Chương 13
“Within the next week would be reasonable.”
Outside the clinic, snow had begun falling in wet, uneven flakes. Brittany stood beneath the awning while Harrison called for the car.
“I want the test,” she said.
He put the phone down. “All right.”
“Do you?”
“It is your body.”
“That is not an answer.”
He watched snow melt on the sleeve of his coat. “I want certainty. I also want no risk to the pregnancy. Those wants conflict.”
“Yes.”
“I think the test is reasonable if you want it.”
“You sound like a memo.”
“I am trying not to control the decision.”
“You can have an opinion without controlling me.”
Harrison exhaled. “I am afraid of the procedure. I am more afraid of waiting four months and learning after birth that we missed something important. I want the test.”
Brittany nodded. “So do I.”
The car arrived, but neither moved toward it.
“Harrison,” she said, “if the baby has the mutation, what happens?”
“We prepare.”
“For what?”
“Specialists. Monitoring. Whatever is required.”
“And if the baby does not?”
“We still prepare for everything else.”
She looked at him. “You make money sound like a form of courage.”
“It is a resource.”
“It is.”
He heard the concession and the warning.
“I do not think money fixes this,” he said.
“Good.”
“I think it helps us hire people who know what they are doing.”
“That is also true.”
A snowflake landed in Brittany’s hair. Harrison reached toward it, then stopped.
She noticed.
“You can touch me,” she said.
He brushed the melting flake away.
The gesture was so slight that it nearly broke him.
The amniocentesis was scheduled for the following Tuesday.
Patricia sent flowers on Monday.
They arrived at Nora’s apartment in a white arrangement large enough to obstruct the kitchen window. The card read: Thinking of the baby during this difficult time.
Brittany stared at it.
Nora read the card twice. “She has managed to exclude you from your own flowers.”
Simone advised returning them.
Brittany carried the arrangement downstairs herself and gave it to the receptionist at a nearby nursing home. The woman at the desk asked whom to thank.
“A difficult person,” Brittany said.
That evening, Patricia called.
Brittany almost did not answer.
“What did you do with the flowers?” Patricia asked.
“I gave them away.”
“They were not inexpensive.”
“They were lilies. The smell made me nauseous.”
“You could have asked them to exchange the arrangement.”
“I did not want exchanged flowers.”
Patricia was quiet.
Brittany sat on Nora’s sofa with her feet tucked beneath her. A game show played without sound on the television.
“I understand you are having a procedure tomorrow,” Patricia said.
“Yes.”
“I would like the name of the physician.”
“No.”
“I have access to excellent specialists.”
“So do I.”
“Through Harrison.”
“Through a hospital.”
Patricia exhaled. “I am trying.”
“At what?”
“To ensure the baby receives proper care.”
“The baby is receiving proper care.”
“I know you dislike me.”
“I am too tired to organize my feelings that neatly.”
Another silence.
Patricia said, “I should not have invited the relatives.”
“No.”
“I believed the result would protect Harrison before the trust funded.”
“You believed humiliating me would protect him.”
“I had a photograph.”
“You had a photograph of a frightened pregnant woman being hugged.”
“I did not know that.”
“You did not ask.”
“Harrison would not have told me the truth.”
“So you created a situation where he was even less likely to.”
Patricia’s voice sharpened. “You participated in deceiving us.”
“Yes.”
The immediate admission left Patricia with nowhere to push.
Brittany continued. “I agreed to keep the donor conception private. I knew the trust language was wrong. I hoped you would love the baby before you learned the truth. That was dishonest and cowardly.”
Patricia spoke more softly. “Then you understand my concern.”
“No. I understand mine.”
“What is the difference?”
“My fear made me hide. Yours made you punish.”
The game-show audience applauded silently on the television.
Patricia said, “Do you intend to marry my son?”
“I do not know.”
“He has always been difficult when ashamed.”
“That is not a medical condition.”
“No.”
The single word carried more recognition than Brittany expected.
Patricia continued. “When he had cancer, he refused to let anyone sit with him during chemotherapy except Richard. He said I talked too much.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
Brittany rubbed her stomach. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I don’t know.”
It was the first unguarded answer Brittany had ever heard from her.
Patricia cleared her throat. “I will not call again before the procedure.”
“Thank you.”
“If you need anything—”
“I will ask Harrison.”
The line remained quiet for a second.
“Of course,” Patricia said.
After they ended the call, Brittany sat without moving.
Nora came from the kitchen eating cereal from a mug. “Was that the queen?”
“She apologized.”
Nora stopped chewing. “Should we call someone?”
“Not exactly.”
“Did she apologize in English?”
“She admitted she should not have invited relatives.”
“That is a procedural apology.”
“It may be all she has.”
Nora sat beside her. “You are not required to be impressed by someone locating the first floor of basic decency.”
“I’m not.”
“You look impressed.”
“I’m surprised.”
“That is how they get you.”
Brittany rested her head against the sofa.
Nora handed her the cereal mug. “Do not eat the marshmallows. I save those.”
The procedure took less than an hour.
The waiting afterward took eight days.
May you like
Harrison moved into a hotel near the hospital rather than return to the townhouse alone. The hotel room had a coffee machine that produced brown water and curtains controlled by a wall panel he never learned to use. Each morning, they opened automatically at six, revealing an office tower where a cleaning crew worked before sunrise.
He attended board interviews, reviewed company records, and reimbursed Vale Holdings for expenses he had once considered too minor to calculate. Martin spent eleven hours assembling time sheets and finally said, “For the record, I resent being converted into an ethical spreadsheet.”
