by Kira Peikoff
A full minute passes before a new voice catches me off guard.
“Hello?” It’s husky and British, belonging to a much older woman. I mentally cross sister off the list. “Who’s this?” she asks.
I clear my throat. “I’m a friend of Jillian’s.”
“My daughter doesn’t have any friends.”
Daughter catches me by surprise. Jillian’s a lone wolf—a rabid one. I can’t imagine her as someone’s child.
“Well, unfortunately, she’s missing,” I explain. “And I really need to find her. Can you help?”
“There must be some misunderstanding. I just talked to her, and she’s on her way here now.”
“Oh. Okay. Sorry to bother you.”
I end the call and hand Ethan back his phone.
“Let’s go.” I race into the house and grab my purse.
“It’s in Rhinebeck about an hour away,” Ethan calls. “Shouldn’t we notify the authorities first?”
“No!” I rush back with the car keys. “If they get there before us, she might not even stop at all. She might just keep on driving.”
“Then what?” Abby cries. “We have no idea where they could go next!”
“Come on!” I sprint to the car, brimming with more energy than I’ve felt in months.
“Wait.” Ethan runs up behind me as I reach the car. “Should I—do you want me to—?” He points at my keys with concern. I get it. My relapse is not something we can ignore. If I suffer a delusion while driving, it could be disastrous.
Reluctantly, I hand him the keys. As we start out toward 9 North, I imagine Rob somewhere up ahead on the same highway, at Jillian’s mercy, racing toward some nightmare fate without us.
“Hurry,” I beg Ethan. “We could already be too far behind.”
“What if we are?” Abby demands, thrusting herself between the two front seats.
“Put your seat belt on! We’ll figure it out.”
I don’t tell her what I’m really thinking: we may never see him again.
JILLIAN
“What do you mean, we have a son?” Rob’s face is sickly white.
I reach across the console and take his sweaty hand, which is still in the cuffs. “His name is Charlie. Charles Robert. After you.”
“You were pregnant when I left?” His guilt is too enjoyable to deter, so I stay quiet. I let his horror mount, let him believe for a second that he skipped out on his own child when he abandoned me. I wish I had been pregnant back then: knocked up, left alone, and unjustly sent to prison. Who else would deserve more sympathy?
“Wait.” He’s cringing with remorse, taking my silence as a yes. “Seriously? You were pregnant, and I didn’t even know?”
“No,” I admit. Charlie’s too young to pass for eleven. “I had him later, after.”
Relief smooths his brow. “Then he’s not mine. That’s impossible.”
“Actually, I think he is.”
He rolls his eyes. “You really do live in a fantasy world, huh?”
I ignore the jab. “Remember when we found out that Claire’s husband had shitty sperm? And the whole experiment was hinging on us creating viable embryos?”
He’s confused by my pivot. “Yeah …”
At the speed I’m driving, I can’t study his face, but that’s okay. I don’t want to make eye contact when he learns my biggest secret of all, the one thing in my past that’s reframed the purpose of my existence.
“Did you ever stop to wonder why we got two perfect embryos?”
“The odds were low, but not impossible.”
“Well, that night, you came back to my apartment …” I wait to let his memory fill in the details. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
“So?” he says.
“So, I saved the condom and went back to the lab when you left. Your sperm was still fresh, and it was freaking good.”
I realize he’s going to puke the same time he does: too late. We’re both stupefied by the yellow bile that flies out of his mouth and saturates his lap, filling the car with a revolting stench.
“Goddamn it,” I mutter. The stink is unbearable. I spot an exit coming up and veer off the highway while he rolls down his window, hanging his head out as far as he can. On the side of the road, the golden arches of a McDonald’s beckon us. I pull into the drive-through and ask for a bunch of napkins, then park the car while I clean up the mess. He’s too dazed to move. He hasn’t yet said a word.
Despite his aversion to my touch, I can’t help noticing how intimate it feels to wipe his legs and dab his mouth. Plus, the bandage on his ear is still a bloody mess, since I never got around to changing it. I replace it carefully with the supplies in my first aid kit while he glares out the windshield.
“Better?” I say, after I finish my handiwork.
He opens his mouth, expelling not vomit this time, but fury. “You stole my motherfucking sperm.”
“I did it for you. I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true.”
“Are you actually insane?”
“I get how it seems, but we’d worked too hard to let everything go to waste.” I’m desperate to make him understand; any hope of a reconnection depends on it. “If none of the embryos had made it, that would have been the end of the whole project. But you never would’ve done this—you’re too honest. So I did it for you. And it worked.”
His face is hard as stone. “And I banked the one left over.”
“Yep. After you disappeared but before I got locked up, I went to the cryobank and paid up front for a long-term storage plan. A couple years later, I returned and took the embryo in a thermos of liquid nitrogen to a nearby fertility clinic for my transfer. Charlie was born eleven months after my release.”
“Why?” He finally looks at me. “Why would you have a child?”
“It’s complicated.” How do I convey to him the certainty I felt all those years ago that I was meant to bring our one last embryo to life? That at first my conviction was rooted in ambition and rebellion—continuing the experiment I was punished for seemed like poetic justice—but the second I got pregnant, those feelings morphed into something deeper and purer—the fierce desire to be a mother. I was twenty-seven and alone—ghosted by him, blacklisted by my field, rejected by my own parents who couldn’t tolerate my disgrace. I wanted someone to love, who loved me back. I wanted a new reason to live—someone who would never give up on me.
“He’s a wonderful kid,” is all I say. “It was the best decision I ever made.”
This is an oversimplification, but it sounds better than the truth: yes, I love Charlie, of course I do, but there are times when his uncanny resemblance to Claire and her son turns my stomach. And the rocky ride of single motherhood has not been the cozy union I’d envisioned. Between those tedious early years and sleepless nights, the lack of help, and the relentless hustle to make ends meet as a former felon, relying on online tutoring gigs, I was running ragged on my best days.
When Charlie was two, my dad passed away from a massive heart attack, and my mom, alone with her grief, let go of her anger enough to let us live with her in Rhinebeck, where we’ve been for the last five years. As a perk, Charlie gets to attend my family’s fancy private school for free. Without her support, we’d be lost—and she never lets us forget it.
Saying good-bye to her will be harder for Charlie, but I’m sure that an even better life awaits us once we make it to Canada. Then we can publicize our breakthrough without fear of retribution. Charlie’s periodic scans, genetic testing, and tissue biopsies show that he is exceedingly healthy—living proof of our success.
“Wait,” Rob suddenly starts. “Does this mean Abby is mine, too?”
My smile is triumphant. “You’re welcome.”
“But then why did you make me tell her about Ethan back there?”
I shrug. “The truth is, you’d have to test the kids to be sure. All I know is that I held back two of the hybrid eggs on the day of the protocol, just in case my plan to sedu
ce you worked. I told you those eggs were damaged, but really I just set them aside so I could go back and fertilize them with your sperm from the condom that night. I had to try, because we suspected that Ethan’s sperm would only make duds. To keep our numbers the same, I trashed two of the original specimens and replaced them in the incubator with yours. Then when you went in to test them all later, you moved the petri dishes around and I lost track of which was which. But lo and behold, we ended up with two perfect embryos. So I can’t say both kids are yours for sure, but doesn’t it seem likely?”
“This is outrageous.” He’s on the verge of tears. “We don’t even know if Abby’s okay.”
“She will be. I wish she was coming to meet her brother, though.”
“That’s where we’re going?”
“I’ve always told Charlie that one day, when I find his father, we’ll start a new life together. He asks about you all the time.”
Rob is dumbfounded. “He does?”
“Yeah.” I feel a gush of nervous excitement, like a girl about to ask her crush on a date. “Ready to go meet your son?”
* * *
River Road Academy rests on an enormous plot of land made up of rolling hills, lush trees, and impeccably manicured fields. The school is the gem of the Hudson River Valley, the K–12 equivalent of Harvard, and my family’s legacy for three generations. Since my father’s death, my mother has run the place alone. Its name is synonymous across the Northeast with prestige, ambition, and success; as an alumna myself, it’s no wonder I’m an overachiever. Anything less would be intolerable.
When we pull up to the entrance, the lower school is on recess. On the other side of the fence, about a hundred kids in navy uniforms and white sneakers are running around the vast field, kicking soccer balls and lounging at picnic tables.
I finally unlock Rob’s handcuffs. “Don’t try anything stupid,” I tell him as we get out of the car. “There’s a guard watching the whole campus on eight different video screens.”
He nods and rubs his sore wrists.
In the fresh air, the bright notes of the children’s laughter ring out like chimes. I spot Charlie right away. He’s hovering near the net in scoring position, hollering at another kid to kick him the ball.
I point him out as we approach the gate. “There’s our boy.”
We both stand and watch as he receives the ball, maneuvers around a defensive player, and kicks it straight into the net. He pumps his fist with a grin, and his friends cheer him with high fives.
A stab of guilt pierces my pride. I’m about to wrench him out of this safe, sun-kissed life and hurl us straight into the unknown. But it’s for the best. Rob and I have no career future otherwise. You can’t be expected to sacrifice yourself for your child forever, can you?
“That’s him?” Rob touches the chain-link fence. I sense him going weak in the knees. “That’s my son?”
Instead of the joy I expected, he’s breathing too hard. He backs away from the fence—from me.
“What’s wrong?”
“He doesn’t look like me at all.” Rob squints, shading his eyes with his hand. “In fact, he looks exactly like Claire’s first child.”
“So?” I exhale irritably. This fact has never escaped me. “Why is everything always about Claire?”
He takes another step back, as though I’m a bear trapping him in a standoff.
“You deployed this kid to torment her, didn’t you?” he says. “To make her think she was crazy?”
I cross my arms. “Okay, now you sound crazy.”
“You wanted to move in on us without opposition. God, I literally drove her to the mental hospital. I insisted.”
“Oh, please. Like Claire hasn’t been a mental case from day one.”
“How did you get him to taunt her and run away?” His voice is dripping with disdain. “Did you bribe him or something?”
I roll my eyes, although he isn’t far off. Charlie loves hide-and-seek. Each time we played the game, I took him out for ice cream afterward.
Rob takes his eyes off me to search the grounds, possibly looking for an escape, but we are surrounded by acres of grass. Perched up on a hill sits the white school building. Like a castle, it encompasses multiple wings, domes, and upper levels. Behind us, the parking lot leads out through trees back to the highway along the Hudson.
“You have two choices,” I tell him. “One, we go to Canada with Charlie, publish our work, resurrect our careers, and be free. Or things can get ugly. I’m sure you want to make it out of here alive. But it’s up to you.”
He falters. I can’t stand his despair, so I march to the security booth at the entrance. I wave to Harold, the longtime guard, who recognizes me and opens the gate.
“That man is coming, too,” I inform him, pointing to Rob. “Hurry up,” I hiss.
He follows reluctantly as I stride onto the soccer field right up to Charlie, cutting off the kid who has the ball. The other boys freeze midplay.
“Mom?” Charlie says, embarrassed. It doesn’t escape my notice that he no longer runs into my arms these days. Instead, he hangs back, with his friends. “Um, we’re kinda busy …”
“It’s time to go. Come on.”
“Now?” His lower lip juts out. “Why? Recess isn’t over yet!”
“We’re going on a trip. I’m sorry, but we have to go.”
His voice grows whiny. “In the middle of the day?”
“Yep. Say bye to everyone.”
Charlie gives his friends a halfhearted wave, then grudgingly turns to me. That’s when he notices Rob on the sidelines. Charlie’s nose scrunches up when he asks, “Who’s that guy?”
I understand my son’s repulsion. Rob’s white shirt and denim jeans are stained, his ear bandage is bloody yet again, and his greasy curls are sticking out in all directions, like a madman’s. Not the best look for their first meeting. And yet, he’s still handsome to me.
“He’s my friend,” I say. “I’ll explain when we get in the car.”
“He’s coming?” Charlie asks, surprised. No one except my mother has ever gone on a trip with us before.
“Yes.”
When we approach, Rob squints down at him. I can’t tell whether the sun is simply in his eyes, or whether he’s trying hard to contain his emotions.
“Hi,” he says awkwardly, holding out his hand.
“Hi,” Charlie replies, offering him a fist bump instead.
“Rob, Charlie. Charlie, Rob,” I jump in.
Rob appears taken aback that I’ve used his first name instead of dad, but he doesn’t object. Making a big, momentous introduction feels all wrong under these circumstances. It would surely disappoint Charlie, who’s been told all his life that his father is a genius scientist. There will be time to tell him the truth later.
“Now, let’s go say good-bye to Grandma,” I announce. “Rob, come with us.” I don’t want to leave him alone in case he tries to make a run for it.
The three of us make our way through the field and up the fairly steep hill to the school building. Inside its marbled foyer, I lead the way to my mother’s office, which overlooks the grounds. Charlie drags his feet. I snap at him to cut it out. Rob cooperates without protest, but I don’t like the glint in his eyes. Disobedience lurks in his gait.
We enter my mother’s waiting area, which consists of a black leather couch and several straight-backed wooden chairs. I instruct Rob to take a seat. I’ll be able to watch him through my mother’s glass wall. Also, her secretary, Denise, presides over the area from her desk. I call out a hello as we pass her. On second thought, I backtrack to her and lower my voice. “Would you mind making my friend some coffee while I talk to my mom?”
“Of course, honey,” she replies. “You got it.”
Now he won’t be able to sneak out unnoticed.
My mother rises from her desk when Charlie and I walk in. Mature seven-year-old that he is, he still runs into her arms. She crouches to receive the full burst of his affe
ction. Improbably, she has become one of Charlie’s best friends. They play board games together, construct Lego towers, live-stream rocket launches, visit truck theme parks—you name it. If Charlie is into it, my mother’s enthusiasm follows. From the first day they met, their bond was instant and uncomplicated. She doesn’t know the truth about his origins; only that I had a romance with his father, who left me.
“What’s going on?” she says to me now, in lieu of hello. With her high cheekbones, fine wrinkles, and graceful figure, she could pass for an aging dancer instead of a powerful headmaster. After I went to prison and my father died, she fell into a deep depression, but over the last five years, she’s undergone a striking transformation. When Charlie came into the picture, she rediscovered joy.
My throat tightens. As much as my mother and I have clashed over the years, she and Charlie are everything to each other. And we’re about to leave her for good.
“There’s an opportunity up north,” I tell her vaguely. “A big career thing. But we have to leave now.”
She frowns. “Right now?”
“Yes.”
Charlie burrows into her dress. “I don’t wanna go!”
“Jillian, he needs to finish up second grade. Whatever it is can wait another few weeks until the summer.”
“No, it can’t.”
“Then you go, and I’ll take care of him until you come back, just like it’s been. I don’t mind.”
“Yay!” he shouts, jumping up to rush back outside to recess.
I grab his arm as he whizzes past me. “No.” Through the window, I spy Rob taking a cup of coffee from Denise. But he’s also asking her something, and she’s pointing down the hall, toward the bathrooms. I watch him walk out the door.
“Gotta go,” I announce. “Sorry, Mom. I’ll stop by the house to get his clothes.”
“No!” he yells. “I’m not going!”
I hoist him into my arms, all fifty-one squirming pounds, and stomp out the door. “I’ll call you!” I shout over my shoulder at her. My impending sadness is eclipsed by a much more pressing concern—where the hell did Rob go?
“You can’t just leave!” my mom shouts at me. “Where are you taking him?”
