Most Wanted

Chapter Twenty-four

Christine heard Zachary answer, confirming that he was Donor 3319, and she understood that he was her donor, their donor, the father of their baby, the biological father of their baby, yet she had a million thoughts flying through her head, setting her brain on fire, electrifying her senses, overloading her circuits.

She didn’t know what to say or do. She felt herself falling away from the world, the way she had the other day, having an out-of-body experience, observing herself hearing the news at the same time that she experienced hearing the news, and it was all she could do not to throw up, faint, start crying, or otherwise show her hand.

Her reaction felt like it lasted ten minutes, but it must’ve only been a moment or two because she noticed that Lauren was taking over the situation, leaning close to the Plexiglas, smiling at Zachary, and asking him a question, and then Zachary was smiling back and saying words that Christine was too freaked out to hear. Her heart hammered, she broke a new sweat in the sweltering booth, and her mouth went completely dry.

She had been right, all of her research and even her hunches had been right, and Zachary was Donor 3319, and now she didn’t know what to do. Because the father of her child was wanted for murder, even a string of serial killings, and she thought he might be innocent, but she also thought he might be guilty as sin.

The corrections officer walked over on the other side of the Plexiglas, and she realized that it was time to go, time to leave Zachary, even to say good-bye. She wanted to get her act together, to be wholly present, but she felt such a powerful conflict of emotions, like two gargantuan waves crashing into each other, because she had just found out that he was her donor at the same time that she would have to let him go, forever.

She could see Zachary turn to the guard behind him, and the guard bringing the handcuffs forward, and Lauren continuing the conversation, and Zachary talking back to her, the two of them smiling, and Christine struggled to come around, tuning in the sound of their talking, but she couldn’t fake joining them, stricken. The handcuffs made a jangling sound as the corrections officer carried them over, and Christine watched as Zachary offered his wrists, and the handcuffs snapped mechanically into place, ca-chink, and somehow that sound brought her to her senses and she realized that if she didn’t get it together, she wouldn’t get to say good-bye.

“Zachary?” Christine rose.

“Bye, Christine.” Zachary smiled. “Please, can you please lend me that money for the lawyer? When my trial’s over, we can get the book done, and I’ll pay you back out of the royalties, I swear. Please?”

Lauren interjected, “She’ll look into that, and we’ll get back to Griff. Hang in there. Best of luck. Bye!” Lauren stood beside Christine, turning to her and flaring her eyes meaningfully. “Say good-bye, Christine.”

“Good-bye, Zachary,” Christine said, on cue, her heart in her throat.

“Please!” Zachary called back, as the corrections officer took him by the elbow and escorted him out of the booth, locking the door behind them.

Lauren grabbed her arm and escorted her from the booth, almost the same way that the guard had escorted Zachary on the other side, and neither woman said a word because the other corrections officer was sitting on his chair and the visiting room was already beginning to fill up, with families seeing inmates.

Christine felt herself in a sort of shock, stunned enough to let Lauren steer her down the aisle through the mismatched chairs, past the oil paintings on the left, and the windows overlooking the courtyard on the right, with the mural CHERISH THE CHILD.

My number was 3319.

A corrections officer at the door of the visiting room led them in silence up the stairwell and through the metal detector to make sure they weren’t smuggling out contraband, and Lauren guided Christine out of the security room through the locked door and into the waiting room full of men, women, and children, talking among themselves in a variety of languages.

Christine tried to get a grip on her emotions as Lauren took her to the lockers, wordlessly sliding the key from her pocket, opening the locker to retrieve the car keys, then replacing the locker key, only to retake Christine’s arm and guide her out through the dim reception area toward the glass double doors, blinding with sunlight.

“This way, honey,” Lauren said under her breath, just as two uniformed corrections officers walked past them.

Christine raised a hand against the sunlight, taking a deep breath as they walked through the official parking lot, though the humidity made it impossible to breathe.

“You’re okay, Christine.” Lauren squeezed her arm, keeping her in motion, saying nothing more because families were all around them, walking past them to the prison.

Christine nodded, trying to recover as they walked along, trying not to think about what she had just learned, or what she would do about it, or whatever was going to happen next. She took each step as if it were a deliberate action, knowing that each footfall carried her farther away from Zachary, and at the same time knowing that while she wanted to leave Zachary, she also wanted to stay, because she was undeniably connected to him, now. She was carrying his baby.

She spotted her car, the first in the lot because they had gotten here so early, and the sight of it anchored her in reality, taking her outside of her thoughts. It was her car. She paid the car loan every month. She had a life. She had a husband, a mortgage, a dog, and a cat in Connecticut. She had to go back home. She wanted to go back home.

My number was 3319.

But she understood, at the same time, that no external change could alter the inner reality. Zachary was a part of her, fully half of the child she carried inside her very body, and it was that inside-out feeling, that disconnect that was nevertheless connected, which confounded her, bollixed her up, rendered her incapable of parsing any of the feelings she was having, but still she kept moving toward her car.

Christine realized as Lauren aimed the key fob, chirped the car unlocked, and led her to the passenger side, that she was in no shape to drive, and it was then that the tears started to come. Lauren’s timing was perfect and she opened the passenger door, stowed a weeping Christine inside, and even buckled her into the seat, so that by the time they had turned onto Route 29 heading home, the shoulder harness was the only thing holding Christine up.