And it was time to go home.
Epilogue
It was a typical January in Connecticut, and the third winter storm of the season blew outside, hard enough to rattle the windows in the house. Snow buried main roads, covered rooftops and cars, and burdened tree branches and power lines, but Christine felt safe and warm, cocooned inside their bedroom. Marcus had insisted that they buy a generator, not wanting to take any chances with a power outage since the arrival of one Brian Paul Nilsson, currently nine pounds, two ounces, born two weeks ago with a smile on his face.
And everyone else’s, too.
Christine’s labor had gone as well as could be expected for the most excruciating pain any woman would ever have, but Marcus had cheered her on, telling her when to push and when not to and cutting the umbilical cord after baby Brian had made his entrance, so quietly that they both worried something had gone wrong. Brian had burst into lusty crying soon enough, and Christine got to be in the other scene she’d always dreamed about, the one with the new mom lying exhausted and sweaty after labor, holding an adorably weighty package of person, who had blue eyes, cute little lips, and enough brown hair on his head to qualify as a fright wig.
The memory lingered happily as she lay in bed, in the middle of the night, the bedroom dark except for the TV, where a bundled-up meteorologist stuck a yardstick into a massive snowdrift. She kept the TV tuned to the Weather Channel these days, sitting out the endless cycle of bad news on CNN and the like. She had seen enough violence for an entire lifetime, and she still couldn’t get the images out of her mind, popping into her consciousness when she least expected it, like a mental ambush. She took comfort in knowing that the authorities had more than ample proof that Dom Gagliardi had murdered Gail Robinbrecht, Susan Allen-Bogen, and Lynn McLeane; there had been horrifyingly incriminating photos in his computer, and they’d found so-called “trophies” he kept from all three nurses, which the police did not reveal to her, and she didn’t need to know more. Zachary had been set free, returning to his job at Brigham and saving for medical school with renewed determination.
Christine thought of him from time to time, even now, and though the entire episode had been awful, it had been a blessing in disguise. Marcus had been right that they weren’t back at square one, because without what happened with Zachary in Pennsylvania, she and Marcus never would have gotten their marriage back on track, and Marcus would never have embraced the baby the way he had, from the moment Brian was born. A new father was born that very day, too, and the truth came out in the open, never to be denied again, even to Brian himself, when the time came.
Christine counted her blessings, lying there in the darkness, knowing even as she was living it that this was another scene from a movie she’d always wanted to be in, where the father was taking a nighttime feeding with the baby, using her pumped breast milk. He was trying to give her a break to sleep, but she couldn’t and didn’t even want to, savoring the sweetness of the moment. Through the baby monitor, she could hear Marcus humming his little Swedish folksong as he rocked the baby in the nursery. The very sound brought tears to her eyes, and Christine didn’t know how she got so lucky, or so blessed.
She looked forward to the other scenes she’d always hoped she’d be in: the one with Brian’s first steps, then when he went to kindergarten, when he read his first Dr. Seuss book, when he met his first girlfriend, then went to prom and college, and on and on and on, in the series of scenes that are the expectations every parent has, in the movies we make of our own lives. Christine knew that some of her expectations would be met, some maybe even surpassed, and still others would go very differently from the way she’d expected, but she was ready for everything that came their way.
What she had wanted the most was a child, perfect in all its imperfections, and she had gotten what she wished for.
In fact, she had gotten something even better.
A family.
Acknowledgments
I have been wanting to write about a teacher for a long time. I feel as if educators don’t get the credit they deserve, and the more teachers I meet, the more amazed and impressed I am by their energy, dedication, and heart. I feel like they are true heroes, so it was natural for me to finally make a heroine out of one, the fictional Christine Nilsson, and I hope that by doing so, we can shine a spotlight on teachers everywhere.
The first thanks go to teachers, for all they do for all of us, and especially to Kellie Bean, a reading specialist in the Owen J. Roberts School District. Kellie took me to an elementary school, introduced me to all of her amazing colleagues, and answered every question I had about life as a teacher. I am so grateful to Kellie for the time she took and for her sharing all of her expertise with me. I like her so much and admire her even more, and she deserves major thanks here. And thanks to Malinda McKillip, principal of French Creek Elementary in the Owen J. Roberts School District.
On a different point, I loved writing this novel partly because I learned so much about the subject of infertility and its treatments, as well as the emotional difficulties that people who have fertility issues undergo. For that I turned to a number of experts, and I would like to acknowledge them. It should go without saying, but it never does, that all of the doctors, medical professionals, and medical clinics in the novel are entirely fictional, and also that any and all mistakes in the novel are mine.
Thank you to Dr. Michael Glassner, Dr. John Orris, and Dr. Sharon Anderson of Main Line Fertility Clinic, who spent so much time educating me about infertility and its treatments. They are simply the most dedicated and caring professionals you can ever imagine, and they perform miracles every day. I couldn’t be more grateful or respect them more, and they deserve big thanks here. And thanks to Liz Verrecchio, andrologist, and Anne Yarrow Walters, insurance specialist, also at Main Line Fertility, for all of their help. Plus Raisinets!
Thank you to Dr. Andrea Boxer and to Dr. Judy Mechanic Braverman, both of whom are psychologists who specialize in treating couples dealing with infertility. Both of these incredible women shared their expertise and their kindness with me, helping me understand what it would be like to be in the position of the main characters in this novel. I am indebted to them, and thank them very much.
Thank you to Rose Jardine, an experienced genetics counselor, who helped me understand the genetics behind sperm and egg donation. Thank you to Dr. Allison Shirker of Women’s Health Care Group of Pennsylvania.
Special thanks to John Bierkan-and Smartie Martie!
Finally, I’m a bookaholic, so I read a lot which I hoped informed this novel. (As the reading specialists say, first you learn to read, then you read to learn.) I heartily recommend the following books: The Root Cause: Male Infertility and How to Get Past It by Gabriel Leone, Test Tubes and Testosterone: A Man’s Journey into Infertility and IVF by Michael Saunders, How to Make Love to a Plastic Cup: A Guy’s Guide to the World of Infertility by Greg Wolfe, What to Expect When You’re Expecting by Heidi Murkoff, Finding Our Families by Wendy Kramer and Naomi Cahn, Taking Charge of Your Fertility by Toni Weschler, and The Serial Killer Files by Harold Schechter.
I’m a lawyer, but criminal law wasn’t my field. I needed help and I turned to my dear friend, as well as a brilliant and dedicated public servant, Nicholas Casenta, Esq., chief of the Chester County District Attorney’s Office. Nick has helped me with every single book so far, and I wouldn’t dream of writing without his advice and expertise. Special thanks as well to Jerry Dugan, Esq., one of the most experienced lawyers in Philadelphia, who helped me navigate the legal details in the book.