Fertile Ground (14 page)

She was tempted to tell him to write it himself but lost her nerve. “There’s something else. The Wrights—the parents of the egg donor who was killed—came to the clinic. They demanded to know who received their daughter’s eggs. I told them—gently, of course—that I couldn’t reveal that information.”

“How did they react?”

It was impossible to miss the taut wariness in his voice. “Not well.” She summarized the conversation. “I did my best to explain, but they feel they’re entitled to their daughter’s eggs—or children, if any of the eggs resulted in a pregnancy.” In her mind’s ear she could hear Enid Wright’s plaintive wail.

“Did you tell them their daughter signed a waiver giving up all rights to her eggs?”

“Yes, I did.” She was irritated with Fisk—did he think she was an idiot? “Mr. Wright said the contract might not be valid, since his daughter probably wasn’t eighteen when she signed it.”

“That’s not possible,” he said firmly. “Did you tell him we don’t accept donors under eighteen years of age?”

She gritted her teeth. “Yes. But I haven’t seen her file, and I didn’t want to argue with him. He and his wife are devastated.”

“My heart goes out to those people, too. Lisa. But we have to protect the confidentiality of our patients. Did they mention consulting an attorney?”

“Yes.”

“Terrific.” Fisk grunted. “I think they’ll find they don’t have any rights, but I’ll check with our attorney.”

Was he angry with her? Bristling, she said coolly, “I tried my best to calm them, Edmond.”

“I’m sure you did.” Suddenly his tone was conciliatory. “We’ll have to see what develops. I’ll say good night now. Lisa, and I’ll get Georgia. Hold on.”

She didn’t know why Georgia wanted to talk to her, but she couldn’t

very well hang up. Her stomach rum bled—she wasn’t sure whether it was hunger or anxiety. She padded barefoot into the kitchen and was inspecting the refrigerator when Edmond’s wife came on the line.

“Lisa, dear? This must be awful for you, just awful. How are you managing?”

“Trying to keep busy.” The radio was playing “It’s My Party and I’ll Cry If I Want To.” Isn’t that the truth, she thought, and told herself to stop feeling sorry for herself.

“That was a silly question, wasn’t it? It’s hard to know what to say in a situation like this.” “It isn’t silly at all,” Lisa-said, taking pity on Georgia, who sounded terribly uncomfortable. “It’s sweet of you to ask.”

“Edmond’s left the room,” his wife said, her voice lower. “You have no idea how agitated he is. He hasn’t been sleeping well. He’s lost his appetite. He paces around the house.” “I know he cares for Matthew.” And no doubt he was worried about his legal and financial liabilities regarding the clinic.

“He loves him as if he were his son. We both do. If anything happened to Matthew…” She sighed. “I wanted to comfort you, but I’m not doing a very good job of it. If there’s anything you need, anything at all, call us. We both want to help.”

“Thank you. That’s so kind.” Lisa was about to hang up when she had a thought. “Georgia, you’re involved in a lot of charities and organizations. Do you know who chairs the Juvenile Diabetes Foundation in Los Angeles?”

“They do such important work. Quite a few of my friends are involved in it, and Edmond and I contribute generously, but I’ve concentrated my efforts during the last few years on raising money for pediatric AIDS research. Can you be more specific, dear?”

“All I know is that the woman has a young child.” Yvonne hadn’t said how young. Chelsea probably hadn’t told her. “And she lives in Beverly Hills.” Along with a thousand other women.

“There’s no point in guessing. They sent me an

invitation for an upcoming event. The invitation should list the officers’ names. Hold on while I check.”

If Georgia couldn’t help her. Lisa would phone the diabetes foundation, she decided as she put up a pot of spaghetti.

“Well, we’re in luck,” Georgia said when she came back on the line. “The woman you want is Paula Rhodes, and the dessert reception will be at her home in July.”

“The name sounds familiar.”

“That’s not surprising. The Rhodes family has been a major benefactor for decades. I don’t think there’s a museum in the city that they haven’t supported or_a_hospital that doesn’t have a wing named after them~in fact, Paula’s husband, Andrew, invested in Matthew’s clinic. He and Edmond were business associates and friends.” Georgia paused. “Five months ago he had a massive heart attack and died. Paula was pregnant at the time. It was tragic,” she said, her voice filled with sadness.

“She must have been devastated.” Years ago Lisa had paid a condolence call to a former high school classmate who had been four months pregnant and had been “sitting shivah”—seven days of mourning—for her twenty seven-year-old husband. His sudden, fatal heart failure had left her with a two-year-old daughter and a three year-old son and no means of support. Lisa could still remember how dazed the young widow had looked, how lost. She’d been happy to learn recently from her mother that the woman had remarried. “Do you know Mrs. Rhodes?” she asked Georgia.

“Not well. She and Andrew belonged to a younger circle. But whenever our paths crossed, she was very friendly. I’d heard she wasn’t going anywhere after Andrew died, so I was pleased to find out that she’s becoming active again. I invited her to the party we hosted for you and Matthew, but of course, she didn’t come. Are you thinking of getting involved with the diabetes organization, dear? Because our foundation could use someone like you, young and bright and energetic.”

“Actually, I don’t have time for volunteer work now. Someone made a

reference to this woman, and I was cu nous to know who she was.” It was a half-truth, not a lie. Lisa was too tired—and reluctant—to explain why she wanted the information. “She does live in Beverly Hills, doesn’t she?” She had no idea how else to obtain the woman’s address; she doubted that it was listed.

“Yes. On Linden.” Georgia told her the address. “That’s in the flats,” she added, referring to the four blocks running north and south between Santa Monica Boulevard and Sunset.

Lisa knew where the Flats were. Matthew had driven her around the exclusive neighborhood several times, pointing out his favorites among the palatial homes.

“Someday soon,” he’d told her, “we’ll be living here.”

“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t come over,” Lisa said.

Sam was leaning against the doorjamb, his denim jacket slung over his shoulder. She was startled to find how pleased she was to see him.

He straightened up and adjusted his yarmulke. “We didn’t agree. You said it wasn’t necessary. I decided you were being a martyr. So do I get to come in?” He smiled.

“Sorry.” She stepped aside to let him enter, then shut and locked the door. “I am glad you came. Thanks, Sam.”

They walked into the living room and sat on the sofa. She pulled her knees up to her chest, conscious of the fact that she was barefoot, and told him about Fisk’s call. “I had the feeling he thought I’d mishandled things with the Wrights.” She shrugged.

“Nothing you or anyone else said would’ve calmed them down. Fisk knows that.” He leaned back against the sofa and crossed his ankles. “It’s a mistake letting young, childless women donate eggs. I’m not sure they’re donating for the right reasons.”

She nodded. “Twenty-five hundred dollars is tempting.”

“Especially for an eighteen-year-old. Other clinics

i don’t use childless donors. We shouldn’t, either. And we should raise the qualifying age to twenty-one.” He moved against the back cushion, and the leather sighed in protest. | “I told that to Matt. He said he’d take it up with the | board, but Ted will campaign against it. Ted’s view is if i childless, college-age men can donate sperm, then childless, college-age women can donate eggs. As if it’s the same thing.” He shook his head in annoyance.

“Ted’s a jerk.” They exchanged smiles. “Matt hasn’t mentioned this to me. Then again, he’s been preoccupied, and he doesn’t like to discuss the clinic.”

“Really?” Sam linked his hands behind his head. “I thought you and he talk shop, discuss patients, tear apart the staff—present company excepted, of course.” He grinned.

“Matt doesn’t talk about the staff—he told me it’s unprofessional. About the egg donors, I agree. And I’ve read the literature. There are some real concerns.”

There was a risk, carefully explained to every donor, that the fertility drugs used to stimulate the production of multiple eggs could result in infertility problems later on. That would be a tragic irony. Lisa had wondered how many young, childless donors seriously considered the possible risks before signing the ovum donation contract. There was also a suspicion, as yet unproved clinically, of a link between certain fertility drugs and subsequent ovarian cancer. And extreme ovarian hyper stimulation could end in serious complications, including lung failure, coma. Even death.

But young people. Lisa knew, didn’t respect the reality of death. They drove recklessly and engaged in unsafe, unprotected sex and smoked cigarettes and took drugs, believing that death happened to someone else, to someone older. From all accounts Chelsea had been a bright young woman; still, two weeks ago she’d begged Matthew to let her donate eggs again, even though her ovaries had been hyper stimulated the first time.

Then she was killed. And there was no escaping the irony that because she’d donated eggs, a part of her still

lived. Lisa wondered aloud who had received Chelsea’s eggs.

“If her parents hire a lawyer to subpoena the records, we may know more details—and soon,” Sam said. “How about you? Are you going to hunt down the person who hired Chelsea to be a nanny?”

“I found her. Her name is Paula Rhodes.” She told him what she’d learned from Georgia.

“You’re really playing detective, aren’t you?” He looked at her curiously.

“It’s an interesting coincidence, isn’t it? Chelsea donates eggs to the clinic and ends up being hired by a family who helped build it. Maybe she said something about Matthew, or about the clinic, or about her problems.”

“Or maybe you’re reaching,” he said gently. “Don’t set yourself up for disappointment. Lisa.”

“I know you’re right.” She smiled, touched by his concern. “But I have to try, Sam. The police aren’t making any progress. All they can tell me is that there’s been no activity on Matthew’s credit cards and still no sighting of his car. They’re annoyed with me for calling so often.” “That’s their problem. You’re his fiancee. You’re entitled.”

“Am I?” She plucked at the fabric of her jeans.

“Hey!” He stared at her, puzzled. “Did I miss something?”

Her eyes teared. It was ridiculous and embarrassing, the way she cried lately at the drop of a hat. She buried her face between her knees and felt his hand hovering over her head.

“Tell me what’s going on. Lisa.” He stroked her hair tentatively, then withdrew his hand.

She appreciated his gesture, understood his discomfiture. He’d never touched her before, and she’d assumed that in following strict Jewish law, he avoided physical contact with women, aside from his immediate family. Asher had never touched her, either … She studied the damp splotches on her jeans. “I was having doubts about the wedding before all this happened.

Matthew didn’t know. Now he’s disappeared, and I’m terrified. I want to see him walk in here, alive and well—” She stopped.

“Go on,” he urged softly.

“I still have doubts. When I realized something happened to him, I thought. Now all my doubts will disappear. But they haven’t.“I She faced Sam. “Matt’s wonderful. He’s caring and generous and bright, but I don’t know if I want to marry him.”

Sam’s gaze was thoughtful. “Why not? Sounds like everything fine.

“I know.” Lisa sighed. “Little things bother me. He’s compulsively neat. He doesn’t have the best sense of humor. I wish he’d learn to relax more, not be so driven, so private. Sometimes I think I’m looking for problems. I mean, these are hardly reasons not to marry someone, are they?”

“You tell me,” Sam said quietly. When she didn’t answer, he asked, “So Matthew has no idea how you feel?”

“No.” She hesitated, not sure she wanted to get into this. “The night before he disappeared, I told him I was thinking about being frum again.” Sam knew she’d stopped being observant. She’d never explained why, and he’d never pressed.

“No kidding?” He studied her, drumming the sofa cushion with his long fingers. “So what was Matthew’s reaction?”

“He said he’d think about it seriously and attend classes with me. That should’ve made everything okay, but it didn’t. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You’re asking him to change his whole life around and follow a belief system he doesn’t buy.” Sam shook his head. “That’s not realistic. Lisa. Maybe that’s why you’re troubled, because you know it’s not going to work.”

“Maybe.”

He was silent for a moment, still tapping the cushion. “So Matthew said he’s willing to consider changing his life around, but you still had doubts about marrying him

and didn’t tell him. Is that why you feel guilty?” His voice was so soft, so gentle.

“Yes.” Making the admission brought her a measure of relief. “And every time I tell people he’s my fiance-like Detective Barone, or the people in the restaurant tonight—I feel like an impostor, as though I’m asking for information and sympathy under false pretenses.”

The timer buzzed. She jumped up from the couch and hurried into the kitchen, aware that Sam was behind her. She turned off the buzzer.

He leaned against the counter and watched as she transferred the pasta into a colander. “So when did you start thinking about becoming frum again?” —“When Matthew and I were first engaged, and I started thinking about having a family. Maybe even before then.” She rinsed the pasta under cold water. “I’m not exactly sure what I want. I miss Friday night kiddush and challah and the singing. I miss the peacefulness of Shabbos and the beauty of the holidays—the special foods, the special smells, the blessings.” “When did you start missing everything?”

“On some level, I never really stopped.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw the sudden lift to his brows, the “whys” forming in his eyes. “Sometimes I even miss all the everyday rules telling me what to eat, what to wear, what to say. Weird, isn’t it?” She turned to him and smiled awkwardly, feeling a little uncomfortable baring her soul.