I was speaking with them, so I’m sure it was in response to my call.”
“Doesn’t that mean it’s him?”
“No, it doesn’t. It means they’re going to investigate.”
“But how much investigation can it take? They have the guy’s name on file. It takes three minutes to look at a file.”
“No, Marcus, I’m sure the files concerning the identity of the donors are protected, if not encrypted. Not everyone in the Homestead office may have access. The assistant director may not even have access. We don’t know.”
“Okay, that I’ll buy.” Marcus stopped pacing, then nodded.
“Look, I’ve never had this situation before, or anything like it. I care about you and Christine, and I think you should come in tomorrow and we can talk this over.”
“Are they going to call you back and tell you the results of their investigation?”
“No they’re not. I asked them to and they declined.”
“But I have a right to know that information.” Marcus started pacing again. The dog swiveled his head around, watching him, too.
“It’s not a question of whether you have that right. It’s a question of what Homestead is obligated legally to tell you. Look, I just got off the phone with Michelle. I think you both should come have a session with her, at four o’clock.”
“I don’t need a therapy session, I need an answer. My wife could be carrying the baby of a serial killer.”
Christine felt the words like a blow. Hearing Marcus say it aloud made it so real. Tears sprang to her eyes. It was real. It was true. And she was lost, all was lost. Her dream of motherhood, of parenthood, of their new family, was over. Her thoughts raced. She knew Marcus would never think of the baby as his, would never see himself as the father, and the baby’s father was a killer, a murderer. But she was carrying the baby, it was still her baby, and she and the baby were all alone, on their own. She was holding the bag.
Marcus and Dr. Davidow kept talking on the phone, but their voices grew far away. Christine couldn’t hear anything they were saying, she couldn’t feel the dog’s head under her palm. Marcus was turning toward her, his forehead buckling in alarm, but she couldn’t speak. The bedroom fell away, the heavenly blue walls and soft lamplights vanished, and she felt herself slipping into blackness.
She didn’t have another thought before she fainted dead away.
Chapter Seven
The entrance hall buzzed with last-day activity as Christine entered the school building. Teachers’ aides hustled back and forth to the office with forms, workmen rolled handcarts of taped boxes toward trucks idling outside, and two kindergarten teachers, Linda Cohen and Melissa DiMarco, hurried to the office, looking over, grinning, when they spotted Christine.