by Larry Karp
I don’t know how long I went on, but finally, the fountain ran dry, and I managed to get hold of myself. I wiped my sleeve across my face, then took out my handkerchief and mopped. A few tables away, a couple of working men didn’t even try not to gawk at me.
I looked down to JK’s log page, the entries still legible in the damp smear of ink. They’d stand up fine to professional scrutiny—except for that second sample, which was not going to go away. It might as well be written in red ink.
“I’m sorry, Giselle,” I mumbled, then tore the page out of the log, and systematically reduced it to confetti. Next, I ripped away the rest of the pages, put them together with the chart entries, shredded the lot. I gathered up the tiny pieces of paper, slammed them into a trash can, and trudged into the john to wash my face. I was in for some heavy thinking before my next stop. How far could I stretch truth before it got so thin, Joyce would see right through it?
At least Baumgartner knows I won the race.
***
When Joyce opened the door, her face lit the hall. A gut cramp nearly doubled me over. “I saw on the TV, the case is closed,” she said, all bubbly.
I looked around. “Your mother’s gone?”
“Last night. I took her to the airport. My father isn’t doing well.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. He’ll perk up once she’s back.”
I looked around. “Robbie?”
“Sleeping, back in his room.” Knowing smile. “The police said they acted on an anonymous tip to go up to Mrs. Hearn’s and find that lab supervisor’s body there. You couldn’t have been Dr. Anonymous, could you?”
“Me? I’m a doctor, not a detective. Or, for that matter, a stool pigeon.”
We walked into the living room. “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter,” Joyce said. “But I’ve got to admit, it does tickle me. For all the work that awful Detective Baumgartner did, he was never even mentioned.”
“Win some, lose some,” I said.
She made a wry face. “You don’t seem as happy as I thought you’d be. You’re not nervous, are you?”
“In a way, yes.”
“Ah.” She waved off any concern that might have been burdening my mind. “You’re the last person I’d have thought would be nervous about anything. When are you going to schedule the press conference?”
Show time. “We need to talk about that.”
“Any time you want is fine with me.”
She was not making this easy. “Joyce, there’s not going to be a press conference. Let me—”
“There’s not going to be a…Dr. Sanford, what are you saying?”
“That the game’s over, and we’ve lost. Baumgartner’s got the goods on me. Robbie’s not an IVF baby.”
One lie.
I thought she might faint, scream, or take a swing at me, but all she did was say, “I think you’d better explain.” Calm. Way too calm.
“That’s why I’m here. Start with that accident in the lab…yes there was an accident in the lab. Dr. Hearn was getting ready to fertilize your eggs, and she dropped the culture dish.”
Two lies.
Now, Joyce screamed.
I talked faster. “Dr. Hearn called me over, we talked about the situation, and made what we thought was the best decision. I didn’t think you could handle what really happened, thought you’d do better dealing with a failed embryo transfer than a lab accident. So she froze the sperm sample.”
Three lies.
“Froze it?” A high-pitched tremolo, barely this side of hysterical. “Dr. Sanford.”
“That wasn’t a problem. Dr. Hearn had the technology in hand. Inside a year or two, you’re going to see sperm banks all over the world. I persuaded her to keep the log going as if we’d succeeded with IVF. Three days later, she thawed the sperm, and ran it through a Density Gradient Separation.”
Four lies.
“Then, when you thought I was transferring embryos, I was really inseminating you with Density Gradient-enhanced sperm.”
Five lies.
“I wouldn’t have bet a nickel on that Density Gradient procedure working, you were so long past the egg recovery. But you had so many preovulatory follicles, your eggs must have ovulated over a longer time period than usual.
“The problem was, lab scientists are so damn compulsive. It was beyond Dr. Hearn to do any procedure and not record it. Baumgartner found a file folder yesterday with her supplemental notes documenting the accident and the Density Gradient Separation, and that was that. He told me he’ll keep quiet out of regard for you and Robbie, but if I try to claim credit for an IVF success, he’ll release the notes.”
Six lies.
She sank down to the arm of the sofa. “And if James hadn’t…I’ve been wondering and wondering, what could have made him snap, and shoot her? Did she tell him the truth, about that accident, and what the two of you did?”
“I have no idea. Really. That’s something no one’s ever going to know.”
Seven lies.
“You son of a bitch! You bastard! All these months, it’s been one thick slice of baloney after another. Why should I believe you now?”
“What can I say? You can believe me or not.”
“Thanks a bunch. What I ought to do is sue you.”
“And bring all that ugly publicity down on you and Robbie? Besides, what would you sue me for? I pointed toward the back of the house. “You wanted a baby, the procedure failed, I did a different procedure, and you got your baby.”
Up on her feet, arms pumping, fists tight. “Right. Now, here I am, me and my baby. With no husband, no job, no interviews, no money for anything. We can go ahead and starve, who cares?”
“I do. And I’ve got an idea.”
“Oh, wonderful. The latest, greatest con job.”
I thought she might spit on me. “Wait, let me tell you—”
“Crap. You are the living end. Hang on a minute while I go check on Robbie.”
I lowered myself into an armchair, ran through my pitch. If Joyce decided to call the newspapers or the County Medical Society, I might as well take off for Brazil. I was halfway through my second practice go-round when she came back in, walked straight up to me, pulled a handgun out of the pocket of her apron, and aimed it square at my face. I started out of the chair, but she sent me back with one word: “Don’t.”
I eased away from her. “Joyce, I’m sorry about this, but I’m going to make it right. Let me tell you—”
“Shut up. Make one move and I’ll shoot you.” She gripped the gun with both hands, her right index finger on the trigger. The way her hands shook wrung all the moisture out of my mouth and throat. “I missed Baumgartner, but there’s no way I’ll miss you from this distance.”
“What? You shot Baumgartner?”
“I shot at Baumgartner, but he was halfway down the street, and I missed. I thought if I could get rid of him, that would take care of the problem. This was the smallest gun James had, so I thought it would be the easiest to use. I asked my mother to stay with Robbie while I went to an appointment at the hospital. With all the time Baumgartner was spending on Pill Hill, I thought I’d spot him there, and after two hours on a bench in the plaza, I did. He came out of the lobby, and I followed him down the street. Right before he came to the corner, I took a shot. I’d never fired a gun in my life. He started to turn around, so I ran down an alley, up the next street, and then went on home. I guess it’s lucky I didn’t hit him. He was only doing his job, going after crooks like you.”
“Joyce, put down the gun. Your hand’s shaking.”
She firmed her grip and her aim.
I thought about jumping out of the chair and trying to hit her low, knock her over, but she looked as if nothing more than a sneeze from me might se
t off her trigger finger. I made my voice as calm as I could, no small task. “Joyce, listen to me, please. You’re making a terrible mistake.”
“I made my terrible mistake a year ago, trusting you. Go ahead, talk. Let’s hear your great idea. It better be good. But if you tell me you were only thinking of James and me, I promise, I will kill you.”
“I wanted that IVF to work as much as you did,” I said. “And let’s be honest. Neither one of us took James’ feelings into account, not ever. For that matter, we never thought about the baby, either. Too late now to fix things for James, but we’ve still got a chance to do right by Robbie.”
She narrowed her eyes, waggled the gun.
“Here’s the deal,” I said. “The first day of every month, from this month on, I will give you a check for five thousand dollars. And that’s just the beginning. I’ll also set up a trust for you and Robbie, and rewrite my will in Robbie’s favor, so if I drop off the end of the earth, you’ll both still be all right. All together, you’ll get more than you’d have gotten from IVF publicity. You’ll never have to work again. On the other hand, if you shoot me, you go to jail, and your mother finds herself bringing up a newborn baby. Along with having to look after your father.”
She was shaking all over. “You think I’m going to trust you again? After everything that’s happened?”
“I can’t blame you for feeling that way. But I don’t think you’ve got a better choice. Do you?” Without waiting for an answer, I said, “I’m going to get my wallet and write you the first check, the one for May. All right?”
She was crying now. Not taking my eyes off her, I reached slowly into my pocket, pulled out my wallet, took a check from the rear compartment, and held it up to Joyce. Then, I took a pen from my shirt pocket, leaned on the wallet, and started to write.
Joyce let out a sound, more shriek than howl, lowered the gun, staggered to the sofa, collapsed onto it. The gun fell to the floor.
When I finished writing the check, I took it to her, pressed it into her hand. She wailed even louder.
Then I heard another cry, higher-pitched, thinner, from back in the house. Robbie. His mother must have wakened him, but no sign she’d heard him. I turned, ran, followed the sound. The baby lay face-down in his crib, legs kicking, red-cheeked, howling. I swept him up, put him to my shoulder, patted his back. “It’s all right,” I whispered. Little feet banged against my stomach. I patted until he loosed a monster burp, and lowered his head onto my shoulder. His whole body relaxed.
I ran my fingers along the midline separation between his parietal bones, touched the fontanelles at either end. Standard obstetrical landmarks I’d palpated during thousands of deliveries. But this time was different. My eyes watered over. I hoped I wasn’t going to lose it again.
I carried Robbie back into the living room, swept up the gun, then lowered myself to the sofa, just out of Joyce’s reach. She stopped crying, looked ready to explode. “Are you going to shoot me?”
“Of course not.” I slipped the weapon onto the floor near my foot, barrel pointing toward the door. Then I transferred Robbie into the crook of my arm and rocked him gently as I spoke. “But while we’re talking, I’ll feel better on this side of the gun.”
She started to reach for Robbie, but her hands shook so fiercely, she lowered them. “Need a drink of water?” I asked.
She shook her head, wiped at her eyes. “Go ahead and say your piece, then get out of here. Send your checks by mail.”
“That isn’t what I’ve got in mind. I’m not going to let this kid grow up with no father, wondering why his mother gets a check in the mail every month from some doctor in town. Sooner or later, he’s going to ask questions. I want you to let me be his uncle who takes him to the zoo, buys him ice-cream cones, comes to his birthday parties. Is there when he needs me.”
Joyce spluttered, an engine that couldn’t quite get started. Finally, the ignition caught. “‘Uncle Colin…’” She looked like a stroke in the making. “My God, you are beyond preposterous. What ever would make you think I’d agree to that.”
I leaned forward, passed Robbie off to her, then picked up the pistol. “This.” I unloaded the little weapon, slipped gun and bullet into my pocket. “I’ve got some news for you. You didn’t miss Detective Baumgartner. When they dug the bullet out of his rear end, he made very sure to keep it safe, so one day he could match it to the gun that shot it. But I’ll hide your little cannon away where no one, Baumgartner included, will ever find it. Oh, and before I leave, you’re going to give me any other guns and ammunition James had, and I’ll make them disappear too.”
She glared at me, eyes hot, dry. “I can’t believe how selfish you are.”
“Selfish? You and Robbie will never have to worry about money again, and your son will have a man in his life who cares about him. He’ll have financial and moral support. Where am I being selfish?”
“Moral support?” You have the morals of a mongoose.”
“Maybe so, but it’s nice to have a mongoose around when there are snakes and rats everywhere.”
She stroked Robbie’s head. I waited, but she didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look up at me.
“You’ll see, Joyce.” I kept my voice low, soothing. “This’ll work out for everyone, especially Robbie.”
Picture someone who’s been put on a rack, given a couple of stretches, then released. “How am I going to explain all this to my parents?”
“Easy. Tell the truth. Dr. Sanford, who has no family of his own, felt terrible about what happened to James, and volunteered to be Robbie’s Uncle Colin.” I choked off a gulp.
At the catch in my voice, she gave me a hard look, then a harder smile. “There’s one condition.”
I waited.
“What are the names of those doctors in England you’ve been racing against?”
“Edwards and Steptoe. Robert Edwards and Patrick Steptoe.”
“Okay. When they announce their first IVF baby, that night you are going to take me out for dinner to the fanciest restaurant in Emerald. We’ll order the best champagne in the house, and toast the winners till I can’t see straight. Deal, Uncle Colin?” Biting off those final two words.
I nodded. “Deal.”
Chapter Twenty-six
Sunday, July 4, 1982
Sanford
As angry as he was with me a few minutes ago, my father’s face lights when the nurse brings Robbie into the bedroom. Kid’s a natural, climbs right up on the bed, gives the old man a kiss, says he’s very glad to meet him. He tells Dad about his dog, Pucci; his friends, Buster and Charlene; his T-ball team; his kindergarten; and how he’s going to first grade in September. Chatters away as if he’d known his grandfather all his life. He does exaggerate his batting and reading abilities a bit, but I’m not about to say anything.
Dad asks him whether he wants to go to medical school, like his father and grandfather. No hesitation. “Sure. I’m going to be a great operator like Daddy. He operates on ladies to get their babies out safe when they’re having trouble being born.”
Dad looks at me over Robbie’s head, raises his eyebrows. I grin and shrug. Dad rolls his eyes.
After about an hour, the nurse comes in to ask Dad how he’s feeling. “Fine,” he says. “Wonderful, in fact. But I’d like to talk to Colin. Why don’t you take Robbie down to the kitchen, and give him a glass of milk and some of those cookies Mrs. Rollins left.”
He watches them go out and around the corner, then turns my way. “I can’t believe how gray your hair’s gone, Colin. You’re grayer than I am.”
“I’ve been where you never went, Dad.”
“You have, have you? Then please tell me something. It’s been five years since you were last in this house. Your mother died without knowing she was a grandmother. So why, out of nowhere, do you show up
today with your five-year-old son? Why?”
“I wanted you to see him. And I wanted him to see you.”
He can still project the definitive exasperated father. “Colin…oh, very well. So be it. I’m glad you came, and I won’t pretend otherwise. But I can’t understand—”
“His mother and I aren’t married.”
“What? You’re saying you didn’t tell me I have a grandson until I’m on my deathbed because you didn’t marry his mother?”
“That’s part of it. She and I barely speak. Dad, it’s a strange situation.”
He studies me hard. Weak as he is, his gaze is riveting, a face I’ve never seen on him. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
“No. Let’s say it was one of those things that never should have happened, but it did.”
“Was she one of your patients?”
What began in my mind as a firm ‘No’ comes out as “Yes.”
Dad glances away, purses his lips, then looks back at me. “I remember one evening, years ago…the last time you ever came here for dinner. The husband of one of your patients who’d had some sort of fertility procedure killed the embryologist who’d performed it, then himself. It was in all the papers and all over TV. When I asked you about the procedure, you said you couldn’t tell us anything right then, but we’d be the first to know, and we’d be impressed.”
Uh-oh.
He edges himself up on his pillows. “I’ve never stopped wondering…an impressive fertility procedure, some five years ago? Were you trying in vitro—”
“We’re not going to talk about it, Dad.”
As if I’d slapped his face. “All right, we won’t talk about it. But I’ll still have my say. Whatever it may have been, as always, you had to be first to the finish line, didn’t you? So you took a short cut that wasn’t on the map, got lost in the jungle, and two people died. Colin, what possible accomplishment could have seemed so important?” He shakes his head. “That insatiable drive of yours—I’ve never been able to understand it.”
