Identity

by Ingrid Thoft

  Fina gaped at her. “We can’t take this on if Rosie isn’t on board.”

  “Why not?” Renata said. “She’s seventeen. She’s a minor.”

  “Because it’s unethical, and frankly, it’s creepy.”

  “Excuse me?” Renata peered at her. “How is my fighting for her rights creepy?”

  “Because you’re talking about digging around in her life, into her personal information. She may be a minor, but she’s old enough to decide if she wants to pursue this.”

  Carl held up his hand to silence the women. “Fina and I will discuss this further, Renata. Did you bring the documents I requested?”

  Fina opened her mouth to speak, but Carl shot her a warning look.

  Renata reached into her tote bag and pulled out a dog-eared manila folder. “Here are copies of the relevant paperwork. I have more in deep storage.”

  Fina took the file and mustered up a sour smile. “Great. Thanks.”

  Carl walked Renata out of his office. When he returned a moment later, Fina was flipping through the file.

  “You’re kidding, right? Even Mom wouldn’t do something this insane.” Fina and her mother, Elaine, had a contentious relationship that was fraught with resentments and grievances. Fina seemed to perpetually disappoint her mother, which tapped into her inner adolescent. Annoying Elaine had developed into a hobby of sorts.

  “You heard her.” Carl settled back into his leather chair. “It’s a human rights issue.”

  “That’s bullshit. There’s no way the cryobank is going to give up the name, and Rosie will be in the news regardless. The PR is going to be a nightmare.”

  “That’s not our problem.”

  Fina closed the file. “I don’t like this.”

  Carl studied something on his computer screen. “I don’t pay you to like things. You find out who this guy is, and I’ll worry about the lawsuit.”

  “I don’t know, Dad.”

  His gaze fell on her. “What? You’re not interested in the work I’m giving you? You’re done with the firm, too, not just the family?”

  Fina felt the blood creep up her neck. She’d broken ranks with Carl during her last case, and he wasn’t going to let her forget it. “I’m not done with the family or the firm. Stop being so dramatic.”

  He glared at her. “Then get on with it.”

  Fina slipped the folder into her bag and stood. “Why are you taking this on? There’s no money to be made.”

  Carl shrugged. “I have a hunch. I think sperm banks are the next big thing. Just you wait.”

  Of course.

  Carl smelled blood in the water and just had to swim closer.

  • • •

  Ten minutes later, Fina sat in her car in the Prudential garage and mulled over her first move. She needed to talk with Rosie Sanchez at some point, but wasn’t looking forward to that conversation. Fina glanced at the folder Renata had provided. She’d do a much better job digesting it lying on the couch at home, with a snack.

  As she pulled out of the garage, her phone rang.

  “I don’t have anything to report yet, Dad. I’m leaving the parking garage.”

  “Your mother wants you at the club for dinner.”

  “You just gave me a case; I can’t make dinner plans.”

  Fina jammed on the brakes to avoid hitting a car that was cutting her off. The driver gave her the finger. How did that work exactly? Someone cuts you off and flips you the bird?

  “You can take an hour for dinner. I thought you wanted to do right by Haley. What’s one dinner?”

  There was no question that her fifteen-year-old niece needed all the help she could get. Fina’s most recent case, the one that had brought the Ludlows to the brink, involved the murder of Haley’s mom, Melanie.

  “Fine. What time?”

  “Six thirty.”

  Fina ended the call before Carl could.

  Ludlow family gatherings had never been relaxing or carefree, but they’d taken on a new level of awkwardness given recent events. Fina was still struggling to digest the dirt she’d dug up about her brother Rand, Haley’s father. If that weren’t enough, the normal reactions people were supposed to have to death and depraved behavior seemed to be absent from the Ludlow emotional toolbox, at least on the parts of Carl and Elaine. Fina had hoped that her parents would rise to the occasion when faced with Melanie’s death and its fallout, but she was starting to believe that they were emotionally bankrupt. They couldn’t give what they didn’t have, and the flashes of anger she felt were interspersed with moments of sadness. No family was perfect, but some seemed more broken than others.

  • • •

  Walter Stiles stroked his goatee and studied the brochure. It was high quality—thick paper, bright colors, and appealing photographs. Still, something about it bothered him. The idea that you could choose your donor based on a resemblance to a celebrity wasn’t the problem; maybe the problem was that it had been Ellen’s idea. Ellen was his second in command, well liked by the staff and increasingly a driving force behind new initiatives at Heritage Cryobank. Walter knew that she had strong marketing acumen and her ideas would benefit the bank, but her insistence on pushing her agenda irked him. Heritage had done just fine—better than fine—before Ellen came along. It would do just fine if she weren’t there now.

  In the thirty-six years that Walter had been at the bank, he had watched it grow from a small, unassuming operation to one of the most respected cryobanks in the country. Walter liked to think that he was largely responsible for that growth. True, it was the nature of the industry, but without him at the helm, he found it hard to believe that the bank would have a national reputation. Ellen was obsessed with data and algorithms and marketing surveys, but at the end of the day, Walter knew, it was about a woman holding her newborn child, beaming down at him or her. There was no better marketing than that.

  Walter put down the brochure and leaned back in his commodious leather chair. He tidied the small stacks of paper on his desk before swiveling around to the window, where he studied his reflection. Perhaps he wasn’t the most handsome man in the world, but Walter put time and effort into his appearance and felt he looked young for his sixty-three years. He’d recently upped his swimming schedule to four times a week. There was no doubt that his metabolism was slowing down, just one more tide he’d have to stem.

  The management team was scheduled to meet tomorrow to discuss the new brochure, but Walter decided he had a conflict. He would call a meeting for this afternoon instead. Too bad Ellen would miss it; she had a prior engagement, away from the office.

  • • •

  Fina drove back home and took the folder up to her condo, which overlooked Boston Harbor and Logan Airport. Technically, it really wasn’t her condo. Her grandmother, Nanny, had lived there until her death nine months ago. Fina had become a de facto squatter, and the arrangement satisfied her nomadic approach to life. Privacy and comfort were her only requirements—not that she didn’t appreciate the view—and she achieved both of those at Nanny’s without changing a thing. The blue velvet sofa, the glass-topped coffee table with wrought-iron legs, the wall of Ludlow family photos—they were all Nanny’s touch. A visitor might conclude that the condo was the home of a sentimental octogenarian who wasn’t big on housekeeping. Fina did spring for a better TV, but the rest of the decor remained the same—except that now it was buried under a layer of Fina’s belongings.

  Renata had given her a lot of paperwork, but not much information. After wading through the standard forms used by the cryobank, Fina found a two-page profile of the donor consisting of basic data about his education, interests, physical attributes, and the like. In terms of facts, it was slim pickings. Donor #575651 was born in Joliet, Illinois, in 1951, graduated from high school in 1969, and from UMass in 1972. Fina started with a search of all the high schools in Joliet a
nd came up with four public high schools, two Catholic and two private. She’d have to cross-reference birth records, high school graduation records, and UMass class lists. It would be tedious, but presumably she would end up with a somewhat abbreviated list. The whole thing sounded like a snooze, but at least she would be paid good money for her efforts.

  Fina decided to take a trip to Cambridge, where, seventeen years earlier, Rosie Sanchez had been just a dot on a petri dish. She probably wouldn’t glean much from a visit, but in her experience, it always made sense to start at the source, and you couldn’t get any closer than the cryobank.

  After a few wrong turns and a one-sided argument with the GPS, Fina found Heritage. Located in a nondescript concrete low-rise office building practically in Harvard University’s backyard, Heritage looked like an academic building or a lab, not ground zero for the conception of countless children. Fina sat in her car and took stock of the situation for a few minutes. There were a dozen cars in the parking lot, and she saw a handful of people come and go. These were mostly women, and nothing distinguished them from those you might see in the grocery store parking lot. The foot traffic on the sidewalk was dominated by young men and women, presumably students, who were most likely doing everything in their power to avoid pregnancy.

  Fina pulled down the mirror in her visor and checked her appearance. She applied some lip gloss and ran a hand over her hair to smooth the frizzy strays. She couldn’t complain about her looks and considered them one of the perks of being a Ludlow. A clear complexion, high cheekbones, and a wide smile served her well, not to mention her rapid-fire metabolism. Her appearance gave her an advantage, not only in her job but in life in general, and she tried to use her powers for good, not evil. Sometimes, though, it was hard to keep the two straight.

  Inside the lobby, Fina shivered from the air-conditioning and approached the desk where a young woman sat. There was a small waiting area with couches and potted plants, the walls painted a soft yellow. Enya drizzled down from the speakers mounted in the ceiling. Beautiful babies with puffy quilted arms and thighs smiled out from enlarged photographs. There were no pictures of crying babies or babies covered in their own shit. None of them were ugly. So much for truth in advertising.

  “Can I help you?” the receptionist asked.

  Fina tried to appear hesitant, which isn’t easy when assertive is your middle name.

  “Well, I think so. A friend told me about you guys, and I just wanted to get some information.”

  “Of course.” The woman stood and revealed her extremely pregnant belly as she reached into a cabinet and pulled out a glossy folder. Did they always have a pregnant woman manning the desk?

  “We’re the second-oldest cryobank in the nation. We offer the latest technology in reproductive science and state-of-the-art facilities. Our director, Walter Stiles, serves on the board of the National Reproductive Medicine Society.” She opened the folder and began pointing out the different inserts. “Here’s general information about our services: choosing a donor, sperm and egg banking, shipping and storage. You’ll find lots of details, including staff bios and testimonials from our satisfied clients. We’ve helped thousands of families.” She smiled widely.

  “When are you due?” Fina asked.

  “In a month,” the woman said, and ran her hands over her belly. “I’m so ready. This little guy won’t get off my bladder.”

  Gosh, that sounded like fun.

  “Well, you look great,” Fina said. “Very healthy and . . . glowy.”

  “You’re so sweet. I’m a beached whale, but it’s all worth it in the end.”

  Fina closed the folder and began to slip it into her bag.

  “Would you like to sit down with one of our client liaisons? She can answer any questions you might have.”

  “Thanks, but I’m just getting information at this point.” She leaned toward the mother-to-be. “I’m not quite ready to take that next step.”

  The receptionist squeezed her hand. “I totally understand. You take all the time that you need. We’ll be here.”

  “Thank you.”

  Fina returned to her car and pulled the folder out. She glanced through the materials. If you were desperate for a baby, Heritage Cryobank certainly gave you hope. But the hope came with a hefty price tag. Fina thought people who wanted babies should have them—whether the potential parents were single, married, gay, or straight. Adoption and sperm donation were two different roads to the same destination, and she didn’t think one was better than the other. But when people profited from the desperation of parents-to-be, things got dicey. Parenthood really wasn’t for the faint of heart.

  • • •

  In the Whittaker Club parking lot, Fina shut off the car and leaned her head back against the headrest. She took a few deep, hopefully cleansing breaths and felt no better. Under the best of circumstances, Fina’s relationship with her parents was fraught, but since the debacle with her brother, she’d been on parental probation with no clear end to her sentence.

  “What are you doing?” Her brother Matthew stood outside her window. Matthew was two years older than Fina, and in her opinion, the best-looking of the Ludlow bunch. His wavy brown hair hadn’t yet succumbed to any gray, and his right cheek boasted a dimple that women practically fell into. He wasn’t in any hurry to settle down, and who could blame him? Being Matthew Ludlow was a pretty good gig.

  “I’m trying to gather my strength. You know, center myself.”

  “Why bother? Your blood pressure soars at the mere sight of Mom.”

  “I know, but I can’t change her, so I’m trying to change myself.”

  Matthew laughed. “Oh God, I love it. That’s hilarious.”

  Fina glared at him. “Seriously, I leave every family gathering with a throbbing headache. They act like everything is hunky-dory.”

  Matthew leaned against the open window frame. “Would you prefer chaos and breast-beating?”

  “No, but doesn’t it bother you? It’s like Melanie never existed and Rand is on sabbatical.”

  “Well, we can’t talk about it all the time. That would be weird, too.”

  “There’s no happy medium?”

  “We’re not good at this stuff, you know that.” A caddy walked by, a large golf bag slung over each shoulder. He threw out a greeting, which Matthew and Fina returned. “Mom doesn’t know about Rand and Haley, right?” Matthew asked.

  “Right. Even if she knew, I don’t think it would make much difference. Her unwillingness to accept reality drives me crazy.”

  “Come on.” Matthew tapped the door. “I’m hungry. We’ll figure it out.”

  “Okay, Suzy Sunshine, if you say so.”

  They walked up the path that skirted the landscaping and ended at a large swimming pool. Much of the Ludlows’ childhoods had been spent at the Whittaker Club. They passed idyllic summers swimming in the pool, working on their tennis serves, and getting up to no good on the golf course. The next generation of Ludlows was being raised in a similar fashion, and the club continued to be the destination of choice for family celebrations and events. It also served as neutral territory where they could meet despite whatever battles were raging.

  Chaise lounges littered the grass, and tables dotted the patio. The waitstaff, dressed in khakis and white polo shirts, hustled between the eating area and a swinging door leading into an enormous shingled clubhouse.

  “They’re over there.” Matthew nodded toward the patio, and Fina followed him as he picked his way through fluffy towels carelessly dropped and small children careening with ice-cream cones in hand.

  Carl was seated at the end of a long table, and Fina’s brother Scotty anchored the other end. In between were Scotty’s wife, Patty, their three sons, and Rand’s daughter, Haley. Elaine, Fina’s mother, sat to the right of Carl.

  “I heard you had quite the morning,” Sco
tty said, grinning. He and Matthew shared the same good looks and were softies at heart, but the energy that Matthew devoted to dating and sports, Scotty poured into his family. He was one of those people who were meant to be parents, who enjoyed watching their children develop and grow. Fina thought soccer games and band concerts were torture, but to Scotty, that was the good stuff.

  “Hale and I had a great morning,” Fina said. “Patty should come next time.”

  “I’ll leave the boxing to you two,” Patty commented. “As soon as you want to do a spa day, I’m in.”

  Scotty and Patty took Haley in when her immediate family imploded and provided a steadying force that had been sorely absent from Haley’s life even when her parents were on the scene. Scotty and Patty were good parents, and being an older sister to her three younger cousins seemed to be having a positive effect on Haley.

  “We’re just about to order,” Elaine said, and pushed menus in front of Fina and Matthew. “There’s a salad special, Josefina.”

  Fina looked at her sister-in-law, who was struggling to suppress a smile. “I don’t like salads, Mom, remember?”

  Elaine sniffed. “They’re good for you.”

  The waitress arrived and called them all by name, the usual deference from the country club staff. Fina ordered a bacon cheeseburger with fries, and her niece followed suit, much to Elaine’s chagrin.

  “What did you do the rest of the day, Hale?” Fina asked.

  “Not much. Risa took me back-to-school shopping,” she said.

  Risa Paquette had been Melanie’s best friend and known the Ludlows since childhood. She’d stepped up since Melanie’s death and tried to fill the gaps that Patty and Fina couldn’t. None of them would ever replace Haley’s mom, but the women were doing everything they could to get Haley back on track.

  “That’s cool.”

  “Not really. It means I have to go back to school.”

  “True, but you’ll be back with your friends.”

  “I can be with my friends during the summer, without homework and getting up early.”