Fertile Ground (36 page)

“Will anger make this nightmare go away? We can sue the clinic, but will that change the fact that I’m carrying a dead girl’s babies? Will it?” Tears streamed down her face. Suddenly she winced and, moving forward, grabbed onto the back of a chair.

“What’s wrong?” Lisa hurried over to her, pulled out the chair, and helped her sit down.

“Just Braxton-Hicks,” Naomi said, referring to the la borlike pains many women felt in the weeks before delivery.

“Naomi, I’m concerned. I don’t want—”

“You don’t want me to go into labor. Maybe Chelsea Wright’s parents haven’t prepared a nursery yet.” She smiled bitterly and winced again, then massaged her abdomen.

“Don’t do this to yourself.” She stroked Naomi’s arm. “You have to concentrate on staying strong for your babies. You have to stay calm,” she urged softly and thought about her own mother. How calm would she have been if Lisa’s birth mother had appeared and demanded that Esther Brockman give up her baby?

Naomi took several deep breaths, exhaling slowly between each one. “She wasn’t Jewish, was she?” she asked a moment later, her voice suddenly quiet. “The donor, I mean.”

“No. But a rabbi told me most Halachic experts agree that if the birth mother is Jewish, the child is considered Jewish.”

She sighed. “Yes, but what if these people don’t want their grandchildren raised as Jews? Orthodox Jews?”

“I’ve met them, Naomi. They seem like very nice, caring people. And the attorney said the parents who have custody determine the child’s religious orientation.”

“And do these nice, caring people want custody?” she whispered.

It was painful to see the anxiety in Naomi’s eyes. “Yes. I won’t lie to you. But as I said, I don’t think they’ll get it.”

She studied her wedding band. “Did this rabbi tell you whether the babies will have to be converted?” she finally asked, looking up at Lisa.

“Probably. It’s not a big deal,” she said, thinking how ironic it was for her to be making this statement.

“I don’t want them to know. I don’t want anyone to know.” “Naomi—”

“You don’t understand.” Her voice, though still quiet, had a desperate undertone. “Baruch’s mother was against our having IVF, even though it was our last hope. “It’s unnatural,” she kept saying. She wanted him to divorce me and marry someone else.”

Lisa stared at her. “She told you that?”

Naomi shook her head. “I knew from the way she’d look at me.” She lowered her eyes. “Baruch and I were going through a rough time just before we met you.” Her voice was barely audible. “I know his mother was putting pressure on him to leave me. For a while I thought he would. I’d wake up in the morning and say, “Today’s he’s going to tell me.” And then I got pregnant, and everything was all right. We’ve been so happy.” She lifted her head. “You could see that, couldn’t you?”

“Yes.” Lisa felt overwhelming pity for her.

“He loves me so much,” Naomi said, her voice suddenly soft, shy. Her eyes were dreamy. “He’s the most wonderful, caring husband in the

world. And now every thing is ruined, and in his mother’s eyes this will be my fault, because I’m the one who pressed for the IVF.”

“Maybe she’ll surprise you. When she sees the babies, I’m sure she’ll be thrilled. All grandmothers are.”

“If we moved somewhere else,” she continued, as if she hadn’t heard what Lisa had said, “the Wrights wouldn’t be in our lives, and no one would have to know.”

My parents moved to New York so that no one would know. Lisa wanted to tell her. “Eventually, you’ll have to tell your children the truth, Naomi.”

“I can deal with ‘eventually.” I don’t know if I can deal with having the Wrights standing outside the delivery room, waiting to see their grandchildren, to hold them.”

“They won’t be there, Naomi.” Or would theyl Would Jean Elliott convince a judge to allow that invasion of the Hoffmans’ privacy?

“Why not? Even if they don’t get custody, it’s a free country. They can stand outside the delivery room. They can stare at the babies in the hospital nursery all day and all night if they want to. They’ll get generous visitation rights, won’t they?”

“I don’t know,” Lisa lied.

“Yes, you do. I can see it in your face.” She rose slowly. “I’m going to lie down. I know this wasn’t easy for you, coming here to tell me. Thank you for not doing it over the phone.”

“Do you want me to stay and tell Baruch? I don’t mind.”

“No. I’ll tell him myself.”

Like the last time Lisa had been here, both sides of the street were crowded with parked cars. Her Altima was halfway down the block from the Hoffmans, across the street.

It was dark outside and chilly. She hugged her arms as she walked, lost in thought, reviewing her conversation with Naomi, wishing she’d been more reassuring, wondering if there were something she could have said.

She looked both ways, then stepped off the curb and

moved sideways between two cars. She was in the middle of the street when she heard the revving of an engine. Startled, she whipped her head to her left.

A car, its headlights off, was speeding toward her.

She screamed. For a second she was frozen with fear, and her legs felt nailed to the asphalt. Then she ran toward the opposite curb, which was lined with cars separated only by inches.

The car swerved to find her. Now it was only a few feet away.

Taking a running leap, she hurled herself onto the hood of a car and slammed onto the metal. She grabbed the windshield wiper for support and scrambled forward, jerking her legs out of the way just as the car raced by and disappeared.

Jerome Nestle was tall, trim, and good looking, with short salt-and-pepper hair and tortoiseshell framed glasses. He stood at Lisa’s entrance and waved her into one of the two navy upholstered armchairs in front of his desk, then spent a few minutes studying the medical history form Lisa had filled out in the waiting room.

He looked up. “So you and your husband have decided to have a baby. It’s an exciting time in your lives, a wonderful time.”

His smile, which reached his brown eyes, seemed so warm, so genuine, that she wondered if she was wrong about him. “Jeff and I are very excited.” She was nervous being here, nervous because of her near death last night, which she hadn’t reported to the police. She hadn’t seen a license plate, hadn’t seen the driver. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, which felt like encumbrances. She placed them on her lap.

“You’re originally from Long Island, I see. Great Neck.”

“Yes. We moved here about six months ago, when Jeff’s firm asked him to open a new office. He’s an investment counselor. I design computer systems for corporations, so it was easy for both of us to relocate.”

She’d realized that one of the prerequisites for Nestle would be a patient who could afford to pay a fertility clinic’s substantial fees. She’d decided not to “be” an attorney—Nestle might shy away from anyone connected with the law. Or medicine. “A broker found us a beautiful house in Brentwood,” she added.

“Not on Bundy, I hope.” He smiled.

She smiled, too. “No.” He was referring to the condominium Nicole Simpson had lived in before she was brutally murdered.

“I see your New York gynecologist is Mark Harris. A fine doctor.”

“Yes.” Harris was chief of obstetrics at the hospital where Lisa had done her residency. She wasn’t worried. By the time Nestle had someone phone for her records, this would all be over. “He referred me to you. He said you’re the best.”

“He’s very kind.” He smiled again. “May I call you Elysse?” When she nodded, he said, “You seem a bit nervous. Am I right?”

“I feel so silly.” She laughed lightly. She’d been so nervous taking the elevator to Nestle’s eighth-floor office in the Third Street medical towers that she’d almost changed her mind. “I’ve never worried about getting pregnant. Now that Jeff and I have decided to have a baby, I want to make sure everything’s okay so we can begin trying.”

“I’m certain you have nothing to be nervous about, Elysse. And coming here was wise. You’d be surprised how many women—educated women—don’t realize the importance of making sure their bodies are prepared for pregnancy.”

“I’ve been taking vitamins and folic acid.”

“Excellent.

You’re doing your part. Now I’ll do mine.” Another smile. “We’ll do a full exam, draw some blood so the lab can do a full panel, including making sure your hormone levels are right.” He scanned her file again. “You’ve never had any gynecological problems-no surgeries, no condition that required medication, no physiological abnormalities, correct?”

She nodded, thinking how strange it was to be on this side of the desk.

“Your cycle is regular?”

“Yes.” She crossed her legs.

“Good. Have you tried to get pregnant before, Elysse?”

“No. Jeff and I wanted to wait until both our careers were established.” “What kind of birth control have you been using?”

“A diaphragm.” Nestle probably didn’t choose women who were using iUDs—they might wonder why they were experiencing the same symptoms they’d had with the IUD after it had supposedly been removed.

“That’s good.” Nestle nodded. “For patients on the pill, I recommend a three-month interval after they stop taking the pill before they try to conceive.”

Lisa expelled a breath. “Then I’m glad I’m not on the pill. Jeff and I hope I’ll get pregnant right away.”

“I hope so, too, Elysse. And there’s no reason to think you won’t.” He smiled encouragingly. “But I should tell you that not everyone conceives easily—although high school students certainly seem to, don’t they?”

“Yes.” She forced another, larger smile for his joke. “I’m thirty-one. I know that can be a problem in terms of fertility.”

“I wouldn’t call it a problem. It’s certainly a factor you and your husband should be aware of. But I don’t want you to worry. Chances are, you’ll conceive within the next few months.”

“And if I don’t?” She brought her fingers to her lips, flashing her large diamond ring. She’d been overcome with sadness when she’d put it on this morning.

“We’ll show you how to chart your ovulation to make sure you take advantage of the right time every month. We can teach you relaxation techniques.”

“And if I still don’t conceive?” She made her voice urgent.

“After a year, if you’re still not pregnant, I’d recommend diagnostic evaluations, including a procedure to see if your tubes are open and another that would allow us

to see your pelvic organs. Your husband would have a semen analysis, of course. Assuming that he’s fine and that you don’t need surgery to correct any physiological problems, I’d start you on an oral fertility drug.”

“Clomid, you mean. A friend of mine was on that. She’s expecting twins.”

“I’ve been using another, fertility drug with excellent results that reduces the incidence of multiple births.”

The placebo. “And if that doesn’t work?” She saw a frown forming on the doctor’s face. “I know I sound neurotic. Jeff says I’m compulsive in the way I need to know everything in advance.” She half laughed and shook her head and saw Nestle relax.

“I’d refer you to a clinic that specializes in assisted reproduction, including in vitro fertilization. Unfortunately, that can run into tens of thousands of dollars.”

Lisa leaned forward. “Money, thank goodness, isn’t a problem. But we’re concerned about fertility clinics after what we’ve heard in the news.”

“I’m sure you know that you can’t believe everything you hear in the news.” He smiled yet again. “I happen to know the chairman of the board of directors and the doctors at the clinic under investigation. It’s a wonderful clinic, and the doctors and lab staff are all excellent, all above reproach.”

She frowned. “But the head director is missing, isn’t he? They say there’s evidence that he was killed. And I heard that the police confiscated the clinic’s files and shut it down,”

“It’s terrible about Dr. Gordon—I’ll bet we find out that his disappearance had nothing to do with the clinic. And I have every confidence that the police will determine that no embryo switching took place. I hope they do it quickly so that the clinic can reopen and help couples who are trying to conceive.”

“And if the police find something illegal?” She knew she was pressing—she could see it on Nestle’s face.

“I have connections with other excellent clinics. But you’re worrying prematurely.” He picked up his phone

receiver. “Let’s have that exam so I can reassure you that you’re baby-ready.”

An auburn-haired nurse took Lisa to a small open area off the hall, where she weighed Lisa and took her temperature, blood pressure, and pulse. After Lisa left a urine sample, the nurse led her to a pleasant examining room wallpapered in a soft beige-and-burgundy paisley pattern.

“You can hang your clothes over there,” she said, pointing to a cubicle curtained in the same paisley. She handed her a white paper gown. “This goes on top and opens in the front. Doctor will be with you shortly.”

The nurse left, and Lisa started to undress. She was in her bra and panties when she was suddenly frozen with indecision. What was she doing here, about to be examined by the man who might have attacked her, the man who might have killed Matthew? She heard a knock on the door.

“May I come in?” Nestle asked.

“Just a moment.” With shaking hands she slipped off the rest of her clothes, put on the paper gown, and lay down on the examining table, covering herself with the paper sheet the nurse had left for her.

Nestle stepped inside and shut the door. “The nurse will be here in a moment. Still nervous?”

“A little.” She smiled shyly. “This will be over before you know it. Move down for me, Elysse, and put your feet in the stirrups. There’s a good girl.”

She hated being called “good girl,” hated being called “sweetie” by doctors and assistants she hardly knew. She’d hated the thirty something gynecologist who, before examining her, had said, “Drop your pants, honey, I’ll be right back,” while she’d shrunk, mortified, within herself. And she hated Nestle, though he hadn’t said or done one wrong thing, because she knew he was evil. She moved down obediently and placed her feet in the cold metal stirrups, watching as he slipped on latex gloves. She tried not to think about her assailant, who had worn gloves, too; tried not to shiver as she felt his hands around her neck, squeezing.