by Glen Krisch
The door opened, and Dr. Cronin entered. His expression, which looked awfully similar to when he figured her for a drug-seeker, made Angie's stomach clench.
"What is it?" she asked impatiently.
"It's still early, but your body is producing enough pregnancy hormones that the test came back positive."
"Really?"
Dr. Cronin seemed unsure on how to proceed. He'd been their family physician for the duration of their marriage. She and Paul had made a joint visit two years ago to get a referral for their fertility issue. Cronin knew Paul and Angie on a first name basis, and on the few occasions they'd encountered him in town, he'd chatted with them in a warm, neighborly fashion. Cronin was a longtime doctor and a small-town resident. He also knew full well that Paul was dead. He seemed ill-prepared to deliver such unseemly news.
"I'm not here to judge you, Angie--"
"How come people say that when they only intend to do just the opposite?"
"Well, in my case, it's the truth. Your life is your life; how you live it is up to you. My only concern is your health," he said and briefly touched her shoulder. "For the health of your baby."
Baby. The word held so much power. Few words could so dramatically change someone's life. Angie could see in Cronin's expression that her words had stung. "I'm sorry, Dr. Cronin."
He half-smiled, accepting her apology. "I just want to set you on the right course for this pregnancy. I can refer you to an ob/gyn. You'll need to set up an appointment in the next week or so. He'll pinpoint your delivery date and get all your baselines."
"I'm... I'm just not... I just never knew I could even get pregnant."
"Human biology is a mystery, even now. I've seen women, who thought they could never conceive, get pregnant in their forties after not using birth control for twenty years."
A mystery? Angie thought. You don't know the half of it.
"I'll get you Dr. Billick's card. He's the best ob/gyn in Grand View." Cronin turned toward the door.
"Dr. Cronin?" Angie called out before he could leave.
"Yes?"
"Is it possible to determine paternity before delivery?"
Cronin dropped his amiable bedside manner and gave Angie an unshielded look of contempt. It was gone just as quickly as it appeared, but she'd seen it.
"Sure, it's possible. There's a test, but we don't do them here. It's done through a processing lab in Atlanta."
"I'd have to fly to Atlanta?"
"Not at all. It's a simple DNA test. It's all done through the mail. You'll need a DNA sample from you, one from the potential father, and one from the baby."
"From the baby?"
"The hospital will need to take an amniotic sample."
"Is there any danger in that?"
"Little or none. And for you, the pain will feel like getting a booster shot."
"What about the father's DNA?"
"A hair sample would suffice."
"Can you help me set up the test as well as getting Dr. Billick's card?"
He said nothing, but her question had altered something between them. When he returned with the information, Cronin could barely contain his disdain as he explained everything to her.
Chapter 11
The air in the great room felt both damp and cold against Angie's skin when she returned home. She checked the thermostat, which seemed to be in working order. Determined to start taking better care of herself, Angie grabbed a cable-knit sweater from the chest at the end of her bed. It was one of Paul's favorites for days such as this. It was baggy, hanging loosely over her shoulders and especially around her middle, but she supposed she would grow into it during the coming months.
Before she closed the chest, she saw Paul's smiling face gazing up at her from the assorted sweaters and extra blankets; she'd nearly forgotten about the exiled photo she'd taken at the top of Mt. Diablo, his unguarded "Paulness" on full display. With much care, she took the frame out from hiding, replacing it to its rightful spot on top of Paul's dresser. She stepped back, checking the angle of the photo from the bedside, then adjusted it until she would be able to see it clearly upon waking. Well, whenever she decided to finally return to sleeping in her own bed.
Angie had been avoiding the subject since leaving Dr. Cronin's office. She needed to think rationally about something that made no sense whatsoever when considered in the light of day. She was pregnant. After years of futile effort, after consulting a fertility specialist to no avail, and without the presence of Paul (at least in the living, physical sense), Angie Chandler was with child.
What an odd term, she thought. A child was currently "with her." Which meant she was no longer alone. This realization made it easier to dismiss the other possibilities. Which is worse, she wondered, holding onto the hope of a supernatural impregnation, or coming to terms with the possibility that she had been the victim of the worst crime short of murder?
She didn't think Nathan capable of something so heinous, something so underhanded, but just the same, she collected a hair sample from the winter cap he'd left behind when she'd chased him from the living room a few days before. If her brother-in-law had somehow taken advantage of her during her binge of wine and pills, she didn't know what she would do. Violent retribution came to mind. Could she take revenge? Could she even keep the baby?
After sealing Nathan's hair inside the baggie from the test kit provided by Dr. Cronin, she did the same with hair she'd removed from Paul's hairbrush. She held the small vial that represented her baby's contribution to the test up to the light. She would've never guessed at the beginning of the day that she would soon be holding in her hand a vial of her own amniotic fluid. The whole thing had a Frankensteinian implication; a clear mixture representing her genes combining with those from someone else, a mixture that would become neither parent, but something different. Something other.
She filled out the paperwork for the test, and made sure everything essential was inside the prepaid delivery box. She sealed it, took a trembling breath, and waited for the arrival of the Fed EX driver.
After the paternity test had been picked up, the worst possibility came to mind. What if neither hair sample revealed her baby's father? It felt like she was in the middle of the most obscene episode of Maury.
She took a fireplace poker and rattled the slumbering logs from the fire she had started earlier in the day, sending sparks toward the flue, wondering about the life growing in a womb she had once thought barren. After adding another log to the fire, she rubbed her arms to chase away the last of the chill. It felt like spring would ever come, that the nascent signs of renewal would never take hold and flourish.
Though the idea of Nathan taking advantage of her during a late night blackout was horrible enough, somehow a more unnerving possibility existed, that someone (a certain unknown man in black and with a penchant for forcing SUVs from the road) had broken into her house and raped her. What made it worse, as if there could ever be gradations to such degradation, was the unknown. If her assailant was Nathan, then she had a single person to fear. If it was someone else, some unknown person who could be just about any man, well, that left her with fearing half the population.
Rationality couldn't override all emotions. Through the trying days of cleaning up from the bad habits she'd developed after the accident, and the recent revelation of her impending motherhood, she had ignored the one thing that threatened everything she clung to concerning Paul.
TRINA.
That one word called into question Paul's devotion, love, and faithfulness, no matter if Lindsey had tried to convince her otherwise. If she couldn't believe in Paul in death as she had in life, she didn't know how she would get through the coming months.
Trina. That name was a torment and a curse. It undermined the foundations of her marriage.
She sat down on the couch in the great room, and as she dialed the phone, she had the worst irrational fear that Imogene would pick up the line. Heart hammering in her chest, Angie held the pho
ne in a clammy hand as it started to ring.
When it picked up, a woman's voice greeted her.
"Dr. Trina's office, how may I help you?"
"I... um..." Angie said, confused.
"Hello?"
"I'm sorry, it's just I didn't know what this number was for. I found it in my husband's date book."
"This is the Manistee Fertility Clinic."
"You see, he has an appointment..." Angie said before she had to stop to choke back a sob. Saying anything about Paul in the present tense... it made it all seem so unreal, that he could walk through the front door at any moment, even though she knew otherwise.
"I see. Did you want to confirm his appointment at this time?"
"No... it's just that... Paul Chandler, my husband, he passed away recently. And I've been going through his things and I noticed he had an appointment for next week in his day planner. Is it possible to talk to Dr. Trina?"
"Can you please hold? I'll see if he's available."
Before she could reply, the line clicked over to hold music, an upbeat tune full of flutes and chirping keyboards.
Angie felt relieved learning that Trina was a new fertility doctor. They had gone that route two years before, but still hadn't gotten pregnant. Paul had been on his adoption kick for the last year, so she didn't know what the new appointment could be about. Regardless, Paul seeing a fertility doctor was better than the alternative. At least Trina wasn't another woman.
The line clicked, and a gravelly voice said, "Hello, Mrs. Chandler?"
"Yes, speaking."
"This is Dr. Philip Trina. Julie just told me that Paul has passed away. I'm so sorry to hear about your loss."
"Thank you, Dr. Trina. You wouldn't believe how nice it is to hear from you." Angie wouldn't let herself cry. She'd cried enough these last few months. She needed to be stronger. If not for herself, then for the baby. "I didn't even know my husband was seeing you. Can I ask you the reason?"
After a long pause, Dr. Trina cleared his throat, then said, "I wouldn't normally disclose a patient's information, but the circumstances should allow me some leeway with HIPAA. Your husband's sperm, as you know, had low motility. It would have been difficult to get pregnant under the best circumstances, and with your separate issues, it made it nearly impossible. Paul wanted to discuss in vitro fertilization with me."
"But we tried that," Angie said, cutting him off. "It didn't work."
"He wanted to talk to me about using donor sperm. He had someone in mind, but he wasn't sure about everything, the genetics involved... what have you."
"A donor?"
"Yes. And I'm glad I'm speaking with you, Mrs. Chandler, because I'm confused about the situation myself. When he scheduled the appointment a note was left in his file. It mentioned that he would be bringing in his brother, and that his brother would be the donor."
Angie thought about Paul's brothers. Bryce and Fletcher had certainly proven to be fertile enough. And Nathan... that just seemed creepy after her experiences with him lately. Paul had never mentioned any of this to her. She doubted she would have gone through the disappointing ordeal of in vitro again, especially if the child wouldn't have been biologically Paul's. She probably would've agreed to adoption long before what Dr. Trina was suggesting.
"What is your confusion?" Angie said, doubting she would be able to clear up anything with how unclear everything was to her.
"In your husband's file, it also lists his family history. In his history, it indicates that he had no biological siblings."
"I'm sorry, what?"
"You husband didn't have any brothers."
"That's not true. I've seen them for myself; I work with them, for God's sake. Could it be a mistake? Maybe he just missed checking a box."
"No, I'm afraid not. There is no box to mark. Under the question 'how many biological siblings do you have,' he wrote None."
"I... I don't really know what to say. But thanks for speaking with me."
"Again, Mrs. Chandler, you have my condolences."
Chapter 12
Angie had removed Paul's baby photos from her wallet countless times in the two weeks since she found out she was pregnant. She looked at them now, her near-constant handling of the aging photos rounding the corners. She couldn't get over the different emotions captured in the photos. Happy and grinning in one, practically bitter in the other.
Can a newborn emote bitterness?
Whatever the case, both photos showed the same perfect nose that she recognized as Paul's. The shape of his lips hadn't changed much with the passing years, either.
"God, I hope the baby looks like you," she said, but didn't continue with the thought as it ran through her head: and I hope it's yours. "God, I hope so."
The doorbell rang, and she set her wallet down on the entryway table.
"Delivery," the Fed Ex guy said when she opened the door. He didn't make eye contact and seemed bored out of his mind. He held a certified envelope in one hand and extended his signature pad with the other. Angie couldn't believe how calm he could be with such important information in his hands.
She signed, he handed her the envelope, and he still hadn't looked at her. "Thanks," she said, but he had already turned away.
"Asshole," she muttered as she closed the door.
She wouldn't let a guy pissed off at his career choice get in the way of her excitement. Angie pulled the tab to open the envelope before the delivery guy was even back in his blue and green van.
It was the test results. She scanned the first three paragraphs without seeing the words. Her eyes came to rest on the single statistic on the page:
99.97% paternal genetic match: Paul Chandler
0.01% paternal genetic match: Nathan Chandler
"What...?" she said, her eyes misting with tears as a wide smile broke across her face. "Paul, can you hear me?"
The house was silent. Bizzy entered the room, a quizzical look on her face.
"I don't know how this happened, but please let me know you hear me!" Angie set the papers down on the coffee table and walked the long hall from the great room to the kitchen. "Honey...! Please...?"
She supposed hearing a response would be just too much, would just about confirm her madness. She didn't know how it had happened. Just that it did. She was pregnant, and she was carrying Paul Chandler's baby.
A slight flutter brushed across the inside of her belly, nothing more than a tickle. Her hands instinctively went to her belly, pressing the small mound building there. "Was that just...?"
She hadn't yet felt the baby kick, so she had no idea how it should feel. From what Lindsey had told her about her own experiences, it did seem like she had just felt the baby kick.
She felt the flutter again, and the slight stirring made her heart ache with joy. "God... Paul, I wish you were here."
Bizzy started barking at the front door. Something in her crazed tone sounded familiar.
Still with one hand on her belly, Angie grabbed a bottled water and returned to the great room. Her cheeks hurt from smiling so much.
"It's okay, Bizzy. Mommy's here," she said as she entered the room. Her smile fell when she saw someone through the narrow window next to the door. "What now?"
Bizzy continued to bark and was now pawing at the door as if she could tunnel through it and get at the man standing on the other side. Angie scooped her into her arms, put her in Paul's old office, and shut the door.
"Nutty dog," she said, shaking her head. Bizzy stopped barking, but began to whine.
When Angie returned to the front door, she got a better look at the man.
That nose.
Those lips.
"Paul!" she cried and dropped the bottled water.
Paul moved from one foot to the other as if anxious. He wore a light blue suit that seemed too small for his frame and also seemed dirty beyond anything salvageable. Even still, she ran to the door and flung it open.
"Paul? Oh my God! Paul... how... what happened!"
>
The filthy suit coat didn't match his battered army green pants. His tie was not only askew, but a clip-on.
"Paul...?" she asked again, but immediately knew it was wrong.
His smile fractured, pushed aside by a coldness she had never seen in her husband.
"No, not Paul," the man said and stepped inside. He pulled his left arm from behind his back, and offered her a bouquet of roses.
Angie consciously stepped away from the flowers, something primal inside her sensing danger.
The man (not Paul, no, not ever Paul) closed the door.
"Paul... we met, again, after so many years apart, not so long ago. Nice guy, that Paul."
"You're his... you're Paul's..."
"Twin. Yep, that's me. Darrel Landers's is the name. So sorry for what happened to your hubby. But you have to be careful when driving at night on snowy roads. And for goodness sake, make sure everyone's wearing their fuckin' seatbelt!"
Angie stood next to the entryway table, her wallet open and the photos she'd just been looking at. She picked them up, looked at them yet again. For the first time she noticed how there was no way the two babies could be the same boy. There was the slightest variance in their facial features. The slight differences that Angie had originally dismissed as different camera angles became quite pronounced. She flipped them over, and saw in faint pencil the two boy's names. If she hadn't been looking for such details, she would've never seen them. And the bitter boy's name, the one bitter boy with his permanent scowl, was indeed named Darrel.
It all made sense now. All too much sense.
"I don't... understand," Angie stammered. "Paul's family... they never mentioned that he had a twin."
"Why would they know? Those Richie Riches adopted the sainted Paul. I guess I wasn't worthy, being the lesser twin, and all."
"So you're the brother?" Angie could see the pieces of the puzzle falling into place in her head. Paul had originally claimed no biological siblings to Dr. Trina. But then, at some point, he'd found Darrel. The bitter boy.
"I think we already decided that, sister. Now, will you take these fuckin' flowers, or do I gotta hold them all day?" Darrel said, his voice sugary sweet.
