Most Wanted

Chapter Eight

“Hi, Coach.” Christine entered the office with Marcus, finding a heartfelt smile for their therapist, Michelle LeGrange. Michelle was in her late fifties, but looked younger; though her bright blue eyes were hooded behind her preppy tortoiseshell glasses, she had on a cheery, almost child-like turtle-print shift from Lilly Pulitzer. She rose quickly and gave Christine a warm hug.

“Honey, come in. I’m so sorry about what happened, or may have happened.” Michelle’s touch was soothing and familiar, and Christine almost didn’t want to let her go. Marcus had been distant in the waiting room, and she could tell that he was completely preoccupied. She had driven separately from him since she had come from school and he from the office. He even looked out of sorts, his dark silk tie just slightly askew against his cutaway collar, which he had on with a lightweight tan suit.

“So you heard.”

“Of course. I can only imagine how hard this is for you both, to have such a cloud over happiness you worked so hard for.”

“Exactly.” Christine sat down in a cozy conference area, with several sea-foam club chairs opposite Michelle’s sleek walnut desk. Her framed diplomas and awards lined the walls, and medical binders and textbooks stocked her bookshelves. Christine and Marcus usually had sessions in Michelle’s home office at her lovely Tudor in Rowayton, which Christine preferred. She couldn’t forget that she had been inseminated one office down, and the techs had shown her the gray cryotanks under their counter across the hall, where they fertilized eggs in petri dishes, for IVF. One of the techs had told her that there were four thousand fertilized embryos in their tanks, and that the techs had two fears; one was mixing up the embryos, and the other was dropping them.

“Thanks for coming in. I’m glad we can talk this over.” Michelle turned to Marcus, extending a hand, but he was already heading for the other chair.

“Michelle, I don’t know what good ‘talking it over’ will do.”

“How so?” Michelle took her seat opposite them, crossing her legs, which were trim and muscled. Late-day sunlight filtered into the office through blinds on the window behind her.

Marcus asked, “Aren’t you the one who talks about the ‘elephant in the room’?”

“Yes,” Michelle answered, pleasantly.

“So, there’s a question that has to be answered before we discuss our feelings. Is the serial killer Donor 3319 or not?”

“I understand how you feel, and unfortunately, I don’t know the answer to that question.”

“How typical is this that Homestead won’t confirm or deny something so basic?”

“Nothing about the situation is typical. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

Christine sighed. “I’m sure.”

Marcus was shaking his head. “Really? It seems like it’s exactly the kind of thing that can happen. These aren’t gods who donate sperm, they’re just guys, mostly college kids or graduate students, whatever. They’re young guys. Things are going to happen as they grow up, criminal or not, that have to impact this process.”

Michelle nodded. “You would think that’s true, but the fact is this hasn’t happened to us before. Our task is to try to bring some perspective to the situation, even in the absence of facts we wish we had known.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Marcus shot back.

“Thank God,” Christine said, at almost the same moment, but she could see that Michelle wanted to finish a thought.

“Marcus, I understand where you’re coming from. Like most of my patients, you’re used to setting goals and arriving at them. You run a multimillion-dollar company, you’re a CEO. You’re used to a degree of control. You’ve been very successful in life, setting goals and meeting them. Is that a fair statement?”

“Yes,” Marcus answered, but he pursed his lips, and Christine knew what he was thinking. He always felt that Michelle stroked him too much, overly sensitive to the fact that his male ego was bruised by his infertility. Christine didn’t buy into the criticism because she did the same thing. She walked on eggshells when the subject of his infertility came up, a classic no-win position.

“So this situation is going to challenge you in new ways, both of you.”

“Oh it’s challenging me all right,” Marcus said, with a smirk.

Michelle glanced at Christine. “Christine, how are you feeling?”

“I’m really upset. I’m upset for me, for the baby, and obviously for Marcus.”

“And what upsets you the most?”

“It’s hard to say. Everything.”

Marcus interjected, “That nobody will answer a simple question.”

Michelle kept her eyes on Christine. “You were saying?”

“Well, I guess, first, it does bother me that Homestead won’t tell us the truth.” Christine didn’t want to begin there, but she wanted to back Marcus up. “We don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. There’s nothing to do.”

“I understand how you could feel that way.” Michelle’s voice remained soothing. “None of us here knows the identity of 3319. We are not withholding information from you. We simply don’t have the information, though we wish-”

“You could get it,” Marcus interrupted.

“What makes you say that, Marcus?” Michelle asked, tilting her head.

“You deal with Homestead all the time. You probably send lots of your patients there. You’re familiar with them. Dr. Davidow called Demipetto by her first name. Lee Ann.”

“And what follows from that, in your view?”

“I think you can put pressure on them to give us the information.” Marcus stabbed the air with an index finger. “I think you could say, ‘we’re not going to send you any other patients, and we’re not going to spend a single dollar at Homestead unless you give the Nilssons the information they need.’”

“You think I could do that?”

“Why not? Or if not you, then Dr. Davidow, or his boss, or whoever owns this place.”

“Dr. Davidow is the owner.”

“Fine, him then. I’d go the extra mile for one of my clients. I wouldn’t take no for an answer. But no one’s doing that for us, or even offering to do that.”

Christine cringed at the accusatory tone in Marcus’s voice, which though it was controlled, was plainly resentful.

Michelle leaned back in her chair. “Marcus, how do you feel about that?”

“How do you think I feel? What difference does it make how I feel?”

Christine felt torn, understanding his frustration but not wanting to alienate Michelle. She turned to Marcus. “Babe, this is a discussion we should have with Dr. Davidow, don’t you think?”

Michelle smiled at Christine, in a pat way. “Christine, thank you, but you needn’t come to my aid.” Then she turned to Marcus. “However, I do think we’re getting off track-”

“No, we’re finally on track, if you ask me. As for how I feel, I would say I feel angry. Angry enough to do something about it.”

Christine swallowed hard, but having been signaled not to interrupt, stayed quiet.

“Marcus, we’ve talked before about how infertility issues have been a challenge for you as a couple, and you, in particular, because you tend to assume the role of fixer, as many men do. This may be a situation which you can’t fix.”

“That’s what you think. I’m not going to let my wife go through what she’s going through. I’m not going to put myself through this either. I will fix the situation.”

Michelle sighed, her tanned shoulders going up and down, once. “Please, let’s start over. I feel as if we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. Fair enough?”

“Suit yourself.” Marcus sat back in his chair. “It’s your bus. You drive it.”

“Marcus, I’m here as your therapist and Christine’s. I’m on your side.”

Christine felt tears come to her eyes, knowing it was true. Michelle was always on their side, even through the hardest times, and she’d helped both of them. Families First had made her a mother, but she wouldn’t say that aloud, right now.

Michelle continued, “If you remember in our earliest sessions, we talked about the importance of acceptance in dealing with infertility. That you accept the situation you find yourself in and try to find solutions from there.”

Marcus snorted. “Doesn’t ‘find solutions’ mean fix it?”

Michelle shook her head. “No. It means, accept what there is and move forward. My job is to help you understand, both as individuals and as a couple, what will make you feel better and most comfortable, going forward. That’s how you arrived at your wonderful solution, which was to use a donor, so that you both could experience the joys of pregnancy.”

Marcus rolled his eyes. “And it’s turned out to be such a joy.”

Christine looked over, stung. “It has, honey. I’m excited, at least I was before this happened.” She turned to Michelle in bewilderment. “But now, I have to admit, I’m confused. I can’t sort out my feelings. I’m bollixed up.”

Michelle nodded. “Yes, and part of this process is that you and Marcus are not always in the same place at the same time. Christine, you’re going to experience this pregnancy more directly than Marcus. That’s also true of whatever bad or good news may come. You’re carrying the child, and you made a genetic contribution to the child. Right now, this is happening to you in a way it isn’t to him.”

Christine swallowed hard. It was exactly how she felt.

Michelle turned to Marcus. “In the past, Marcus, you have felt, and understandably so, more removed. Our work in therapy has been to help you see how involved you can be, equally involved, and that will come more easily as the pregnancy progresses and you two go to doctor’s appointments, see the ultrasound, and hear the heartbeat. You will experience all of that together.” Michelle sat back, gesturing to them both as a couple. “You are not yet in the same position, but you will get there. I’m here to help you both accept what is happening, cope with it, and move on.”

“But how do we move on from this?” Christine blurted out, her heart speaking out of turn.

“When we don’t even know the truth?” Marcus added.

Michelle eyed them both. “We put this in perspective. Granted, we don’t know if 3319 is the man who was arrested. But let’s assume for the purposes of discussion that he is.”

“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.