Identity

by Ingrid Thoft

  “Let me see if she’s available.”

  The young woman tapped the phone keys with nails painted with a chevron pattern of orange, black, and blue. Fina couldn’t imagine getting daily tasks done with them, not to mention personal care. One wrong move doing her business and she’d look like a crime victim. Fina cringed at the thought.

  After a brief conversation, the receptionist hung up the phone. “Renata says go right back.”

  “Thanks.”

  Fina wound her way through the hallway to Renata’s office, where she was sitting behind the desk, writing something on a notepad.

  “I have to leave in a few minutes for a meeting,” Renata announced when Fina crossed the threshold.

  “That’s all right. This won’t take long.” Fina stood across from her desk.

  Renata looked at her expectantly.

  “Do you suffer from allergies?” Fina asked.

  Renata raised an eyebrow. “I don’t understand.”

  Leave it to Renata to make things more complicated than need be. “It’s not a trick question. Do you suffer from allergies or asthma?”

  “No.”

  “So Alexa doesn’t get her allergies from you.”

  “No, that’s one thing I can’t be blamed for.”

  “Does Rosie have allergies or asthma?”

  “No.” She put down her pen. “Why all these questions?”

  “When you chose your donors, did you get to see a medical history?”

  “A very limited one. Nothing like they provide nowadays.”

  “So you wouldn’t have known about those particular conditions at the time of conception?”

  “No. What does this have to do with Hank?”

  “That’s what I’m figuring out.”

  Renata stood and began putting folders into her soft-sided briefcase. Fina waited as she grabbed her coat from a hook on the back of the door and followed her to the lobby.

  “I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” she told the young receptionist.

  Fina held the door open for her and listened as Renata conversed in rapid-fire Spanish with a couple of the men near the door. She laughed at their responses.

  “See you, Renata. Thanks.” Fina started down the sidewalk in the opposite direction.

  “I want to know what you find out!” Renata called after her.

  Why did everyone think she worked for them?

  • • •

  Fina met Cristian at a café close to the police station, where he was getting a coffee to go.

  “You want anything?” he asked.

  “Nah.” French toast with a side of bacon appealed, but it was tough to eat on the go.

  “You’re calmer than I expected,” Cristian said. A waitress handed him a cup, which he carried over to a side counter. He popped on a plastic cover. “You sounded stressed last night in your message.”

  “I was a little worked up, but I’m calmer now because I’ve taken action.”

  “Oh God.”

  “Nothing illegal.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. So, what’s up?”

  “I got more pictures of Haley last night.”

  Cristian looked at her. He motioned to a table in the window that offered a little more privacy. “I guess our friend Denny Calder isn’t behind it, then?”

  “He’s still locked up, right?”

  “Yeah. He had a couple of outstanding warrants.”

  Fina brushed some sugar granules off the tabletop. “So either his employer is sending them to me or it’s somebody else.”

  “And the action you alluded to?”

  “I went ahead and hired protection for Haley. It seemed stupid not to take precautions.”

  “I would agree with that. Who’d you get?” He wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin.

  “Robin Dwyer. You know her?”

  He shook his head. “The name’s not familiar.”

  “She does a lot of high-level protection gigs. She’s good, and discreet.” Fina looked at him. “One of us needs to solve this case. Soon.”

  Cristian nodded. “I know.”

  “How’s Cindy?” Fina asked.

  The corner of Cristian’s mouth twitched into a grin.

  “What? You’re being secretive all of a sudden?” she asked.

  “No. She’s good.”

  “Well, good.”

  “I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about Cindy,” he admitted.

  “Why not?”

  They got up from the table and walked out. On the sidewalk, a woman was gripped in the momentary paralysis leading up to a big sneeze, which she then released into the nook of her elbow.

  “Gesundheit!” Fina offered.

  “Thank you,” the woman said, and walked through the door that Cristian held open.

  “I thought you might have an issue with Cindy,” he said, catching up to Fina, “because sometimes you and I have a thing.”

  Fina shrugged. “I feel fine about it.”

  But sitting in her car a few moments later, she had to wonder: Did she really feel fine about it?

  • • •

  Fina called Ellen Alberti and arranged to meet her for lunch at the CambridgeSide Galleria. She had some time to kill, so she called Patty to ask about the bodyguard situation and thank her for her patience. Raising someone else’s kid—a challenging kid at that—was no small task, but Patty took Haley’s addition to the family in stride. If you could judge a man by his choice of wife, then Scotty was a star.

  Inside the food court, Fina found Ellen by the Middle Eastern counter. They ordered gyros and hummus, and Ellen insisted on sharing a small Greek salad. They carried their trays to a table and waited as a short elderly Asian woman wiped it off.

  Ellen looked great, lightly tanned and bright-eyed. Her shift dress flattered her toned body, and a collection of bracelets showed off her delicate wrists.

  “How are things at Heritage?” Fina asked.

  “The usual, which I’m not pleased about.”

  “Sorry to hear that. Walter still reigning over his kingdom?”

  “Yes, and I thought you were going to help with that situation.” Ellen put some salad on her plate and nudged the rest toward Fina. Fina didn’t take the hint.

  “Well, if Walter is up to something illegal or unethical, I’m happy to help, but I can’t get him booted just because he’s impeding your professional development.”

  “He’s doing something, believe me.” Ellen unscrewed the cap on her mineral water.

  “You didn’t really give me much to go on.”

  “Is that why you wanted to meet?”

  “Sort of. Tell me about the testing that the bank does on donors. Both now and when Hank Reardon donated.”

  A few drops of sauce from the gyro dribbled down Fina’s arm, and she dabbed at it with a napkin. A gyro was one of those things in which the whole was better than the sum of its parts. Taken individually, the lamb, tomatoes, onions, and tzatziki were all okay, but together, they achieved a new level of deliciousness.

  “Seriously? We do a lot of tests.”

  “Just give me some examples.”

  “HPV, herpes, HIV, chromosome testing, cystic fibrosis, CMV, spinal muscular atrophy. And then there are tests geared to specific donors based on their backgrounds.”

  “Like?” Fina dipped a triangle of pita into the hummus. She liked hummus, despite its nutritional benefits.

  “Jewish donors are tested for a specific kind of anemia, Niemann-Pick Type A, Bloom syndrome, Tay-Sachs. African-Americans for sickle cell. That sort of thing.”

  “It sounds pretty thorough.”

  Ellen picked an olive pit out of her mouth and placed it on a napkin. “Trust me. There are a lot of tests.”

  Fina
had a sip of her soda. “It’s a wonder that anyone makes the cut.”

  “Less than five percent do.”

  “Really?”

  Ellen grinned. “Don’t look so surprised.”

  “It’s just more rigorous than I thought,” Fina said.

  “I would deny ever saying this,” Ellen said, leaning toward her, “but it’s bad business if people take home a bum baby.”

  “You mean one who’s sick or predisposed to a health problem down the road.”

  “Right. Nobody wants a sick baby, if they’re being honest.”

  Fina took a bite of her gyro and chewed for a moment. “But you didn’t always do these tests,” she said after swallowing her mouthful.

  “No. The technology didn’t exist, plus they’re expensive.”

  “What about things like allergies and asthma?”

  “We don’t test the donors for those, since they’re not considered life-threatening or severely debilitating. The donors are supposed to report it if they suffer from either.”

  “But that’s just self-reporting, right?”

  “Sure, but if they aren’t forthcoming, it’s not disastrous.”

  “Kids can die from asthma and allergies,” Fina noted.

  Ellen put down her gyro. “Is this a friendly hypothetical conversation or have I misunderstood something?”

  Fina held up her hand. “It’s a completely friendly hypothetical conversation. I’m just trying to figure stuff out.”

  “Yes, people can die from asthma and allergies, but it’s rare.” Ellen shook her head. “You know what’s really frustrating? When it comes to donor sperm, people have much higher standards than they do when it comes to procreating with a spouse.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My husband is a wonderful man, but heart disease runs in his family, he’s an incredibly picky eater, and he’s allergic to grass, for crying out loud. He might make it through the donor-screening process, but no one would pick him. Everybody wants the perfect donor.”

  “But you know that your husband is a wonderful man,” Fina said. “You know that his assets outweigh all that other stuff. SMCs or anyone else weighing the options don’t have as much to go on.”

  Ellen took a sip of water. “I suppose, but it just seems like people think they’re owed a perfect baby to make up for the fact that they couldn’t get one the old-fashioned way.”

  “I can understand that. They probably think that something should go their way.”

  Ellen nodded. She forked a slice of cucumber and popped it in her mouth.

  “What kind of reports are generated from all the tests?” Fina asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “How detailed are they? Who sees them?”

  “They aren’t too detailed—unless you have a scientific background, it doesn’t take long for your eyes to glaze over reading that kind of data. Obviously, the donors see their results, and a medical profile and history are made available to prospective parents.”

  “Is the testing done in-house?”

  “Some of it. Some of the samples are sent out to specialty labs.”

  “That sounds expensive.”

  “It is, and it’s only going to get worse. Prospective parents clamor for every new diagnostic, but they don’t want to pay for it.”

  Fina contemplated her half of the salad, then thought better of it. “How’d you end up in this field?”

  “I stumbled into it after grad school, but it’s been a good fit. It’s a nice marriage of science and business, and who can argue with the end result? Who can resist a cute baby?”

  “Not me, as long as I can give it back.”

  They dumped their trash in a barrel and headed to the exit. During the walk to the parking lot, Fina and Ellen chatted about nothing in particular and parted company when Ellen reached her car.

  “I hope this helped,” she said, unlocking her car with a beep.

  “It did,” Fina said. “The wheels are turning.”

  “Talk to you later.” Ellen climbed into her expensive SUV, and Fina wandered back to her less-conspicuous vehicle.

  Her head was starting to feel crammed with information, and she massaged her temples with her fingertips. She hadn’t had a pain pill since first thing in the morning. She put one in her mouth and washed it down with a swig of warm water.

  That would help. She’d been known to do some of her best thinking while medicated.

  She was crawling through the clogged streets of East Cambridge when her phone rang. Fina answered using the hands-free option; she hated talking on speaker, but having both hands on the wheel was generally a good idea, especially in Boston.

  “I cannot believe you!” Haley exclaimed.

  “I know you’re mad, and I’m sorry.”

  “Do you know how embarrassing it is going to school with a bodyguard?”

  “Yes, actually, I do. We had them for a spell in middle school because Pap was hired by some goons.”

  “And you did it anyway, knowing how miserable it would be?”

  “It seemed better than the alternative.”

  “My getting killed or kidnapped?” her niece asked.

  “I don’t think either is very likely, but why take the chance?”

  “So I have this woman who looks like a Secret Service agent following me around all day. She acts like she’s trying to be inconspicuous, but that’s a joke.”

  “That is the idea—that she would follow you around and try to be inconspicuous.”

  Haley sighed. “For how long?”

  “Hopefully, not long at all.”

  “You’re being evasive.”

  “Thank you, counselor. Is there anything else I can do for you this fine day?”

  Haley was quiet for a moment. “I’d feel better if I had some new clothes.”

  “You’re such a little stinker.”

  “You owe me, Aunt Fina.”

  Fina was halfway through an intersection when the light turned red. She tried to ignore the bus driver who was gesticulating wildly at her, critiquing her driving. “I love you, so yes, I’ll take you shopping, but not because you’re owed anything.”

  “Good. I’m busy today, but maybe tomorrow?”

  “Text me and we’ll figure something out. And Haley? Don’t try to pull a fast one with the bodyguard.”

  “I won’t. Scout’s honor.”

  Fina disconnected the call and pulled over into an illegal parking space. She needed to think for a moment before making her next call. An idea was taking shape in her head, but it was still vague. Sometimes, talking to someone on her list would jar her brain and knock something loose or into place. First, though, she wanted to give Haley an unexpected present.

  Fina dialed Dennis’s number. “I have a request,” she said when he answered.

  “What do you need?”

  “I’d like to swap someone in for Robin on my niece’s detail.”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Yes. Robin isn’t a strong, handsome man. Do you have someone who looks like a movie star with a pro athlete’s physique?” Fina asked. “The whole inconspicuous thing isn’t working; let’s go full-on conspicuous and enviable.”

  Dennis laughed. “Sounds like Milloy.”

  “He would be great, actually, but he has a job, and not enough professional distance from the subject.”

  “I’ll make a swap.”

  “And tell Robin I’ll use her some other time.”

  “Will do.”

  She pulled back into traffic and contemplated Haley’s frustration. Unfortunately, there was nothing to be done about it. Fina drove by a neighborhood playground that had seen better days. The basketball nets were missing, and the intended green space was devoid of grass. The ground beneath the deser
ted monkey bars was crumbling concrete, not the fancy, spongy layer that cushioned kids in other zip codes. Even if the children who played here were relatively safe, they didn’t have the toys and distractions that Haley and her peers usually took for granted. Maybe Haley needed to start thinking about her bodyguard as an unusual tax on her privileged lifestyle.

  Everybody paid. Only the currency differed.

  • • •

  Juliana pulled a thick towel from the clean stack next to the shower and wrapped herself in it. Her muscles emitted a faint ache, but she welcomed the sensation, which proved that she’d pushed herself. That feeling of depletion was one of Juliana’s favorites, something she strove for at the end of every swim, bike ride, and run.

  She patted her skin dry with the towel and reached for a bottle of body lotion she’d picked up on her last trip to India. The formula included the Indian butter plant, and Juliana loved the feel of it on her skin. Maybe she could import it and make it available at the Reardon Center. She slathered it over her skin and hung her towel on the towel bar. She walked into her bedroom naked and glanced out the window overlooking the beach to make sure she didn’t have an audience before cracking the window and letting the cool breeze fan over her.

  When she was younger, Juliana had been in good shape, but not like she was now. Her muscles were smooth and solid, her stomach flat, and her ass firm and lifted. She felt a sense of pride in her body and reveled in its strength. Some people were naturally thin or naturally strong, but it was rare that a trim, sculpted physique was purely the result of genetics. Her body proclaimed that she was tough and disciplined. Juliana wasn’t declining with age; she was just hitting her stride.

  She pushed a button on the remote, and the TV sprang to life. Flicking through the channels, she settled on the local cable channel before walking into her closet and choosing an outfit. There was a subcommittee meeting later on at the center, but before that a lunch date with a potential donor. She wanted to look classy, but not too rich, which might prompt her donor to question why she needed his help.

  Juliana plucked a navy blue sheath from its hanger and laid it across the bed. She was hooking her bra when the news anchor got her attention. Coming up after the break was a segment about a new charitable organization in the city with deep roots and big plans. The screen cut to a shot of two women in the “chat” area of the news set. The tease was brief, but Juliana took a seat on the end of the bed, her blood pressure creeping up. She waited through two and a half minutes of commercials for cleaning products and butter, her mind a choppy mess of conflicting thoughts.