Childless: A Novel (25 page)

“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?”

“Not 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.

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.

“Hi, Julia. I’ve attached results of the full range of tests we ran today. As expected, you look healthy.”

Julia smiled at the surprising feeling of relief.

“But I wanted to explain the results on page six of the attached summary so you will understand your options,” Lynette continued. “Don’t worry. I’ve helped plenty of couples in the same situation. Call my office when you can and we’ll set up a consultation. OK? We’ll talk then.”

Options for what
? Julia wondered.
I thought she said I looked healthy
.

Even though Troy could walk through the door at any second, Julia had to know what was on page six. She tapped the attachment icon to open the document. She tried her best to decipher the medical jargon, including two “possible causes” with labels that meant nothing to her;
epididymitis
and something called
Young syndrome
. She looked at the top of the page for any clues that might inform what she was reading. That’s when she realized this was a summary of Troy’s sperm sample. But what did it mean? Was it something bad? Lynette mentioned she had helped other couples in the same situation. What situation?

She moved toward the door to peek outside. No sign of Troy’s car. She went back to her tablet and quickly entered the unfamiliar words into a medical terminology search engine. All five of the top results carried the same disturbing label.

She began scanning the first article. Apparently epididymitis was some sort of blockage preventing sperm from releasing to its fruitful destiny. But that included a list of symptoms Troy had never experienced such as fever and pain. The only other potential culprit,
Young syndrome
, was described as having “no known effective treatment or cure.”

Did this mean she and Troy couldn’t conceive naturally? Could they conceive at all?

Julia heard the familiar sound of the opening garage door announcing Troy’s arrival. She quickly swiped out of the screen and tossed her tablet beneath a throw pillow. She had never decided whether to stay on the sofa or move to the dining room. She chose the latter, buying a few extra seconds to absorb the news and decide whether and how to tell her husband.

The thought of telling Troy prompted unwelcome grief. “Not now!” she said aloud, grabbing one of the perfectly placed napkins to dab her moistening eyes.

The last thing she wanted was for Troy to see her in tears. This was supposed to be a romantic evening of thrilling intimacy, not a cry-fest over possible bad news.

But she knew in her soul that it was more than
possible
bad news. Why would the doctor call unless the results suggested her husband could never be a daddy?

Another wave of sorrow invaded, this one too strong for Julia to swallow back. She heard the doorknob turning. What to do? She darted from the dining room back into the master bedroom. Better for Troy to enjoy the surprise and anticipation of a candlelit room than wonder what had triggered his wife’s uncontrollable tears.

She rushed to the bathroom and closed the door before splashing cold water onto her puffing cheeks. She would let Troy assume she was still getting ready to greet him with an alluring smile. A smile she commanded her disobedient face to produce.

Julia reached deep to summon the strong, controlling woman she had been before falling in love with Troy. The girl who had maintained a cool demeanor during a year of nightmarish dreams. The journalist who had confronted Washington power brokers with prudent diplomacy. The woman who could use the same iron will to finish what she had started a few hours earlier. She had planned a night of bliss with her husband. So a night of bliss is what she intended to give.

“Hi, babe,” she heard Troy saying from the dining room. “What’s all this?”

She took a deep, restorative breath before replying. “A little surprise. I’ll be out in a minute.”

She used the time to reapply a bit of makeup. Troy would never guess she had been crying, even if his eyes managed to peel themselves away from her gown. Then she opened the bedroom door to find her husband nibbling on a crescent roll at the dining table, his shoulders slumped as if he was contemplating his own brand of dispiriting news.

She moved toward Troy, glad the music covered the sound of her approach. She slid her arms around his chest to offer an embrace both needed.

She whispered into his ear, “Welcome home, Mr. Simmons.”

Her touch and voice prompted a smile. He pulled her hand to his lips and gently kissed her soft skin. Julia sensed he was trying to push past exhausted discouragement to receive her wonderful but poorly timed gift.

“This looks terrific,” he said while rubbing her arm.

She moved to the chair beside him. His eyes turned to saucers. She blushed, then giggled.

“You look terrific!” He gasped to recover his stolen breath.

They kissed. Then they kissed again.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Julia said.

His eyes sank as if the comment reminded him of a lost appetite. Then he looked back at the candlelit arrangement. At the enormous effort his wife had gone to for him. “Starved,” he said with forced enthusiasm.

She placed a single finger on his chin to move his eyes back in her direction. “Troy Simmons. Tell me what’s wrong.”

His eyes sank again. “Is it that obvious?”

“I’m afraid so. But thank you.”

“For what?”

“For trying to enjoy my surprise.”

He leaned toward her for another kiss, which she refused to accept.

“No food or dessert until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“There’s dessert?”

She stood and then turned to give him a full view of her sheer outfit. “Yes, there is.” Both smiled as she sat again. “Now, what happened?”

Troy released a lengthy sigh. “I got a call from Brent Anderson today.”

“Franklin’s right-hand man?”

“He called to warn me. No, to scold me.”

“For what?”

“That’s just it. I have no idea what he was talking about. He accused me of seriously undermining Kevin’s opportunity for broader influence in the Franklin coalition. I asked what I had done, but he accused me of playing dumb as if I knew what I’d done. Then he told me to back off with Dimitri.”

“Evan Dimitri?”

“I suppose. But I haven’t had any contact at all with Evan Dimitri.”

A prickly thought entered Julia’s mind. She pushed it aside and said, “That’s odd.”

“Very odd. I can only assume he’s upset about the refused donation check. But that was Kevin. I was a thousand miles away minding the shop.”

“Maybe he thinks you put Kevin up to it.”

“Unlikely. I’m nothing to Dimitri and Anderson: an invisible gofer who runs reports and accepts assignments.”

“You’re a lot more than that!” Julia protested. “Kevin relies on you for, well, for everything.”

He touched her cheek in appreciative acceptance of the reassurance. “I know that.”

“And Kevin knows it!”

He smiled at her resolve. “And Kevin knows it. But I can’t imagine why Anderson would call me.”

“Maybe he called Kevin too.”

“He didn’t. I checked.”

“What did Kevin say?”

“Not much.” Troy’s shoulders slumped again. “Just that he would follow up with Anderson.”

A prickly thought Julia couldn’t dismiss. Had Tyler Cain contacted Evan Dimitri in response to her call?

“What if someone else used your name?” she asked.

“Used my name for what?”

“To gain access to Dimitri.”

“Who would do that? And why?”

Julia dismissed the possibility again. “Never mind,” she said. “I’m just thinking out loud.”

A brief silence as both tried to imagine what would suddenly turn Anderson against Troy. Against Kevin.

“It must be the donation thing,” Troy finally said. “Nothing else makes sense. Kevin refused Dimitri’s check, meaning he rejected the attached strings. That must have upset Franklin.”

“I guess,” Julia agreed. “Which means you did nothing wrong.”

He looked up as if relieved by the verdict.

“It also means there’s no reason I shouldn’t reheat our dinner.” Julia stood and reached for the serving dish.

Troy’s hand caressed the thin fabric that barely concealed her thigh. “And dessert?”

“The dessert is still warm,” she said, sitting on Troy’s lap. Her lips moved toward his ear, the breath of each whispered word seeming to deepen his desire. “Would you rather skip dinner?”

She sensed the tension releasing from both husband and wife with each escalating touch.

Thirty minutes later Troy was sitting at the table, a new man.

“I made it to the clinic today,” he said casually while spreading a slab of butter onto a freshly heated roll.

Julia’s body stiffened. “Did you?”

“Talk about awkward. I had to go into a bathroom and…” He stopped short, then fast-forwarded. “I had to hand my sample to an office aide who looked young enough to be my daughter. Embarrassing.”

“Thanks for doing that,” Julia said. “It will help my next story.”

“How about you?” he asked.

“What?”

“Weren’t you supposed to go today as well?”

“Oh, that.” A slight hesitation. “I had a consultation appointment. Learned quite a bit.”
Keep it short. Don’t elaborate. Change the subject
.

“And?” he said, preempting her strategy.

“And I found out there are a bunch of businesses that buy unused embryos, just like Austin Tozer said. They try to get you to donate as the preferred disposal method for what they call excess embryotic material. But I asked one question about financial incentives and the doctor showed me several options for selling instead.”

Troy huffed angrily in her direction. “Are you serious?”

Julia nodded.

“No wonder I got a bad feeling the second I walked into the place,” he continued. “Their process gave me the willies. A father should be more than a nameless, faceless cog in the wheel. They handed me a dirty magazine and said, ‘Have at it’!”

“Troy!” Julia blushed while slapping his shoulder playfully.

“Well, it’s true,” he said. “And dehumanizing.”

She had to agree. “Having a child should be beautiful, not mechanical.”

As she placed another roll on his plate Troy put his hand lovingly on her waist. “You’re beautiful,” he said. “Thank you, Julia.”

She smiled, knowing he meant more than the roll.

“That’s how babies are supposed to be made.” He winked while placing his hand on her abdomen. “And you never know.”

A wave of guilt.
Should I tell him
? she wondered.
No. Not now. Why spoil a beautiful moment? Tell him in the morning
.

Troy buried his head in Julia’s bosom. “You’re a gift,” he said. “I love you.”

She placed her hands on his head and began caressing his hair. “I love you too,” she said, swallowing back a returning sorrow, an emotion that she would try to hide but that she knew would keep her awake late into the night. “I love you too.”