“Oh no.” Christine moaned.
Marcus grimaced, looked away, saying nothing.
Michelle held up a manicured index finger. “But wait. I have help. I’ve arranged for a wonderful genetics counselor to join us, if you wish. Her name is Lucy McCabe. She came in today at our request, but I did not want to invite her into our session unless you agreed. How do you feel about that?”
“Bring her in.” Marcus shifted forward in the soft chair. “I think it makes more sense to talk about facts rather than feelings, right now. I’d love to talk to a geneticist. I did some research of my own.”
Christine looked over, surprised. “What do you mean?”
“I read some things online, last night.”
Michelle nodded. “Okay, but Lucy is not a geneticist. A geneticist is an M.D. Lucy is a genetics counselor, she has a master’s degree. She conducts risk assessments for hereditary conditions, whether the child is conceived via a third-party or not.”
Christine translated the jargon. A third-party conception was one involving either an egg donor, a sperm donor, or a gestational surrogate, which was a woman who carried a couple’s child to term though she made no genetic contribution. “So why do you want us to talk to her?”
“We ask her to consult from time to time, and I think the world of her. She’s full of useful information.” Michelle turned to Christine. “Would you like her to join us? Or would you rather we talked alone, then you can meet with her at another time? Christine?”
“I’d like that, and now is fine.”
“Why wait, right?” Marcus answered, motioning at the door. “Send her in.”
“Terrific.” Michelle half-rose, reached for a landline on the desk, and pressed an intercom button. Silence fell, and Christine tried to not let it bother her. Normally their sessions with Michelle were so chatty, they’d often run beyond their allotted hour, but the air in the room felt newly charged, so that it came as a relief when someone knocked.
“That must be Lucy.” Michelle rose and opened the door, admitting a petite, wiry woman in her sixties, with fluffy gray hair, silver hoop earrings, and steely, wire-rimmed glasses, which she had on with a beige pantsuit, giving her a clinical appearance that was mitigated by a flowery silk scarf.
“Hello, Christine, Marcus,” Lucy said, smiling tightly as she shook both of their hands, then sat down in the last chair next to Michelle.
“Thank you for inviting me into your session. I’m always happy to consult with Michelle, whom I’ve known for twenty years.”
“We walk together,” Michelle added. “Lucy got me into her walking club, and I can barely keep up with them.”
Christine smiled. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Don’t,” Lucy said simply, and the three women laughed.
Marcus shifted impatiently.
Lucy’s smile faded. “Now, I’ve been given your case background, so let’s jump right in, shall we?”
“Fine.” Marcus nodded.
“Yes, please,” Christine said, liking Lucy’s demeanor. The genetics counselor linked her slim fingers in her lap and spoke deliberately, which seemed somehow reliable and comforting.
“I understand that Homestead can’t confirm or deny the donor’s identity for an anonymous donation, so we’ll have to work with the hypothetical, if we can. Can we?”
Marcus frowned. “We have no other choice. Our question is, if our donor has a predilection for violence, is that an inherited trait? Also, our donor could be a sociopath. I read that a lot of serial killers are sociopaths. Or thrill seekers. Is that inherited?”
“First, some background is in order.” Lucy held up a hand. “I don’t get a lot of psychological issues, and I’ve been a genetics counselor for twenty-nine years. The problem with psychological disorders is that there’s no test, such as a blood test or tissue test, that I can perform for them.”
“Really?”
“Unfortunately, yes. So, there is no psychological test or clinically available testing I can perform that can answer your questions. However, I collected and reviewed the current population data and studies, at Dr. Davidow’s request. I would be happy to send them to you, by email, and I can summarize my conclusion from these articles, right now.”
“Please do.”
“The question with psychological disorders is one of nature vs. nurture. The answer is that it depends on the disorder. For example, the data shows that bipolarity is inherited, as is schizophrenia and clinical depression. Likewise, with substance-abuse issues and alcoholism, maternal genes play a role, as in the case of egg donors.”
“We used a sperm donor, not an egg donor.”
“Understood.” Lucy nodded, still deliberate. “With respect to sociopathy, the weight of authority and data is that it’s a matter of environmental factors. In other words, a sociopath isn’t born but made. That’s my conclusion.”
Christine breathed a relieved sigh. She was thinking back to her conversation with Lauren. “So you’re saying that even if our donor is Jeffcoat, this serial killer, that our baby may not have inherited his—well, whatever he has. His psychological disorder.”
“Yes. That’s my conclusion with respect to sociopathy.” Lucy nodded, satisfied. “I have reached the same conclusion with respect to a propensity for violence. I pulled the articles and studies, and the weight of authority is that such a propensity is not inheritable. Environmental factors are determinative, so that children who grow up in families with violence will tend to resort to violence. We see this, anecdotally, in domestic abuse. It’s not hereditary. It’s learned behavior.”
Michelle smiled. “I thought that would put your mind at ease, Christine.”
“It does.” Christine felt her heart lift. “I mean, it’s still a little strange, but it is reassuring.”
“Not to me,” Marcus said, frowning. “Lucy, from what I read online, there are studies that go the other way.”
“Which way?”
“They say a propensity for violence is inherited. I was reading about the ‘warrior gene,’ and it said that people who are thrill seekers or seek high-risk activities inherit that predilection, through their genes. They can become violent adults.”
Christine recoiled. “How do you know?”
“I read it, I can show you the articles,” Marcus answered, his mouth a grim line. “Not all the geneticists think it’s nurture. Some think it’s nature. Thrill seekers have different MAO levels and different levels of hormones like testosterone, which is inherited. The studies show that those people tend to commit crime more often than other people. In other words, a serial killer could be born, not made.”
Lucy frowned, her lined forehead buckling. “Marcus, Christine, I based my opinion on my research and experience. I think you can rely upon that.”
“But there are those who don’t agree with you, isn’t that right?” Marcus asked, coolly.
Lucy opened her palms. “Can you find people on the Internet who have different opinions from mine? Of course. But that’s the nature of the Internet. I wouldn’t rely on the Internet over my opinion.”
Marcus shifted forward. “But there are no guarantees, correct? You’re not about to guarantee that these factors aren’t inherited, are you?”
“Of course not,” Lucy answered, firmly. “There are never guarantees. But I evaluate statistical risk, and it is very low in this case.”
“Okay, thank you,” Christine said, hiding her discomfort. She was willing to go with Lucy’s opinion and she hated that Marcus seemed to be alienating both women. She didn’t know where he was coming from.
“You are free, of course, to seek a second opinion,” Lucy added, glancing at Michelle. “Both Michelle and I know other genetics counselors. We would be happy to supply you with their names.”
“Do they work for Families First, like you?”
“Yes,” Lucy and Michelle answered in unison.
“Do you know any genetics counselors who don’t work for Families
First?”
Christine cringed, embarrassed at the implication. “Marcus, seriously? That’s uncalled for.”
Marcus looked over, his blue eyes cold. “It’s a legitimate question.”
“Understood,” Lucy was saying. “I’ll be happy to email you some names of my colleagues not employed by us.”
“Thanks.” Marcus folded his arms. “So, what would a couple do in our position? What should we do?”
“It’s completely individual. It’s up to you both. I’ve said that I think the risk in this case is low to baseline. I counsel couples who can’t tolerate a risk level above baseline, and others do much better with risk.” Lucy paused. “For example, I currently counsel a couple whose testing shows that their baby is anencephalic, which means that he’ll certainly die. They want to continue the pregnancy.”
“Wait, what?” Christine asked, confused. “What are you talking about?”
“The decision to terminate the pregnancy,” Marcus answered matter-of-factly.
“What?” Christine asked him, incredulous. “You mean abortion? Who’s talking about that? I don’t want an abortion.”
“It’s just a possibility. We’re talking about possibilities.”
“It’s not a possibility,” Christine shot back, finding her bearings. “I don’t want an abortion. Do you want an abortion?”
“No, but we’re exploring it.”
“I don’t want to explore it.” Christine noticed that both Lucy and Michelle had fallen abruptly silent. “Is that what this is about? You think we want an abortion?”
“No.” Michelle shook her head, her eyebrows sloping unhappily down. “Christine, on the contrary, my point in bringing Lucy into our session is to show you that your risk of a hereditary issue with your baby is low.”
Lucy nodded. “That’s correct. That’s my sole purpose in being here. I would never dream of directing you, one way or the other. I’m non-directive by training as well as by nature. I view myself as someone who can offer you the best available information with which to make your decision. You make your own decision, as a couple.”
“Do people abort for something like this?” Christine asked, surprised.
Lucy nodded. “We have had patients terminate for less than this, and we don’t judge them. Some patients terminate pregnancies for reasons relating to the health of the child. Others terminate pregnancies of healthy babies for a variety of reasons. It’s well within the parameters of the law, in the first trimester.”
“I’m not talking about whether it’s legal.” Christine didn’t want to get into a political debate, but she couldn’t hold her tongue. “I mean, I believe it’s a personal choice, but I don’t want to abort this baby.”
“Fine,” Marcus said abruptly.
“Good, it’s settled,” Christine said, but she felt shaken to her core. She realized that Marcus must have been thinking about their getting an abortion, but it hadn’t even occurred to her.
Michelle checked her watch. “Okay, folks, I believe Dr. Davidow is free, and he wants to touch base with you both.”
“I’d like that.” Marcus jumped to his feet. He went to the door, and Christine felt the distance between them growing, with her on one side and him on the other, as if the tectonic plates beneath their feet were suddenly shifting, destabilizing their marriage.
“Me, too,” Christine said, rising on shaky knees.
Chapter Nine
“I’m so happy to see you,” Christine said, surprised to find herself tearing up when she gave Dr. Davidow a hug as soon as she’d entered his office.
“I’m happy to see you, too, Christine.” Dr. Davidow released her with a broad, sympathetic smile. His eyes were large, round, and warmly brown, and they were his best feature, mainly because he looked everyone right in the eye, connecting with confidence. His crow’s-feet were well established, since he was in his late forties, and his bulbous nose was an unfortunate echo of his round, bald head. Still, he had always had a big smile for her, even through the toughest times.
“This has not been easy,” Christine blurted out, relieved to release the pressure that had been building up inside. She couldn’t shake off what Marcus had said in the counseling session. She hoped he didn’t mention an abortion to Dr. Davidow.
“I’m sure. I can imagine. As my daughter says, I feel you.” Dr. Davidow turned to Marcus, extending a hand. “I’m sorry this has been so difficult.”
“So am I.” Marcus shook his hand, more stiffly than Christine would have liked, then sat down. She sat down in the leather chair next to him, feeling almost at home in Dr. Davidow’s office. She had gotten some of the worst news of her life here, but more recently had gotten the absolute best, and even in the circumstances, she still trusted their doctor. His office reflected his personality: friendly, unstuffy, but still furnished in a classy way, with a polished glass desk that was remarkably uncluttered except for a new desktop and photos of his family, in matching glass frames. His framed diplomas, certifications, and various awards lined the walls, attesting to the fact that he was one of the top reproductive endocrinologists in Connecticut, and his bookshelf held medical books, more family photographs, and his adored, built-in tropical fish tank. A bluish light glowed faintly from the surface of its water, and a bright yellow fish swam by, wiggling its filmy tail fins.
“So, how did your meeting go with Lucy and Michelle?” Dr. Davidow went around the side of his desk, pulled out his black leather chair, and sat down, patting the knot of his tie, which he had on with a blue shirt and khaki slacks under his long white lab coat.
“I thought it went well,” Christine answered, taking the lead. She didn’t want this meeting to go south, like the previous session. “I feel reassured knowing that the mental illnesses that could cause somebody to be a serial killer aren’t inherited. I thought that was really helpful.”
“I knew you would.” Dr. Davidow smiled again, his forehead relaxing all the way back to the top of his pate. There was a pinkish indenture where his hairline had been, and Christine tried not to look at it, because she sensed it made him self-conscious.
“But it’s still a strange sensation, that our donor could be a killer. I mean, that’s horrifying to me.”
“Of course, I get that.” Dr. Davidow frowned. “I wish I could give you peace of mind as to your donor’s identity, but that’s not possible. I’ll keep lobbying on your behalf with Homestead, but to be realistic, I don’t think I’ll be successful.”
Marcus cleared his throat. “Doctor, I’m not as satisfied with Lucy as my lovely wife is—”
“I didn’t say I was satisfied, Marcus.” Christine bristled. “I said I was reassured. You said you wanted facts, and Lucy gave us facts.”
“And those facts are in dispute.” Marcus pursed his lips, turning to Dr. Davidow. “Lucy feels confident that the psychological disorders that make someone turn into a serial killer aren’t inherited, but my research is to the contrary. I’m going to seek a second opinion.”
Dr. Davidow blinked. “If that’s what you want to do, then you should feel free.”
Christine interjected, “Doctor, do you have an opinion about whether things like that are inherited or not?”
“I know some genetics, but Lucy is a trained and qualified genetics counselor, a true expert. She has absolutely top-shelf credentials and decades of experience. That’s why I have her on staff, and I have complete confidence in her.” Dr. Davidow met Christine’s eye. “I did discuss this with her, and she told me that she believes the risk of heritability of any traits or disorders was slim to none. I think you can credit her opinion completely.”
“Good.” Christine eased back into the chair. “I do.”
“I don’t, but that’s neither here nor there.” Marcus set his jaw. “Dr. Davidow, I’m not satisfied having hypothetical discussions about the genetic makeup of this child. I refuse to accept that you can’t find out from Homestead whether Donor 3319 is Zachary Jeffcoat.”
Chr
istine interjected, “Marcus, they’re not going to tell him. They signed the contracts. There’s nothing he can do.”
Marcus held up a hand to her. “Honey, let him tell me that. I believe that there’s plenty he can do.”
“No, there isn’t,” Christine shot back, defensive.
“Marcus, what would you have me do?” Dr. Davidow asked, his tone reasonable. “Believe me, if there was a way I could get that information from Homestead, I would.”
Christine felt her frustration boil over. “Dr. Davidow, he thinks you can pressure them. He thinks if you threaten not to send them any more patients, they’ll tell you. Is that true?”
“No.” Dr. Davidow hesitated, looking from Christine to Marcus. “That won’t make any difference. They’re the best in the country, and all the best practices use them. In fact, they have a waiting list. If I stop sending Homestead my patients, it won’t matter to them. They have legalities to think of, and they’re not about to breach their contract of confidentiality with your donor, or any donor. They have a reputation to protect.”
“Okay, well, I’ve been investigating the legalities, too.” Marcus slipped a hand inside his suitjacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “I spoke with a lawyer, and he came up with an idea. He said—”
“What lawyer?” Christine interrupted, in surprise. They didn’t have a family lawyer, nor did Marcus’s engineering firm. Some of his golf buddies were lawyers, but she couldn’t read the piece of paper, which appeared to have letterhead embossed on the top.
“His name is Gary Leonardo. He has a law firm in New Haven. His own firm.”
Dr. Davidow cleared his throat. “I know who he is. He’s a medical malpractice lawyer.”
“Medical malpractice?” Christine felt dumbfounded. “Marcus, what are you doing? Why didn’t you talk to me about this? Are you going to sue Homestead?”
“Relax, and let me explain,” Marcus answered, handing the letter to Dr. Davidow. “Doctor, this is a letter that Gary wrote and wants to send to Homestead. Bottom line, it says that they were negligent in screening donated sperm in our case. It outlines a lawsuit that we could file against them, and Gary says he could have it filed by the end of next week.”
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