I blew my nose hard.
“It’s not a consolation,” Dr. Grovit sympathized, “but Katrina is fine. False labor. You can bring her home within the hour. She’s got a good two weeks ahead of her.”
“Thanks for seeing her,” I said, and then added, “I know she’s not your patient.” He wasn’t even an obstetrician, just an old-school doctor who believed the Hippocratic Oath preempted health care protocol. The type of doctor who responded without hesitation when a stranger yelled, “Is there a doctor in the house?” Based on the account from Charlie, who seemed to be channeling Sissie from Gone with the Wind, Dr. Grovit still had a few tricks up his sleeve. Apparently he examined Katrina right on his office couch, bypassing any form of hospital registration.
Dr. Grovit reached for his prescription pad. “Of course, Charlie might require sedation,” he said, smirking.
I honked through a laugh. “I think he’s got that covered on his own.” I tossed my soggy tissue in the basket.
“You two aren’t still dating, are you?” Dr. Grovit asked.
“No, but nice recall.” Dr. Grovit’s memory impressed me. Charlie and I hadn’t dated seriously since college … with a few hook-ups along the way. Most recently, after Teddy died. Charlie was a tough habit to break.
“I do remember when you were about sixteen and you asked me for birth control.” Dr. Grovit raised an eyebrow. “We had a nice long talk.”
“Now you’re embarrassing me.”
“Then I guess there’s no harm in asking if there’s someone new in the picture?”
Had someone else asked, I might have balked, but Dr. Grovit was like family. He had also been connected professionally to my brother and father, since they had all been employed by the Sound View Labs. Dr. Grovit took Teddy’s death hard. He felt terribly responsible for the dysfunctional environment my father had created at the labs. Dr. Grovit and Teddy had worked together, peers and pawns in my father’s twisted world of DNA manipulation.
I appreciated Dr. Grovit’s concern for me and my family. I had been an especially difficult teenager, and it amazed me that after years of my antisocial antics, he remained surprisingly neutral toward me. Unfortunately, I’d tested every boundary as a teen, single-handedly driving my parents bananas. Once I had mastered the standard teen fare—staying out past curfew, skipping school, and drinking—I cranked it up a notch. My adherence to Freeganism, a philosophy that elevates garbage to God status, seemed insane at the time, but Dr. Grovit never failed to interpret my actions with an eye to the big picture.
“She’s got character,” Dr. Grovit reminded my parents after they’d considered the possibility of an Outward Bound program that required more vaccinations than I had available skin on my arms. “Let her express herself.”
“I am seeing someone,” I admitted. A bit of blood surfaced on my injured finger. I reached for another tissue. “It’s a little complicated.”
“Try me.”
Without hesitation, I fessed up. “I’m dating Detective Frank DeRosa.”
Dr. Grovit’s mouth remained open until I spoke again.
“I don’t disappoint, do I?”
Dr. Grovit’s face struggled between disappointment and mild amusement. It’s the look a parent gives a child when the child curses inappropriately at exactly the right moment. “Mommy said you left the fucking sprinkler on all night.”
“You realize that if we play out your father’s original intent seventeen years ago, you may actually have a child out there.” Dr. Grovit leaned across his cluttered desk, clearing a narrow path. He tilted his nose forward to peer through smudged glasses.
Bring it on Doc, I thought. And while you’re at it, take my sketchbook filled with children’s faces and burn it.
“Tell me about it. I still can’t sleep,” I confirmed. “It’s killing me.”
Dr. Grovit lowered his head. “It’s my greatest professional regret. I was there. I should have asked more questions.”
“It’s not your fault. No one could have stopped my father.”
“Just to be clear,” Dr. Grovit said, “Frank does understand that your father removed your egg and Teddy’s sperm against your will, and that the result of that procedure is unknown?” Dr. Grovit removed his glasses. “We have no proof, but given your father’s objective to conduct a long-term DNA study, there is a possibility that your egg was fertilized with your brother’s sperm. If that, in fact happened, Frank would be the child’s uncle.”
The only saving grace in this insane scenario was that Teddy and I were not actually related. If there were a child, at the least I was comforted by the fact it wouldn’t have two heads.
“Does Frank understand this?” Dr. Grovit repeated.
“Only in the context of a story. It’s not real for him.” I swallowed hard. Specks of blood were staining my tissue. “He never met Teddy. At this point, he can’t grasp that Teddy was his brother. I feel like he has to come to terms with his own story before I try to change the ending by throwing a kid into the mix.”
“How would you categorize your relationship?”
Before I could stop myself I said, “Tense.”
“That doesn’t sound like much fun.”
“Scratch that,” I corrected. “I think we jumped in too fast.” It was true. We both fell hard and without thinking twice, Frank transferred from a county police position to the Cold Spring Harbor local force. Suddenly, he was around all the time. “We realized there was baggage, it started to get in the way, and now we’ve stepped back.” I stopped speaking. I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to tell Dr. Grovit.
“You’ll feel better when you finish your sentence.”
“I really love Frank and he loves me, but we were intimate too quickly.”
“Then I think stepping back was a very mature decision.”
“We’re trying.”
Dr. Grovit wobbled his head like a turkey until he caught my evasive eye. “It’s devastating to lose a sibling,” he counseled. “For many people, it’s more damaging than losing a parent, because a parent’s death is expected. However, discovering after his death that you were not genetically related to your sibling might break some people.”
Oh, I’m pretty sure I’m broken, I thought. And now that Bob was dead, my mobility was also in question.
“Constance.”
I looked away.
“I know you’re thinking of witty comebacks, but I need to ask you something: is it possible your attraction to Frank is a case of transference?”
Nothing like having your psyche called out on the carpet. Dr. Grovit’s suggestion was more than possible. The idea that I inadvertently transferred the love for my brother to Frank was entirely credible. In fact, when I wasn’t bogged down by thoughts of potentially having a child I’d never met, I was hitting my mental rewind, dissecting the night I’d met Detective Frank DeRosa. It was unforgettable, being
the same night I learned of my brother’s death. Frank came to Harbor House in his capacity as a police officer to deliver the tragic news.
Like the scene from The Wizard of Oz when Dorothy’s house is tossed into the air, Harbor House had exploded into chaos. Charlie, my brother’s best friend, had passed out upon hearing the tragic news. Katrina and Jonathan were hysterical. My father appeared to have a sudden onset of Asperger’s. My mother was soused and not even in attendance. The only two people forming coherent sentences had been me and Frank. My feelings toward him were instantaneous. I hated him, this cold, logical bearer of bad news. Come to find out, love and hate hold the same intensity for me, just at opposite ends of the spectrum. Maybe cupid was posing as the devil that night a year ago.
I offered Dr. Grovit my full face. He deserved it. “All I can tell you is that I had strong feelings for Frank before I knew he was related to my brother.”
“You’ve had a long day, CeCe,” Dr. Gro
vit said. “Get some sleep.”
It had been a long day. One moment I was selling jelly in a parking lot, and the next I was hurdling into a mound of garbage in search of a body. Dr. Grovit was right. I needed sleep.
nine
saturday, april 19
“On this day last year, Teddy was still alive,” I announced.
Frank and I sat on the front porch of the Harbor House. Despite a solid eight hours of sleep, the events of the previous day had worn me out. I was cranky and looking for a fight. Mentioning Teddy was mean and unnecessary, yet for some reason I desperately needed Frank to talk about Teddy.
Pots of herbs baked in the sun. Frank ignored me, and my mind drifted to Bob. I grabbed a watering can and tried to drown some innocent basil sprouts.
“I went by Barbara’s last night,” Frank said. “Maybe you could stop by later.”
“Some life you got there, Detective,” I said. “Show up at people’s doors to tell them they’ve lost a loved one.”
“I’ll never get used to it.”
“Have you considered a new and improved version? Like ringing a doorbell to tell a family you’ve found their long-lost loved one?”
Frank got up from his chair to check out the herbs. He squatted and pinched back the leggy basil stems. He squeezed a little too hard, and a wad of dirt landed on the porch. Now I’d pissed him off.
“Frank,” I apologized, “I’m sorry.” It sounded more like, Frank, you jerk, I’m kidding.
Frank turned his back and reached for his iPad, a form of electronic avoidance. I guessed this was the part where he stuck his head in work-related nonsense until I did something sweet. I kicked the ball of dirt away. It was a start.
“Here,” he said and pointed to his screen. An article from The New York Times about fertility centers filled the screen. I skimmed the page quickly until a date caught my attention.
“This is from the mid-nineties,” I commented.
Frank highlighted the fifth clinic on the list, a facility called Lifely. He dropped the company name in the search box.
I slid the rocking chair next to Frank. “Is this you helping me?”
“This is me helping us.”
“I like that,” I said. I held firm on his gaze. He knew I was secreting away every last detail of his facial features. If you truly want to capture a face, the subtleties paint the picture. DaVinci was good, but he certainly didn’t capture Mona’s smirk in one sitting. My guess is he analyzed dozens, maybe hundreds of women’s faces, stockpiling expressions like logs of seasoned firewood.
Frank gave me my time, and I overdosed on each and every pore on his face. His expression was, well, frank, and I loved him for it. He could be ornery, curt, doubting, short-tempered, and cynical, but when Frank DeRosa was on your side, he was 100 percent yours. An online dating site couldn’t have done a better job with their fancy dating algorithms; Frank was it for me.
“Are you thinking there’s a connection between this fertility clinic and my father?”
Frank Googled the clinic name again, this time with an ampersand, followed by Dr. William Prentice. The results linked to a newsletter dated 1995 and an article exploring advanced procedures offered at the clinic.
“Your father is quoted in the article,” Frank said, “on the topic of fertility enhancements.”
“He’s been quoted in every medical journal and translated into hundreds of languages,” I pointed out. “This quote could have been reprinted from another article.”
“That occurred to me too.” Frank scrolled down. A list of benefactors appeared and sure enough, the Ps included a name I recognized.
“So, he gave money.”
“He did, but here’s the interesting part.” Frank rotated his jaw. I loved when he did that because it meant he was problem solving. “It was a personal donation. Normally, your father donated money in the name of the Sound View labs.”
“How did you find that out?”
“I visited Norma,” Frank said. Norma, my mother’s housekeeper, managed the Prentice mansion while my mother was in rehab. “I made up a story about needing healthcare paperwork for your mother’s stay. She let me into your father’s office. She even brought me a cup of coffee.”
“I love Norma.”
“She’s great. She helped me sort through your father’s files. He had a folder on Lifely going back to the 1980s.”
“Plenty of time to establish a relationship with the clinic before my egg was ready to be hatched.” I tilted the rocking chair and stared at the chipped boards on the porch ceiling. Bastard, I thought. “What else?”
“Are you sure you want to date a cop?”
“I’m not afraid of what you found.” I released the chair and swung forward toward Frank. “Is that what you’re asking?”
Frank smiled. “What I found is that I make one thirty-third of your father’s salary. The guy is loaded.”
“Then it appears my Freeganism is a perfect match for your salary,” I said. I took over the iPad and scrolled through the references on Lifely. Words like fraud and scam appeared.
I shifted uncomfortably in my porch chair. “You’re still protecting me, aren’t you?”
Frank nodded. “I think I’m protecting both of us.” He took a full minute to compose himself before he spoke. “Lifely provided fertility and surrogacy services for substandard candidates.”
“Substandard?” I could feel my legs start to shake. “Like people not tall enough for the big roller coaster?”
“Not quite,” Frank said. “We’re talking partners or individuals turned down by legitimate fertility centers. People willing to pay twice the price for Lifely to look the other way.”
“Former drug addicts?”
Frank nodded and added, “People with a history of abuse or psychological problems.”
“Of course,” I exclaimed as my anger rose. “The kind of people who adopt a dog from a shelter and leave it tied to a fence.” I had actually convinced myself that somewhere, I had a perfect kid being raised by a perfect family. That it was just a matter of time before we reunited. Dr. William Prentice strikes again.
“CeCe, we don’t know if your egg was even fertilized. We’re not even sure it ended up at this clinic.”
“But if it was and it did, there’s a very good chance my child is being raised by …” I laughed at the irony. “Who am I kidding? I eat from a Dumpster.” Frank interrupted before I could roll out a diatribe of self-deprecating jabs.
“You’re amazing.”
I let Frank’s compliment sink in. “I’m okay,” I said. I closed the article on the iPad and handed it back to Frank. “But my kid isn’t.”
“I’ve got some feelers out,” he said. “We’ll get there.”
“What do you want in return?”
“Sketches,” he said. “The Cold Spring Harbor police department is officially offering you work as a sketch artist on Bob’s case.”
I took a deep breath as I considered the paid offer.
“Bob was my friend. You realize I would have done it anyway.” Frank knew, of course, that I had already started sketching what Marissa had seen.
“Same goes for me,” he said, referring to the case of my missing genetic material.
With our agreement finalized, I opened my sketchbook to show him the progress I had already made.
“Legs?” Frank asked, looking at my drawings. He titled the pad away from the sun to lower the glare.
“Calves,” I said. “I’ll get to that in a second. I want to focus on the man Marissa saw first.”
My drawing wasn’t so much a portrait as a scene. From the floor of the recycling center, it had been difficult for Marissa to see distinct facial features. However, she did get a full body view of the man Bob had spoken to, which provided clues for sketching.
“Check out the
clothes.”
“Hmm,” Frank said. “He’s not a suit.”
“No, but he’s wearing khakis with a button down, tucked in with a belt.”
“Middle management?”
“Maybe.” I pointed to the man’s chest.
Frank raised an eyebrow. “An ID card. Good catch.”
“Marissa remembered that he had some type of tag on his shirt.”
“Like an emblem?”
“No, I quizzed her on that. It wasn’t a logo sewn into the shirt. She said it clipped on near the shirt pocket.”
“Now, that’s interesting.”
Here we go, I thought. Frank DeRosa’s brain kicked into high gear. He rubbed his jaw and ground away. I’d be surprised if he had any molars left in a few years.
“Small companies don’t need IDs. Everyone knows each other,” he thought out loud. “Large companies have lots of employees with regular turnover. Big buildings have multiple entrances requiring doors and rooms that lock. The ID tag is the access key.”
“Why do the doors need to lock?”
“So a competitor can’t enter,” Frank offered.
“Or, maybe the company was working on something secret,” I added. “The identification tag implies some type of clearance.”
Frank nodded. “That’s a possibility.” He stared at the picture and frowned. “Oh man, I hope he’s not government.”
“Like who? What department?”
“I don’t know. Someone from the county? An inspector? You give a guy a plastic badge, and he thinks he’s FBI.”
I thought about Bob’s personality. His priority was the productivity level of the recycling center, and I was sure he followed prescribed safety codes. However, Bob, like me, tended to live just outside the margin. He had a way of making his own rules. “I don’t see Bob getting along with a paper pusher wearing a fancy badge,” I said.
“That issue may have been the root of the argument with this man.” Frank pointed at my drawing and then took a closer look. “The man you drew is soft.”
Drawing Blood Page 4