“I told you already. What are you, stupid? Conversations between you and Jeffcoat are not privileged. They’re discoverable and admissible.”

“Okay, okay, I got it.” Christine glanced at Lauren, who was trying not to laugh.

“God in heaven! You’re stubborn!”

“No, I’m not, I’m just curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat.” Griff hung up, and so did Christine, pressing END on the mounted phone.

Lauren looked over, chuckling. “You’re driving him crazy.”

“Because I’m curious? Curiosity is a good thing.”

“Not for cats. You heard him.”

“Right.” Christine fed the car some gas as traffic broke up, steering out of the town for open road.

An hour later, Christine and Lauren arrived at the hotel, checked in, took turns showering, and flopped in matching bathrobes on the bed, then ordered Greek salads with no onions from room service and a first-run Melissa McCarthy comedy from the Spectravision. The two women enjoyed the movie, tacitly agreeing not to talk about the day, but Christine felt anxiety gnawing at the edges of her consciousness. She tried not to think about Zachary, Gail Robinbrecht, or the other murdered nurses, but they were in the back of her mind. She also knew that she’d have to talk to Marcus to say good night and she dreaded lying to him.

Night fell outside the large smoked-glass windows, and, by the time the movie ended, Christine knew she couldn’t put off the phone call any longer. She found the remote, aimed it at the TV, and muted the credits as Lauren looked over, her dark eyes tired and her curly topknot slipping to the side. She had spent most of the movie answering texts from her mother, husband, and sons, who were getting ready for a travel baseball game and couldn’t find clean socks, the new cleats, or the dog’s Prozac.

“You going to call Marcus?” Lauren asked with a sigh.

“It can’t be avoided, can it?”

“My advice, keep it short. You’re a bad liar.”

“Good advice.” Christine picked up her phone, and Lauren rose slowly, with a soft grunt.

“I’ll leave you alone. I’m going to the bathroom.”

“You don’t have to, you can stay.”

“Are you kidding?” Lauren looked back with a smile. “I get to sit on the bowl in peace? I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

“Have fun,” Christine called after Lauren, who trundled off to the bathroom, then she speed-dialed Marcus’s number, and he picked up after the second ring.

“Hey, babe, how you doing?” Marcus asked, still in cool mode.

“Okay, but tired,” Christine answered, which wasn’t a lie. “I just wanted to call you quick before I went to bed. I can barely stay awake.”

“I won’t keep you,” Marcus said quickly, and Christine felt a twinge, getting the impression that he didn’t want to talk to her.

“How’s it going on the site?”

“The usual crap. We’ll be able to straighten it out, but it puts us behind schedule, and you know how that goes. It’s expensive. How’s the weather? You getting any beach time?”

“Not really, I’m helping out in the house. We have to get all the sheets out and the towels, and sweep up.” Christine scrolled quickly to her Weather Channel app, plugged in Long Beach Island, New Jersey, and saw that it was partly cloudy there. “It’s not that nice a beach day anyway.”

“Too bad. It’s been raining all day, down here. I think I actually ruined my suitpants.”

“That sucks,” Christine said, her mood spiraling downward. She couldn’t believe they were reduced to talking about the weather in their respective locations, one of which was fraudulent.

“You feeling any better about the Homestead lawsuit?” Marcus’s tone softened, which only made Christine feel guilty, so she faked a yawn to bail on the conversation.

“Yes, I am, but let’s not get into it tonight, okay? I’m so tired, and I’m tired of thinking about it. I just want to get to bed.”

“Okay, I get it.” Marcus’s tone stiffened again, now that he had been rebuffed. “Sleep tight, and take care of yourself.”

“Love you,” Christine said, then she realized that he hadn’t said it first.

“Love you, too.”

Christine hung up first, then tossed the phone aside. A wave of sadness overwhelmed her, so she closed her eyes. She didn’t want to think about Marcus, Zachary, or anything bad, any longer. She placed the palm of her right hand over her belly and focused on her baby. Because that was everything good, growing every day, bigger and stronger, right inside her very body.

Her breathing grew soft and even, and every muscle in her surrendered, and she drifted into an exhausted slumber before she could even begin to worry.

About what tomorrow morning would bring.

Chapter Twenty-three

Christine sat with Lauren in the cramped white booth, waiting for Zachary. The room was stifling, but she had already thrown up, as well as having showered and changed into the pink shirtdress that she had worn to her first appointment with Dr. Davidow. She’d packed it because it was one of her nicer casual dresses, which meant it didn’t have any pen marks or stiff patches of glue from school. Somehow, it seemed fitting for today, when she would learn if Zachary Jeffcoat was Donor 3319.

“Do you know how you’re going to ask him? How you are going to bring it up?” Lauren asked, her brow knit. She was already sweating from the heat inside the booth, which made her worry lines glisten. She’d showered, but had to put on the same clothes as yesterday, because she hadn’t had time to pack herself, having packed three boys, their sports gear, two dogs, and the dog’s Prozac, for their weekend of travel baseball.

“I think I’m going to try to engage him, like I would any one of my students.”

“Really? How so?”

“You know my theory, I let them read anything they want to, just so they read. I try not to judge. I build up their self-esteem and create a safe and nurturing environment, so we can build a rapport and they can learn.” Christine had been thinking about that last night. “So I’m going to do the same thing with him. Get him talking about something he really loves, and he’ll feel good about himself. Then I’m going to look for a way to bring up the subject.”