Q: Creative writing:

A: This is not something that interests me.

Q: Literature:

A: As above, I read to learn, so fiction and poetry do not interest me.

Q: Science:

A: Obviously this is my strong suit, and the memorization that will be required by medical school comes easily to me.

Q: Favorite book, movie, or album:

A: My favorite book is Cosmos by Carl Sagan. My favorite movie is Awakenings because it showed what good doctors can do in society, even though it had a sad ending. I’m not a big music person.

Christine reached for her water and downed the last of it. Her thoughts were all over the map, thinking of what Lucy had told them about the traits that made someone a serial killer, Marcus talking about the warrior gene, then what their donor had said in these answers. There was only one question left, and Christine used to think it was the most important question:

Q: Why do you want to become a donor?

A: As I said above, I really want to help people in this world, in any way I can. I want to help people who are infertile, or have illnesses, and that’s why I want to become a donor. This is an easy way to help people, and I don’t know if it’s okay to say this, but I could also use the money. I need money for med-school tuition and my parents are not in a position to help me financially.

Christine scrolled back to the Internet and clicked the link for the Philadelphia Inquirer. She glanced again at the reporter’s byline, one William Magni, and beside his name was an email address, a Twitter handle, and a phone number. On impulse, she navigated to her phone and pressed the reporter’s number in.

“Newsroom,” a woman answered.

Christine swallowed, nervous. “I’d like to speak to William Magni.”

“Who’s calling?”

Christine’s gaze fell on her cup. “Timson. Christine Timson.”

“Please hold.” There was a click on the line, and Christine felt her heart begin to pound. “Can I help you?”

“William Magni?”

“Yes.”

“I saw your story about Zachary Jeffcoat, that man who murdered the nurses?”

“Oh yes. What is it?” Magni sounded impatient.

“I think I was a neighbor of his and I’m trying to figure out if it’s the same person. Do you know where he’s from?”

“No, I got the story off the wire.”

Christine had no idea what that meant. “So who reported it originally?”

“A stringer for AP, probably.”

Christine knew that AP meant Associated Press. “What’s a stringer?”

“A freelancer. Anybody who wants to report a story. No journalistic credentials. A citizen journalist.” Magni snorted, enjoying his own inside joke. “In other words, somebody who thinks he can make a living from this job. Anybody can be anything these days. It’s not a coincidence that the Information Age is full of misinformation.”

Christine let it go. “Was Jeffcoat in medical school?”

“I don’t know. Like I said, I didn’t report the story.”

“Do you know if he had a girlfriend? The guy I know was in med school and had a girlfriend.”

“Sorry, I got nothin’.” Magni rustled some papers.

“Did Jeffcoat have a lawyer?”

“Again, don’t know. Try the public defender’s office.”

“How about a family? Do you know if they were at the arraignment?”

“No idea. I need to go.”

“One last question. Are you going to be following the story?”

“The guy’s in Graterford. There won’t be anything worth covering until trial, which will be right before the election. It won’t be me. It’s not my beat.”

“I know, sorry. Thank you for your time. Bye.”

Magni hung up, and so did Christine, lost in thought. She got her purse, rose, and bused her tray, trying to figure out what to do next.

But part of her already knew.

Chapter Twelve

Christine didn’t get to talk to Lauren until later, when she’d gone up to bed early, teary and exhausted. She lay on top of the comforter in her T-shirt and sweatsuit, with Murphy sleeping with his head on her left arm and Lady curled under her right. She’d had to pee for the past hour but didn’t want to wake either of them up.

“I can’t believe he really said that.” Lauren’s tone was hushed.

“I can. He doesn’t want the baby.” Christine blew her nose, finishing her last ugly cry of the day. She tossed her Kleenex into the wastecan, which she kept next to the bed for morning sickness.

“He doesn’t mean it.”

“Yes he does.”

“Look, maybe we need to relax.” Lauren sighed. “You’re not the first couple in the world to be in different places when they get pregnant. You remember, the first time we got pregnant, Josh wasn’t ready.”

“But he came around. You both wanted the child. Marcus is not going to come around.”

“He has to.”

“No, he doesn’t. He can’t have a feeling he doesn’t have.” Christine reached for another Kleenex and dried her eyes, bucking up. She didn’t want to cry anymore. She was sick of feeling sorry for herself. She was working on a plan in the back of her mind.

“I hate that this happened to you guys.”

“Me, too.” Christine felt relieved that Marcus was out of town tonight. She needed the house to herself, and it was quiet, still, and dark except for the bedroom. A light summer rain fell outside, tapping at the roof and blowing the sheers from time to time.

“He gets that you’re not having an abortion?”

“Oh, he gets that all right.” Christine swallowed bitterly. She dropped her Kleenex into the wastecan.

“He didn’t really mean it. He was just exploring his options.”

“That’s what he said, but still.” Christine’s gaze found the TV across the room, playing CNN on mute, with closed captioning. The words ran across the screen in a red banner, SENATE DEMOCRATS ANNOUNCE A NEW EDUCATION INITIATIVE. She’d turned on the TV in hopes of seeing something about Zachary Jeffcoat, but so far, no luck. She realized that she had forgotten to tell Lauren about calling the reporter, there had been so much to tell to bring her up to speed.