The Doctor's Wife

by Mildred Riley

  He hugged her. “But I’m very glad you did. I’ll manage your mother, somehow. So what does your husband think of his son?” John Morton asked.

  “He’s very pleased, Dad, although he’s not able to spend too much time with us, busy with his practice and all that…” Her voice trailed off. Her father took notice of this and picking up on her somber tone, asked, “And you, honey, are you happy?”

  “Yes, Dad, I am,” she replied quickly. “I have what I’ve always wanted—a wonderful husband, a child, and a home of my own. Who wouldn’t be happy?”

  “Well, honey, you know I only want the best for you, and I’m glad you’re happy with your life.”

  Still he wondered. Young John Morton Matthews did not resemble anyone in his family, or in his wife Maribel’s family. How had his grandson come by the slightly slanted eyes, the dark black, coarse, wiry hair?

  Although her father had admired the baby, cuddled him, talked to him, there was a certain lack of exuberance, Alisha had noticed, as if her father was trying too hard. Alisha thought he was not as effusive as his wife. Alisha saw the questions in her father’s eyes. She began to worry. Now both her husband and her father had made references to her son’s physical appearance. Had the donor clinic made an error in selecting the sperm donation? she wondered, and worried more.

  She knew she had been explicit in what she wanted, an African-American, well educated, a professional, excellent mental and physical health, between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five.

  She could only hope that Don had accepted the lie she had told him about the distant Japanese relative.

  Don seemed happy with his young son, and quite proud, as well. He was constantly taking pictures, showing them to friends and colleagues. So far he seemed proud of his second son, although he still wondered about the possibility of a genetic strain passing down through four generations. His delight in being able to produce had boosted his ego tremendously. Even so, he did miss his relationship with his two older children.

  One evening after Jay had been put to bed—he was now sleeping through the night—Don mentioned his disappointment to his wife.

  “I’m upset that my children seem to have little interest in their new brother.”

  Alisha had been knitting a blanket for the baby. She put the work down in her lap, recognized the glum look on her husband’s face, said to him, “I think I can understand, because I think it’s probably their ages and this time in their lives when they are mostly concerned with themselves, going to college, starting new careers…”

  “But, Alisha, he’s their brother, a part of their family.”

  “They don’t see it that way, I guess. Their family was you and Leanne. You should keep sending pictures of Jay to them, and as he changes and grows, I’m sure their attitude will change.”

  Don didn’t notice how quickly his wife lowered her head, picked up her work and resumed knitting. What will I do if Don ever learns what I’ve done?

  * * *

  Thinking back to the time of his son’s conception, Don was certain he had used a condom, but he didn’t really remember. Had it been defective? Jay had to be his child, and he did look like his mother, the same tawny skin tone, the same black, steel-wiry hair. Only the baby’s hair seemed coarser, not as soft as Alisha’s. But the eyes! Don couldn’t help wondering, four generations? Don knew what he had to do. Some medical research was in order to satisfy his doubt.

  He decided to say nothing to Alisha, but he had to know. He would search for a geneticist, and check online for starters.

  Don did not know it, but there was someone else who had noticed the unusual features of her boss’ son.

  Becky had seen the photograph of the three-month-old Jay Matthews alongside the high school photos of his older half siblings. The difference was noticeable to her, but she kept her thoughts to herself. Up to now, Dr. Matthews had appeared pleased with his son’s progress and spoke often about the baby’s growth and development in glowing terms.

  “He recognizes me and his mother, breaks out in smiles whenever we talk to him. He’s a bright, healthy baby and we are real proud of him,” he said one day at the end of the staff meeting. “I’m so lucky to be the father of such a wonderful child.”

  Still, Becky wondered. Could Alisha have Asian genes in her gene pool, and how about Dr. Matthews? Could he? Becky remembered once hearing about a married couple…each of whom had had a rhinoplasty, but neither revealed to the other that his/her nose had been surgically altered. When their first child was born, they had to worry about more than their son’s circumcision.

  * * *

  Leanne’s living room in her new house was just a few steps from the front door, down a carpeted hall on the left side. It was a comfortable, relaxing room with a white Berber carpet, a small blue and gold oriental rug beneath a marble coffee table. There was a deep wine-colored sofa, a pair of wing chairs in front of the fireplace. All made for a ‘welcome home’ feeling.

  Leanne led her son and his guest into the room. She pointed to the sofa. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. Just have a few more touches for our dinner.”

  “And,” Curtis asked, “what’s for dinner, Mom? Chicken cacciatore?”

  “That’s right, with rice…”

  Curtis turned to Bob. “Bob, you’re in for some good eating!”

  “Sounds great to me. Mrs. Matthews, can I help?” Bob asked.

  “Not at all. I’ll be right back with a couple of cold beers.”

  “Sure I can’t help?” Bob insisted.

  She smiled. “Maybe later, cleaning up, you know.”

  “No problem. I know my way ‘round a kitchen.”

  Leanne returned in a few minutes with a tray that she placed on the coffee table. Bob Sato made room by moving a few magazines aside. On the tray were the beers and a bowl of pretzels.

  “Have at it,” she told them, waving aside their thanks.

  “So, Bob, Curtis tells me that you are part African-American, as well as Japanese. He also told me that you are the perfect roommate…and I want you to know that’s a lot, coming from my picky son,” she laughed.

  Curtis, giving his mother an “Oh, Ma,” look, said, “Well, Bob is an okay guy, and we hit it off right away.”

  “You know, Mrs. Matthews, it seems that Curtis and I were destined to meet, and I for one feel that we’ll be friends for a long time. Hope so, anyway,” he added.

  “That would be great,” Leanne said. “Before I go to check on a few more things in the kitchen, I would love to hear more about your family. You’re originally from California?”

  “That’s right, ma’am. We’ve lived in Pasadena most of my life. My mom is African-American and from Texas. Her folks left there to find work. My dad ran a small vegetable farm and my two brothers and I worked with him—that is, until we finished high school. And I tell you, Mrs. Matthews, that not one of us is interested in farming. Think that’s why all of us came east for college.”

  “All three of you?” Leanne asked.

  “Yes, ma’am, all three. I started at Tufts in pre-dentistry, changed to pre-law. Caleb, the brother next to me, is a junior in accounting at Babson. And the youngest brother, Morris, is at Syracuse University in New York. He is on a full football scholarship…not in basketball, but my father was happy with football.”

  “I’m sure he must be very proud of all of you.”

  Curtis wondered what his mother would think if she ever found out how Bob supported himself through college, and even now in law school. For himself, he was having a hard time getting his mind around the idea of Bob being a sperm donor. God, after all this time, how many children does he have out there in the world?

  CHAPTER 27

  Concerned that Jay bore no resemblance to either of his other children, Don had decided that DNA testing would be the only way to get a definite answer to the questions plaguing him.

  He had gone online to obtain the necessary DNA kit. It contained the materials for the che
ek swabbing, instructions and addresses for nearby laboratories that could process the samples and report the findings. The kit also included instructions on how to package the material to be tested. The lab’s report would be mailed back to him in a plain brown envelope with no return address to protect the inquirer’s privacy.

  One night after dinner Alisha said she needed to go to the drugstore.

  “I have a few things I need to pick up, some for me and some for the baby,” she told Don. “Won’t be gone long.”

  “Take your time, we’ll be fine,” he assured her.

  As soon as he was sure she had gone, he picked the baby up from the playpen and carried him into the master bedroom. Holding the child in one arm, he laid out the contents of the kit. He had already swabbed his own cheek before leaving his office.

  He talked to the gurgling, happy baby when he sat down beside him on the bed. “You’re a dear, sweet little boy, but I’m not sure you’re mine.”

  Chucking Jay under his chin, he swabbed his inner cheek and placed the sample in the container that had been provided.

  He sealed the kit as instructed and placed it in his medical bag.

  For the next three weeks, he fretted endlessly, barely able to act normal around Alisha and the baby.

  In response to her query, “What’s wrong with you, Don? You seem so worried, so jumpy, is everything all right at the clinic?”

  “It’s my patient load,” he told her. “Increasing to the point that it seems that each patient session is taking more and more time. Backup is almost too much to handle. I’m really bushed at the end of the day, especially when I have to check on my hospitalized patients.”

  “I understand,” she said.

  He said nothing, but his anxiety increased as he waited for the DNA results. He began to worry, too, if there could be some kind of genetic mutation causing the distinctly Asian features the baby might have inherited.

  * * *

  When Alisha returned from shopping, she told Don about Jay’s visit to the pediatrician.

  “Dr. Blume says that Jay is right on target.”

  “Well, that’s good to hear.”

  “Said our son is very healthy, growing nicely, and that we can start him on baby food with the bottle, as needed.”

  “That’s great!”

  “I think so, too, because, well, Don, I’d like to go back to finish my degree program.”

  “Why? Why, Leanne never…”

  He caught himself mid-sentence, but not before Alisha knew exactly what he was going to say.

  He did not miss the sarcasm in her voice. “Of course, the wonderful Leanne never left her children!”

  “She never had to. Nor do you!”

  “I want my own career, thank you very much!”

  Noting the look of defiance in her voice and on her face, Don thought of how their lives had changed. What was wrong with the woman? He thought she had what she wanted; marriage to him, a child, a home of her own. He had not acknowledged a certain truth that he’d recognized some time ago. And that was Alisha’s diminished interest in any sexual activity. Her overactive sexual appetite had not returned. After her postpartum recovery, she seemed much less interested in any sexual activity, proclaiming that it was too soon. The physician in Don thought, this is strange behavior. Although he was not an obstetrician, he knew that most healthy women were eager to resume normal sexual activity. And, certainly, early on his wife had shown him a vigorous sexual appetite.

  This rejecting of intimacy, combined with her latest announcement of “returning to educational pursuits,” made him wonder what next new change would she bring into their lives.

  He did not voice his misgivings but instead began to question her about her going back to school. He sighed deeply. “How do you propose to manage care for Jay?” he asked.

  She laughed. “You mean you’ve forgotten that your own medical facility has a child care center right on the first floor?”

  “Guess so. Never had to use it, so it never concerned me.”

  “Several female doctors on staff use the facility, as well as do some nurses. And I do know that the child care center does take infants, as well as toddlers.”

  Don pushed back from the table and went into the living room. She followed him. “I’d rather you stay at home with him. At least until he’s walking.”

  “I should think you’d be pleased, Don,” she countered. “He’ll be right down on the first floor…you could check on him anytime you want.”

  “Could be,” he grudgingly agreed. “It would be good for one of us to be close by.”

  “Right, that’s what I thought, too.”

  “What’s this day care going to cost?”

  “It’s $800 a month. A five-day week with expanded hours from seven in the morning until six in the evening. We have to sign a contract stipulating a week’s notice should we want to terminate the contract.”

  “I see. So when do we sign this contract?” he asked her, suddenly weary of the discussion. “And when do we start Jay’s day care?” He was not at all happy with his wife’s arbitrary decision, but decided he would wait until he knew the DNA test results before he made any decisions.

  * * *

  Using the Internet, he had located an agency that would provide a Y chromosome analysis to prove whether or not the male Y chromosome had been handed down from father to son.

  Nearly a month of agonizing tension passed before the brown envelope with no return address arrived in his office mail. It was hidden in a pile of junk mail.

  He tried to control himself, but nervous perspiration flooded down his face, almost blinding his eyesight. His hands were trembling and clammy as he extracted the envelope, came upon the information that could change his life once again.

  He stuffed the unsorted pile of mail into his desk drawer. He then locked the door to his office and took the envelope into his bathroom. He closed the toilet seat lid and placed the envelope on it. Turning on the cold water, he splashed water over his face several times until he felt relieved. After patting his face and hands dry, he picked up the envelope. Sitting down on the closed toilet seat, he opened it.

  Scanning quickly through the one-page letter, his eyes widened, his attention riveted to the summary at the bottom of the page.

  DNA test results of tissue samples Number 41818 and 41819 show there is no match in their Y chromosomes, therefore no paternal link.

  The report was signed by a Robert Goodman, M.D. Don leaned back against the cool toilet tank. Goodman, how appropriate. You really are my good man!

  He took a deep breath. Glancing at his watch, he knew he had four or five scheduled patients to see. But he decided that with this development in his life, he needed legal advice.

  He went into his office and secured his letter in his briefcase, unlocked his office door and put in a call to Frank Jones, his lawyer and long-time friend.

  CHAPTER 28

  “Frank, I’m so glad you could make the time to see me.”

  “Don, it’s always good to see you, anytime. What can I do for you?”

  Don took a seat that Frank Jones offered him and lowered his face into his hands, shaking his head. In a voice tight with emotion, he mumbled, “Frank, I don’t know how I could have been such a damn fool.”

  His bleary eyes, dejection and desperation on his face told the lawyer that his client and friend was in some serious difficulty.

  “Tell me about your problem,” the lawyer encouraged Don.

  “Look, Frank, here I am, a board-certified primary care physician with a thriving practice, a wonderful wife of twenty-five years, two precious, smart children, and I turned my back on all of that…for sex! What happened to me? And now what’s going to happen to me?”

  He stared out of the window behind the lawyer’s desk as if trying to gain some sort of perspective from the vibrant fall scene of maple trees with glorious crowns of gold and red leaves, the dark green of pine trees, the cotton white clouds moving s
lowly across the cerulean sky. But the peaceful scene seemed to be mocking him.

  His lawyer pulled a legal pad from his desk drawer and quietly said, “Don, calm down. Tell me what your problem is all about.” He poured his friend a glass of water from his desk carafe and waited expectantly.

  “Thanks, man,” Don said, taking the entire glass of water in several gulps. “I needed that.”

  “Welcome. Can you continue now? I realize that this is hard, but take it slow. I do know that you remarried shortly after your divorce from Leanne…”

  “Biggest mistake I’ve ever made.”

  “Let’s take it from there.”

  With a deep sigh Don said, “Right. Alisha and I got married in Pittsburgh at her parents’ home. She, well, we had been sexually active for a few months, and although I always used protection…but you know as well as I do that imperfections can happen, but still I was in denial when she told me she was pregnant.”

  “Did you think that was a possibility?”

  “No. At first I thought it could not be possible, not at all.”

  “So it was when you realized that she was really pregnant…”

  “I had to ask Leanne for a divorce and tell her why.”

  It seemed to Frank that reliving that moment was going to completely unravel whatever composure Don had managed to hold onto. He wanted to direct Don closer to the problem at hand.

  Frank interrupted, hoping that would steer Don closer to revealing his problem. “So you got the divorce, married Alisha, and she had the baby.”

  “Frank, that should have been a clue to me! When I think of it now…how stupid I was.”

  Frank looked up from his pad. “What should have been a clue?”

  “Her instability. Right after the child’s birth, immediately, when I took him to her, she refused to look at the baby. Said to me ‘Not my baby, yours!’ And she turned her face away. I was stunned.”

  “So what happened? She finally accepted the baby?”

  “The doctor seemed to recognize the problem, prescribed a sedative, a drug known as a hypnotic, erased any memory of the delivery the night before. The next day when I went to see her and the baby, she was fine. Was actually trying to breastfeed him.”