Fatherless: A Novel (30 page)

“So I should say you oppose transitions on the grounds of a childhood trauma?” Julia asked.

He didn’t appreciate the sarcasm.

“You’ll say that the Youth Initiative makes doing what’s wrong easy and doing what’s right hard.”

“The worst tyranny,” Dr. Richert mumbled beneath his breath.

“What’s that?” Kevin prodded.

“It’s something Edmund Burke said. ‘Bad laws are the worst sort of tyranny.’”

“Exactly! I want to see us amend, improve, replace, or oppose laws and programs that push our weakest, most vulnerable citizens
to make choices they would never make otherwise.”

“What kind of choices do you want them to make?” Julia tried to sound sympathetic.

“Natural, commonsense choices,” he replied. “Like getting married and raising a family. Like protecting the dignity of aging
citizens rather than making them feel guilty every time they take another breath. Like protecting our disabled rather than
labeling them worthless debits.”

Kevin cleared his throat to mask a breaking voice. An awkward silence ensued.

“So much for saying this isn’t the time or place,” Dr. Richert laughed. “That was a much better speech than I planned to give!”

“Sorry.” Kevin seemed embarrassed by his emotion. “I didn’t mean to preach.”

“No need to apologize.” Julia sensed Kevin’s deep love for baby Leah. The thought forced her mind back to Angie. Back to the
mysterious woman fawning all over Tommy’s daddy. She felt a sudden desire to end the meeting.

“Listen, I think I have all I need. And you said Troy would send me your complete statement?”

“That’s right.”

“Then I want to thank you both for your time. Other than a possible clarification statement here or there I’m confident I’ll
be able to craft a story that’s fair and balanced.”

“I hope so,” Kevin responded warmly.

“I doubt it,” Dr. Richert spat.

Julia left the room more abruptly than she’d intended. Five minutes later she hailed a cab to drive her to the airport. As
the taxi pulled away from the curb she typed a short message to her editor.

The symptoms
came suddenly and severely. For almost two hours, while waiting to get into Dr. Ryan’s office, Angie’s imagination created
one panic-ridden scenario after another.

She recalled losing her aunt Cheri, who had died at age thirty-five, leaving Angie’s then-three-year-old cousin Andrew without
a mom. Liver cancer. By the time Cheri noticed any symptoms the disease had spread too far for surgery.

Her grandmother had fallen victim to breast cancer at the relatively young age of fifty-seven, prompting family doctors to
recommend annual mammograms for her mother, her sister, and herself. “Early detection is still the best defense,” they had
said. But Angie had been so busy with Kevin’s election and managing the kids that she had neglected that advice for each of
the past two years. Despite a genetic predisposition to cancer, she had always felt fine and never worried.

Until now. Despite a full night’s sleep Angie had woken to a debilitating exhaustion that would have kept her in bed had it
not been for an intense nausea that forced her to cling to the master bath’s toilet. She emptied her stomach on the third
or fourth violent retching. That’s when Kevin helped her back to bed.

“I think you have a fever,” he had said while gently stroking her cheek.

A good sign
? It seemed unlikely cancer would prompt a fever. But then it could weaken the immune system and make infection more likely.
Either way, Kevin insisted she see a doctor. He made her an appointment and started to cancel his morning meeting. But Angie
said not to do that. He reluctantly agreed, instead arranging for one of the office interns to sit with the kids and another
to drive her to and from the doctor.

“Probably just the flu,” he assumed.

Something more serious
, she quietly feared.

Twenty minutes after providing a urine sample and enduring a slight finger prick, Angie sat waiting for the doctor. She felt
a chill while rubbing her fingers along the ridge of her lower jaw to confirm a tender, swollen gland. She moved her hand
lower, reaching inside her blouse for another self-examination of her tender breast.

Two quick raps on the door warned of the doctor’s pending entry.

“Good morning, Angie,” Dr. Ryan sang casually. “Feeling any better?”

She offered the sprightliest moan she could muster. “A bit. But—”

“Good, good,” he interrupted while sliding a stool close. Scrolling through details displayed on his digital tablet, the doctor
quickly absorbed the information. He looked up at Angie, then back down. She assumed he needed another moment to find the
right words.

“Let’s start with the good news,” he began. “It’s very early, so we have several noninvasive options.”

Options? Options for what?

“Most women in your situation choose an oral prescription rather than vaginal removal.”

Angie struggled to find her suffocating voice. “Please, Dr. Ryan,” she managed to say. “Just tell me what’s wrong. How serious
is it?”

A puzzled glance.

“You don’t know?” he asked.

“Know what?”

An embarrassed look.

“I’m sorry. I assumed the nurse had already told you.”

Why would you expect the nurse to tell me I have a tumor?

“You’re pregnant, Angie.” His voice became grave. “But it’s very early, two weeks, so you have several options.”

Her mind vacillated between relief and anger, joy and dread.

“But I’m still nursing Leah.”

“Leah?”

“My daughter.”

“I see. An old wives’ tale. You can get pregnant while nursing. I’m so sorry.”

Sorry?

“But like I said, you have several great options.”

“End the pregnancy?” A tone of indignation.

He stared blankly, as if never having been asked the question before. “Well, I just assumed—”

“Please don’t assume, Doctor,” she said sternly.

“Yes, ma’am. But…” He paused. “But you’re well into your thirties now and already have two children.”

“Three!” she corrected.

“Right. Three children.” The reminder raised his brow.

Both sat silently for several moments as Angie digested the news.

Four children
! She could already hear the jibes.

Hasn’t anyone told you how babies are made?

You two need to get a television!

I guess Kevin Tolbert hopes to breed an entire soccer team.

The thought of Kevin made her smile.
Two weeks? This baby was conceived the night I wore Kevin’s surprise. The night Julia put the kids to bed
.

Thinking of Julia made her queasy stomach tense.

“Another baby?” Julia would react condescendingly. “Really? On purpose?”

It hadn’t been on purpose. They hadn’t been trying to conceive, and were even nervous about the possibility in light of Leah’s
disorder. Angie had already begun considering birth-control options to use once the baby finished nursing. She had planned to discuss them with Kevin as soon as life settled down a
bit.

Angie heard Dr. Ryan speaking. “May I at least explain the risks?”

She felt herself nod.

“The older a woman gets the more difficult it becomes to deliver a healthy child, unless of course she prescreens.”

She clearly hadn’t.

“In cases like yours I typically prescribe an oral stimulant that prevents the embryo from attachment.”

The words sent a shiver down Angie’s spine. “Prevent the embryo from attachment?”

“A fancy way of saying you would miscarry naturally.”

It sounded anything but natural.

“Anyway,” he continued. “I would advise against continuing this pregnancy. The potential child could have serious health problems.”

The phrase
potential child
bothered Angie. It felt as if the doctor were describing a subhuman species rather than the blossoming seed of Kevin’s and
her love.

“Problems like fragile X syndrome?” Angie asked.

He appeared surprised by the question. “Well, yes, that’s one possibility. Along with many others.”

Angie looked away and thought of Kevin. She wished he had come with her but felt glad he hadn’t. Her husband was under too
much stress already. He didn’t have time to deal with a flu-bug-turned-cancer-turned-fourth-child.
A fourth child
! But he would have to deal with it. They both would.

“No. Thank you.”

“Excuse me?” Dr. Ryan asked.

“I have no interest in a prescription to end the pregnancy.” She felt a rising distress.

He slid his stool back from his wayward patient. “I understand,” he yielded. “But I think I should go ahead and order an in
utero genetic profile so we can talk again in a few weeks.”

She started to object but a series of internal questions kept her silent.

What good would come of knowing a baby’s genetic weaknesses before delivery?

Would it have been better to know about Leah’s problems before delivery?

Would it have tempted them to intervene or simply made them better prepared?

“Well,” she finally said, then sighed. “I suppose there’s no harm in knowing what to expect.”

“We can discuss your options again once we have all the information.”

She felt another hesitant nod.

Sarah had
never looked lovelier as she walked in Matthew’s direction. The long brunet hair she pulled back in a ponytail at work now
fell on her shoulders, framing a face he thought a perfect blend of innocence and allure. But her deep blue eyes didn’t notice
him, fixed instead on the man holding her hand as they left the same coffee shop Matthew approached.

“Hi, Sarah,” he said preemptively. “Shift over already?”

A moment for recognition passed. “Oh, hi, Matt. No. I don’t work today. I was just meeting up with Ian. Have you met?”

The statuesque shape extended his free oversized hand. “Ian Fletcher.” An indifferent statement in lieu of a friendly greeting.

“Matthew Adams,” he volleyed back, wondering whether such a man was capable of feeling threatened by the competition, whether
a girl like Sarah would ever consider Matthew an option.

“Heading to work?” Sarah asked.

“Actually no. Stopping by to celebrate.”
I had hoped with you
, he thought.

“Celebrate what?” she asked while Ian tried resuming their walk. Her fingers tightened to rein in his advance.

“I just came from the admissions office.”

Sarah smiled, anticipating the good news. “What’d they say?”

“The enrollment counselor looked over my records and said I could use all six of the community college classes as electives
if I get accepted.”

“And?” she enticed.

“It looks like they’ll admit me on probationary status.”

Sarah leaped forward with a congratulatory hug as Ian’s eyes rolled.

Her body vanished before Matthew’s arms could close to relish the embrace. It was not at all as he had imagined.

“Congrats, man,” Ian offered while obliging Sarah’s returning fingers.

And the moment passed. Matthew sensed no change in Sarah’s demeanor toward him. Perhaps it was silly, but he had hoped the
news might ease him up the ladder of possibilities. No longer Matt the coffee shop employee, but Matthew Adams, burgeoning
professor.

He stood alone watching the pair walk away before turning toward the Campus Grinds entry. He didn’t open the door, walking
instead back toward the parking lot.

Thirty minutes later Matthew found himself sitting across from Donny at his kitchen table, opening a can of celebratory beer.

“Thanks for the brew, man!” Donny said while raising a silent toast.

“Thank you for watching Mom this morning,” Matthew said. “What time did she lie down for her nap?”

“Right after lunch. She should be up any time now.” Donny appeared to feel out of place, as if assuming Matthew would have
preferred celebrating with his mother.

“Good,” Matthew replied flatly.

The two sat in silence for several minutes, sipping from their cans.

“A big day,” Donny said awkwardly. “College life, here you come!”

Matthew forced a grin.

“When do you start?”

“September. Well, there’s a new student orientation in late August. But classes don’t begin until September.”

Donny seemed at a loss for another question to keep the conversation going. Having barely graduated from high school he had
no sense of how to express his curiosity about the lofty realm of higher education.

“You’ll need more help with your mom?”

Matthew said nothing.

“Any idea which days?”

Their eyes met pensively.

“Sorry. I don’t mean to assume. You might want to hire someone else. It’s just that, I don’t know, I kind of sense she’s starting
to remember me. Or at least feel comfortable with me.”

Matthew looked away.

“Like this morning. I sensed she was feeling down, maybe a bit depressed. I asked if something was wrong, like I’ve done before.
Only this time, instead of slumping alone in her chair, she looked in my eyes. It felt like, I don’t know, like she wanted
to confide in me.”

“Did she?” Matthew asked.

“Not exactly. But she came over to me. Stood real close. Then she squeezed my hands and said, ‘Thank you.’”

“For what?”

“Dunno. But it felt like some sort of breakthrough. Like we became friends or something.”

“She doesn’t know you, Donny,” Matthew said coldly.

Donny appeared momentarily hurt but it passed with his next swig. “You’re probably right. Still, I can help out if you need
it once you start college.”

Matthew gave a grateful nod before joining his lone cohort in another drink.

“I should probably go,” quickly bled into “See you next time.”

As soon as Donny left, Matthew crept toward his mother’s bedroom door. It was partially open, so he leaned in to listen for
clues. Slow, shallow breaths would mean a deep slumber. Deep exhalations with long gaps would mean she’d wake soon.

“Hello, Son.”

Already up.

“Hey, Mom. Did we wake you?”

“I never fell asleep,” she confessed.

“But Donny said—”

“I needed time alone. Time to think.”

She seemed uncommonly lucid, especially considering she’d missed her afternoon nap. One of her good days.

“About what?” he asked.

“About you. Your future.”

He entered the room and sat on the edge of her bed to help her prop a pillow for a better angle to chat.

“So, what did they say?” she asked, gently patting his arm.

“I’m in, Mom! They said I would probably be accepted on probation for the fall. They’re even going to look into taking my
community college credits.”

She smiled broadly, not at all surprised. Another pat on his arm told him she was very proud of her son.

He started to say more but stopped short.

“What else?” she asked.

“We can talk about the rest later. You need to rest.”

“I’m not tired,” she insisted.

“Donny said you seemed down. You feeling OK? Need anything?” He felt eager to serve the woman who was making his dreams come
true.

“I’m fine,” she said, reaching toward the nightstand. “But I need you to help me with this.”

She handed him a letter.

“What is it?”

“It arrived while you were out. They asked for my fingerprint and left it with me. Said it was for my eyes only. But my eyes
aren’t as good as they used to be.”

Matthew became angry. He had given Donny explicit instructions to intercept any mail or messages. “I don’t want her messing
with the bills or becoming confused by medical notices,” he had said.

“They wanted your fingerprint?” he asked, unfolding the page. His eyes landed on the masthead. Large gold print read
ASPEN
HOUSE
above much smaller lettering that said
A SUBSIDIARY OF NEXT INC.

The color drained from Matthew’s face. “Do you understand what this means, Mom?”

She nodded slowly.

Matthew cleared his throat nervously. “And?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I wanted time to think.”

“Did you think of anyone?”

“Anyone to what?” she asked.

“Anyone to provide secondary confirmation.”

Her eyes dropped, as if she had anticipated a different reaction from Matthew.

“I suppose you’ll need to do it,” she replied. “Who else do I have?”

“I can’t do it, Mom,” he said, the desperation rising in his voice. “It says right here that the person can’t be a recipient
of your inheritance.”

“Inheritance?” She seemed confused.

“Your estate. The money you’re giving me for college.”

“Yes. I want you to go to college. You’ll be a fine professor someday.”

“Mom!” He was losing her window of coherence. “Listen to me. This letter means you need to ask someone besides me to approve
your transition. Do you understand?”

Another slow nod gradually transitioned into a timid shake.

“I’m sorry, Son,” she said. “I’m suddenly feeling very tired. Maybe I should lie back down.”

“We need to figure this out now.”

But he knew it was too late. The familiar ashen look on her face told him it was no use pushing any further.

“OK,” he said, reaching for her pillow. “Let me help you with that.”

He stood up, folded the letter, and placed it in his pocket before turning off the light.

“Matthew,” she said as he began closing the door.

He turned back.

“I love you, Son.”

“I know, Mom. I love you too.”

Moments later Matthew dialed the number at the bottom of the letter while trying to recall the name of the gregarious gentleman
his mom had seemed to like so much.

“Aspen House Transition Services. How may I direct your call?”

“I need to speak to Chuck,” Matthew said feebly.