by James Dobson
After capturing a urine sample Julia stood in front of the mirror. The same mirror, she assumed, Troy had looked into two hours earlier. She wondered how she would feel if this had been a real appointment rather than an act. It felt unseemly standing in the same spot where her husband had donated half of the required ingredients; as if they were two workers on an assembly line rather than participants in an intimate, one-flesh union.
“So this is how babies are made,” she said to the woman in the mirror.
Two quick raps on the door followed by a muffled voice. “Ms. Davidson? Is everything OK?” Apparently she had fallen behind the usual assembly time line.
Julia took a deep breath in anticipation of the next scene of her performance. Then she opened the door. “Everything’s fine. Please, call me Julia.”
Lynette smiled at the invitation. “OK, Julia. Let’s go to the consultation room to discuss next steps and options.”
Julia’s phone, the one she was supposed to have turned off in the waiting room, rang. Lynette looked at her with playful condemnation. She apologized while retrieving the device from the bottom of her purse and then glancing at the screen.
Tyler Cain.
She started to tap the IGNORE icon but hesitated while trying to recall what might have prompted the call. Did he have another dark zone contact she might interview? Another question about the Santiago case?
“Do you need to take that?” Lynette asked thoughtfully.
“Do you mind?” she asked while tapping the ACCEPT icon.
“Second door on the left,” Lynette whispered while pointing down the hall. “I’ll join you there in a minute.”
Julia nodded at Lynette while turning her attention to the voice on the phone. “This is Julia.”
“Hi, Ms. Simmons,” Tyler began. “Can you talk?”
Julia began walking in the direction of the consultation room. “For a second. What’s up?”
“I just wanted to bring you up to speed on the Santiago situation.”
Situation?
“I’ve decided to end the investigation.”
“Really? Did you find out who—”
“No I didn’t,” he said as if mad at the question. “But the judge isn’t taking my advice; or rather the judge’s aide. Either way, I don’t like to waste people’s money. If they won’t listen to me, I can’t help them.”
Julia waited for more. Tyler remained quiet. Was that it? If so, why call Julia about the decision? If he had more, why not just say it?
“And?” she prodded.
“And, um…” A hesitation. “And I just wanted to say thanks for your help.”
Julia sensed the call was about more than wrapping up the loose end of thanking a source. What wasn’t Tyler saying?
“Are you sure there isn’t more?”
“Like what?” he said too quickly. And too defensively.
“I don’t know.” She recalled their last conversation. “Did you identify any other potential leads?”
“Like Evan Dimitri?”
“Well, not him specifically. But yeah, people who might want to protect NEXT rather than harm it?”
Another long silence. Julia sensed Tyler struggling with an internal tug-of-war. Why? What had he really called to tell her?
“Mr. Cain? Is there something else you want to—”
“Like I said,” he interrupted. “I wanted to thank you for your help and let you know I’m off the case.”
“OK. Thanks for the update,” she said in puzzled deference.
“And I appreciate your keeping our conversations strictly confidential.”
“Of course.”
“Good luck on your dark zone story. I’ll let you know if I think of other leads on that front.”
“Please do,” she said before realizing the call had ended.
After a few seconds Julia noticed she was standing in the doctor’s consultation room, the place where she would learn about next steps and options. Julia walked toward one of two seats positioned before a modestly cluttered desk. Her eyes landed on a small grouping of photographs on the wall that depicted what appeared to be a ski trip with friends; an older couple, possibly Lynette’s parents; and Lynette sitting with two other women toasting the photographer with glasses filled with a dark wine: a celebration of some sort, possibly her graduation from medical school?
Then she noticed the diploma. UNIVERSITY OF COLORADO was stenciled boldly across the top, followed by smaller text she couldn’t read, presumably the same congratulatory script used on countless other certificates ending with “has conferred upon” before the graduate’s name; in this case, LYNETTE ROSE WRIGHT. Then more small text followed by DOCTOR OF MEDICINE.
As if on cue, the graduate entered the room. Julia felt old as she watched Lynette remove her doctor’s smock. Stylish and pretty, Lynette reminded Julia of Maria a few years back. She appeared to be in her late twenties, thirty tops. More like the unattached, childless girlfriend with whom you would go shopping than an MD to whom you would go for pregnancy advice.
“All set?” Lynette asked.
“Yes, thank you. Nothing urgent.”
“Good.” Lynette sat beside Julia rather than occupying the seat behind the desk. Then she tapped her tablet screen and held it between them for shared viewing: a checklist of steps followed by a series of questions.
“We’ve completed most of the pre-consultation items.”
Julia glanced at the list. Only a few boxes remained unchecked.
“I need to review the lab results to confirm what I’ve seen today,” Lynette explained, “but on the whole I’d say you shouldn’t have any problems.” She looked to Julia with a congratulatory smile.
Julia felt herself tear up in response to the gesture. The reaction embarrassed her. “I’m sorry,” she said while reaching for a tissue.
“Don’t be,” Lynette replied while touching her famous client’s forearm. “This is very good news for a woman of your age.”
A woman of my age?
“Half of the women I see past age thirty-five aren’t good candidates.”
“Half?”
“More maybe,” Lynette explained.
“So only half of the women my age can have a child?”
“Half of the women your age who make appointments with my office. The rest don’t want a child.”
“Of course,” said Julia.
“Of those who do, less than half are good candidates for in vitro implantation. There are a dozen reasons.”
“Are there other options? You know, for the women you can’t help?”
Lynette appeared to be recalling clients who had hit the snooze button on their biological clock once too often. “Not really,” she finally said despondently. “But you look good. I think we’ll be able to harvest a good selection of eggs. So, barring any surprises, I expect you’ll be choosing a child within a few short months.”
The comment reminded Julia of her agenda. “Tell me how that works. You know, the actual screening process?”
“My lab does most of the work,” Lynette replied. “In the typical case we fertilize between five and eight eggs. About half of those will meet specs.”
“Meet specs?”
“Sorry. Standard specifications. We analyze the genome sequence of each zygote to screen out any with likely defects or chronic diseases. The process has become remarkably precise. A recent batch detected propensities for both bipolar and attention deficit hyperactive disorders.” She said it like a proud mom bragging on the accomplishments of her genius kid. “Anyway, we eliminate those zygotes before presenting you with the good options.”
Julia suppressed an urge to grab her tablet to capture notes. Today she was a patient exploring motherhood, not a reporter conducting research.
“Assuming you have both possibilities you’ll select the child’s sex, unless of course you want it to be a surprise. Then we get to pick.”
“How often does that happen?”
“No
t very. Most people know what they want. Usually a boy, come to think of it. But I like to make a big deal about it when we do. I call the office staff together and we hold hands in a circle.”
“To pray?” Julia guessed.
“To flip the ceremonial coin. Heads a girl. Tails a boy. At last count we had a pretty even mix of the two. I guess random chance would improve the odds for us gals.”
Lynette laughed at her own quip while Julia wondered which sex she and Troy might select. Then she felt her suddenly queasy tummy. Had random chance already beaten them to the punch?
The doctor looked back at the list. “I should get the results from your husband’s sample later today. After that we’ll get you scheduled for your first infusion of a fertility stimulant and, if all goes well, invite a few of your eggs to the dance.”
Julia forced a thin smile.
“Any questions?”
“Just one,” Julia said after a slight hesitation. How to say it? “You mentioned eliminating some of the zygotes. Can I ask what happens to them?”
Lynette gently slapped her own cheek as if suddenly recalling a skipped step. “Oh yes,” she said. “I almost forgot.” She drew Julia’s attention to the tablet and pointed beneath the action items toward a column of unasked questions.
“We need you to provide direction on how you want us to handle the embryotic material.”
The comment reminded Julia of the conversation with Austin Tozer that had prompted her decision to make the appointment. He had gotten two thousand dollars per embryo. Would she receive a similar offer?
Lynette began reading a script from the tablet. “In order to respect the ethical sensibilities of our clients we request input on the preferred method of disposal for any excess embryotic materials resulting from your treatments.”
Julia braced herself for the first of three questions.
“Are you undergoing this process with the intent of carrying and delivering a full-term baby?”
Julia tried to imagine another reason to schedule an in vitro selection consultation. “Yes I am,” she answered. “But may I ask what it would mean if I said no?”
“We’d assume you plan to donate.”
“Donate? To what?” Julia wasn’t sure she wanted an answer.
“To the embryotics supply.”
“Is that like the blood supply?” Julia blushed at her own ignorance.
“Sort of,” Lynette explained. “But more like an organ donation to a specific beneficiary. Usually a family member asks relatives for donations when they schedule any kind of surgery that might require tissue repair or mild regeneration of internal organs. Embryos from close relatives make the best donors since the body can better assimilate organic material with a similar genome sequence.”
Julia nodded, a look of vague comprehension triggering Lynette’s second question.
“Would you like the attending physician to decide the best means of disposal for any unused zygotes?”
Julia considered how to reply. “What does that mean?”
“It means you give us permission to choose the best course of action depending upon a variety of factors.”
Julia knew a dodge when she heard one: lots of words with no real answer. “What factors?”
Lynette seemed suddenly hesitant to say more, perhaps remembering that she was talking to a journalist. “Oh, you know, the usual. Which field of study would benefit most from access to the material? Things like that.”
“For money?”
“Excuse me?” the doctor sounded offended.
Pull back, girl, Julia told herself. She had begun sounding like an antagonistic reporter rather than a curious client.
“I mean,” she said in the least threatening voice she could muster, “are there any financial incentives for selecting one disposal strategy over another?”
“Incentives for whom?” Lynette asked indignantly.
Julia decided to change course quickly. “For me.”
The doctor’s tension seemed to dissipate. “Oh, that,” she said with a relieved smile. Lynette looked back to the tablet to read the final question.
“Do you wish to dispose of excess embryotic materials in any of the following manners?” She looked toward Julia before reading off a menu of fifteen or twenty official-sounding organizations requesting targeted donations. Each needed a specific variable. Male or female. Caucasian, Asian, African-American, or mixed-race. One requested embryos that would have red hair. But none of them offered money.
“I’m curious,” Julia said after Lynette completed the list, “whether there are any organizations willing to—” She stopped herself.
“Yes, there are,” Lynette volunteered. Then she tapped a small icon located at the very bottom of the screen before handing it to Julia.
The tablet displayed a long list of businesses. Julia quickly scanned to identify names associated with health supplements and cosmetics. None appeared clearly marked.
“I’m not allowed to recommend any specific companies,” Lynette was saying, “but I can tell you that some offer more compensation than others.”
Julia felt a wave of shame. Not for her lies. For her discovery.
Dear God, she thought. Or perhaps prayed. What have we become?
“Would you like a copy of the file to review with your partner?”
“Husband,” Julia said.
“Right, sorry. Would you?”
“Please,” Julia said while handing the tablet back. She thanked the doctor for the information as she stood to leave the room.
“You can stop by the front desk to make a next appointment,” Lynette said warmly. “I look forward to seeing you again.”
Julia nodded while extending her hand. Lynette ignored the offer, opting instead for another demonstrative hug.
It took Julia a split second to return the gesture. It was more physical intimacy, she mused, than Lynette’s clients experienced while conceiving a child.
The thought reminded Julia that nothing had been said about her urine sample. Wouldn’t they know immediately if she was pregnant?
“So, I guess I’m not expecting?” she asked as if checking a minor detail. “I assume we couldn’t proceed if I were.”
The question seemed to startle Lynette. “Oh,” she said while reaching for her tablet, apparently to check Julia’s pregnancy test results. “Yes, we would recommend a different approach in that case. Could you be?”
Julia nodded guiltily, knowing Lynette probably frowned upon spontaneous, unprotected marital sex. “A small chance,” she confessed.
The doctor tapped and swiped the screen until she found the tidbit of data needed to answer Julia’s question. “Let’s see here.”
Julia held her breath.
“Congratulations!” she said after one final swipe. “You’re clear.”
“Oh,” Julia replied with a weak smile. “I see. That’s good. A relief,” she lied. “Thanks for checking.”
“You bet. See you soon.”
“Yes. See you soon.”
Julia walked past the receptionist’s desk, then through the lobby and out the door. A door she hoped she would never have to enter again.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Julia lowered the music and dimmed the dining room lights. The table looked exquisite beneath two lustrous flames dancing to the smooth sounds of romantic jazz. She smiled in anticipation of inviting her husband to do the same as soon as he arrived home from the office.
She had considered sending Troy a text message suggesting they meet at his favorite restaurant. She would have spent the last part of the meal rubbing her foot against his leg while they took turns feeding one another spoonfuls of his favorite dessert.
But she changed her mind. A candlelit dinner at home would be better: less time between suggestion and action. Rather than whisper during dessert she would be the dessert.
Julia went to her closet and flipped through the possibilities. Which was Troy’s favorite? Short teddy or lingering
gown? How could she know when he seemed equally pleased by all of them? She finally chose. White. The perfect color for a night that she hoped would move their union from two people in love to one flesh in partnership.
Since the day Julia met Troy Simmons she’d known he wanted to be a father. It was in the lobby of Apostles’ Church in Washington DC. She had accepted Angie’s invitation to attend a service while in town. She should have known Angie would use the occasion for matchmaking. Troy clearly loved the Tolbert kids, especially when they called him “Uncle Twoy.” But he also seemed to love the dream of little feet running into his arms and hearing his own child shouting, “Daddy!”
Julia never would have imagined herself going on a date with a man like Troy, let alone accepting his hand in marriage. Marriage itself, she had believed, was an archaic institution. What a difference a year can make! Here she was now, planning an intimate evening with a man she’d never intended to marry, hoping to conceive a child she never wanted to have. Or so she had thought. Apparently our deepest desires eventually trump our most persuasive objections.
A sudden noise startled Julia. Troy arriving home early? No, a timer alerting her that the crescent rolls were ready to remove from the oven.
While placing the last roll into a basket on the table, Julia checked the clock. Troy should be another twenty minutes, plenty of time for her to shower and slip into his surprise. The phone rang. She glanced at the television screen to read the caller’s identity. Not Troy calling to say he would be late. Just Dr. Wright’s office, probably calling to give her the detailed results of fertility tests she assumed were fine. She decided to ignore the call, instead rushing into the master bathroom for her most important preparations.
Fifteen minutes later Julia found herself moving from one spot to another, trying to decide which location best fit the occasion. She imagined Troy’s face when he walked through the door to delicious smells, dim lights, and an alluring bride lounging on the sofa or waiting invitingly at the table.
Only one unfinished detail remained. She reached for her tablet to restart the programmed sequence of Troy’s favorite jazz artists. She noticed a bouncing icon reminding her of the ignored call, now a waiting message with an attachment. She tapped it to pass the remaining moments, expecting Lynette’s assistant to say she had forwarded the formal test results and ask when Julia wanted to begin the in vitro process. She instead heard the doctor’s voice.